REALM of REDONDA 
 
 This Volume is from 
 the Bookshelves of 
 
 M. P. SHIEL, (1865-1947) 
 
 [H.M. King Felipe I. 1880-1947] 
 and 
 
 JOHN GAWSWORTH (1912- ) 
 
 [H.M. King Juan I, 1947- ] 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 f. A^t^
 
 ;• ♦, 
 
 "IIi.w stranjjo to feel that upon my weak woman's hand rested tlie supiiuit ufallNvhu were 
 il-an-vt t" iiu\' — I'liff r.'l.
 
 THE 
 
 BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 AGNES GIBERNE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE CURATE'S HOME," " COULYNG CASTLE, 
 "THE MISTS OF THE VALLEY," ETC. 
 
 " \Vhat is Life, father?" 
 
 "A Battle, my child ; 
 Where the strongest lance may fail. 
 Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, 
 And the stoutest heart may quail." 
 
 " Let me die, father : I tremble, and fear 
 
 To yield in that terrible strife." 
 " The crown must be won for heaven, dear. 
 In the battle-field of life." 
 
 A. A. Procter. 
 
 SEELEY, JACKSON, & HALLIDAY, FLEET STREET, 
 LONDON. MDCCCLXXVIL 
 
 {'Ulie light of translation is resetT'ed.)
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, PRINTF.KS BY WATER POWER.
 
 CONTENTS.'"""" " 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION I 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA l6 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 OUR NEW INMATE 3I 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS .. 40 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 DISCORDANCE 52 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE 64 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND 76 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PENMANSHIP 89 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT 98 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 K.\THIE DE SALVERNAI Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING I27 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 YIELDING UP 140 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 CHRISTMAS EVE I49 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A THREATENING FOE 161 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW ' ... ... ... ... ... I7I 
 
 1 626359
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 AT LAST 
 
 CHAPTER XVir. 
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. PAGE 
 ... iSo 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A WEDDING 
 
 189 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT ^99 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MONTAGUES 209 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 KATHIE's n.VTTLINGS 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ABOUT ELLA 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WE THREE GIRLS 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BREAKING OFF 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OTHERS IN THE B.\TTLE ... 257 
 
 266 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 LOOKING AHEAD 275 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 ARRANGEMENTS 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 TURNED BACKWARDS 304 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 KLLA AND I 3II 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED 319 
 
 CH.\PTER XXXII. 
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS 328 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE .. 336
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. 
 
 We were sitting round the fire, not talking much. 
 At least, for half an hour past, there had been more 
 of silence than of words. It was EUie's sixteenth 
 birthday, and we had had a little merry-making. 
 Lennox had consented for once to lay aside his 
 evening work and mother her mending. But the 
 merry-making did not last long uninterrupted. 
 The postman's rap came sounding along the 
 street, and uncle Amory Pleydell's letter effectually 
 banished cheerfulness. 
 
 We did not say much, until our two schoolboys, 
 Gordon and Edwy, had betaken themselves off to 
 bed. And I do not think we told them anything 
 beyond the fact of uncle John Pleydell's death. 
 The letter was quietly passed to and fro among 
 us elder ones, but Esmeralda's name was hardly 
 even mentioned. Mother shed a few tears, and
 
 2 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 the boys lowered their voices in consideration for 
 her feelings. Still it was twenty years since she 
 and uncle John had met, and I do not believe he 
 was ever a very kind or affectionate brother. 
 
 However, when Gordon and Edwy had vanished, 
 we three girls and Mother and Lennox drew our 
 chairs round the fire for a consultation. Some- 
 how it was a consultation which soon fell into 
 silence. The reason must have been because 
 Lennox took no part in it. 
 
 What a damp dismal evening it was ! Rain 
 pattered incessantly against the window-panes, and 
 the wind wailed past now and then in a dreary 
 sort of way, as if it lacked energy to blow with 
 heartiness. All this was in unison with my own 
 feelings, despite our would-be fete ; for it was only 
 a month since our Maggie had gone to Africa, and 
 the sorrow of her loss was still upon me. 
 
 If upon me, how much more upon Lennox ! 
 Only, one element of pain, present in my case, was 
 absent in his. What a trouble and a cross I had 
 often been to Maggie in the past, with my excit- 
 able temperament and " sensitive " temper and 
 wilful ways. Looking back I knew it well, and 
 knew it with keen heart-ache. But I did not 
 realise in the least that such as I had been to 
 Maggie so was I still to all the others. 
 
 We had been cheerful and merry that evening, 
 notwithstanding our cares, until the postman came. 
 And now here was a fresh burden. Not so much
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. 3 
 
 in the death of uncle John, for he was an absolute 
 stranger to us, but in that which his death might 
 entail. I remember thinking bitterly to myself, 
 Should we never have any peace ? Was life to 
 be nothing but one long succession of shadows, 
 pressing thickly one upon another? We seemed 
 to have had so many. 
 
 The room was all in confusion with the boys' 
 romps. Poor little homely drawing-room, — how 
 ill suited for our large party. And yet we loved 
 it. But somehow things looked forlorn just then. 
 Mother's work-box had been tilted over, and its 
 contents lay about on the carpet; and the window- 
 curtains were pulled awry ; and the table-cloth 
 hung too much on one side ; and not a chair stood 
 in its right place. I felt fretted and teased, and 
 wished somebody would put them straight, though 
 it did not occur to me to do so myself. 
 
 My own seat was opposite the fire, and on the 
 left-hand side Francey and Ellie sat on the little 
 ottoman, with their arms twined lovingly together 
 after their usual fashion. Those two had been 
 inseparable from babyhood. We looked upon 
 them as children still ; but though small and 
 slight, and peculiarly simple-hearted and child- 
 like, they were rapidly developing into woman- 
 hood. Already Ellie's fair rosebud beauty and 
 sweet manners were threatening to win no small 
 share of admiration, though Ellie herself seemed 
 so prettily unconscious of her own attractions.
 
 4 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 t 
 
 Francey was a little deformed, from an injury to 
 her spine in early infancy ; but there was some- 
 thing very interesting, to those who knew her well, 
 in her delicate attenuated face, with its fine brow 
 and great dark sensitive eyes. 
 
 Lennox was by Mother, on the old couch, just 
 opposite the two girls. He had not uttered a 
 word yet, but only kept the letter in his hand, and 
 seemed to be studying it attentively. I can recall 
 him distinctly, as he sat leaning forward in a 
 thoughtful attitude, with the firelight setting out 
 the clear firm outline of his face and its stedfast 
 quietness of expression. There was a slightly 
 sunken look below the cheek-bones and the 
 temples. I don't suppose one among us realised 
 a tithe of the wear and tear he underwent to keep 
 us in anything like comfort. The weight rested 
 upon us also in a measure ; but he bore the brunt 
 of it. 
 
 I was marvelling that he did not at once repu- 
 diate the possibility o'f this proposed additional 
 burden ; and when we girls had given our opinion 
 pretty freely, and still he and Mother spoke not, 
 I grew impatient. 
 
 " Lennox, why don't you say something? You 
 know very well that it is absurd to think of our 
 undertaking anything of the sort." 
 
 Lennox half-smiled. 
 
 " If you know my opinion so well, Jeannie, 
 what need that I should tell it to you ?"
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. 5 
 
 " Because Mamma is worried, and so am I," 
 was my answer. " I do think it is a shame of 
 people to expect so much of others." 
 
 " j\Iy dear Jeannie, your uncle does not ask us 
 to do anything," Mother said. 
 
 "No; I know he doesn't. Tt would be more 
 honest if he did. Mamma, can't you sec? It is 
 as plain as daylight. He wants the proposal to 
 come from us rather than from him ; but he has 
 set his heart on bringing it about somehow. 
 That letter is just to pave the way." 
 
 Mother gave one of her appealing looks at 
 Lennox. She had always leant upon him and 
 Maggie with more implicit trust, in the matter of 
 advice, than upon any of her own children. 
 
 " What do you think ? Is Jeannie right ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 "/ think she is," said Francey. " It would be 
 just like uncle Amory." 
 
 " Mamma, we can't do it," I said decisively. 
 *' Uncle Amory must make some other arrange- 
 ment for Esmeralda. Just see how hard we find 
 it now to get along at all. And if we had another 
 in the house- 
 
 5> 
 
 "It isn't as if we were rich, mamma, you see," 
 put in Ellie. 
 
 " Not that uncle Amory will believe that we 
 can't afford it," I said. " He has made up his 
 mind beforehand, I suspect. And, oh Lennox, 
 did you notice that expression of his about our
 
 O THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 'diminished circle.' You see what he means. 
 Our own Maggie ! — as if any one ever could step 
 into her place ! Uncle Amory will say that if we 
 could get along with her at home, we could just 
 as well support Esmeralda now. L know exactly 
 how he will put it all. And how I should hate to 
 have Esmeralda come, with any such idea afloat. 
 Mamma, would not you ? Can't you tell uncle 
 that he must — positivel}' must — provide for her 
 himself?" 
 
 "My dear, I want to hear what Lennox thinks," 
 Mother answered, looking a little tired of the 
 excited way in which I ran on. 
 
 " Lennox, do say something," I urged. " Why 
 don't you ?" 
 
 " You seem to know more about tlie matter 
 than I do." 
 
 " Nonsense ! What do you mean ?" 
 " My dear Jeannie, I could not have told you 
 half so much of your uncle Amory's intentions 
 and motives as you have told me." 
 
 " His motives are easy enough to read," I said. 
 "Anything to save his purse and put off an 
 unwelcome burden on somebody else." 
 
 " But now that I have so much information, on 
 your authority, it may help me to a decision," he 
 went on gravely. 
 
 " I wish you would not be sarcastic," was my 
 hasty answer. 
 
 Lennox allowed the remonstrance to pass as if
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. 7 
 
 unuttered. Down in my heart I knew full well 
 that if he had given me the little rebuke otherwise 
 than lightly I should have minded it yet more. 
 But then I did not consider that a rebuke in any 
 sort was needed. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that we are never to 
 believe anything of anybody except what we see 
 plainly on the open surface ?" I said warmly. 
 
 He moved his head negatively. 
 
 " Then what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Only that I have found my own motives so 
 often misjudged as to make me cautious about 
 judging those of others. It may be as you think ; 
 but I would not be too sure beforehand." 
 
 " I haven't a grain of doubt. You don't sup- 
 pose that uncle Amory doesn't want to thrust 
 Esmeralda upon us?" 
 
 " I am afraid he may have some such thought." 
 
 "And you know it can't be." 
 
 "That is the question." 
 
 " It can't be," said I, with all a girl's impetuous 
 leaping at conclusions. " It can't, and must not, 
 and you know it can't." 
 
 " Jeannie, I want to know what Lennox really 
 does think," said Mother. 
 
 " There are two sides to the question," observed 
 Lennox deliberately, fitting the corners of the 
 letter together with great care. " One is that 
 Mr. Pleydell may give her a home. According 
 to our view of the case he ought to do so. He
 
 8 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 is in better circumstances for it than we are 
 ourselves." 
 
 "Better! I should think so! If you knew 
 what those girls spend upon their dresses!" I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Which, no doubt, leaves less ready money 
 in hand. Nevertheless he is certainly better able 
 than we are. Granted that, if you like, also that 
 the claims of relationship are the same in either 
 case." 
 
 "No, Lennox," Mother interposed softly; "that 
 is not fair. Amory and I are related to her alike ; 
 but the burden of her support would rest upon 
 you, and you have no call whatever to undertake 
 it." 
 
 " I think we may pass over that consideration," 
 said Lennox in a matter-of-fact tone. " Your 
 interests are and must be mine, and your duties 
 are mine also. But now for the other side of the 
 question." 
 
 " It has no other side," I said. " Uncle Amory, 
 and he alone, ought to provide for her." 
 
 " Granted, if you will. There is yet another 
 side. What if Mr. Pleydell absolutely refuses to 
 provide for her ?" 
 
 "He can't," I said. "It is incumbent on 
 him." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Lennox, with a 
 suddenly relaxed gesture and amused look. " Then 
 we may as well go to bed."
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. Q 
 
 This brought me to my bearings. 
 
 "I don't mean that. He can't rightly; but I 
 suppose he will. It is easy to see in his letter 
 that he will not spend a penny on her more than 
 he is absolutely obliged." 
 
 " Rash assertions again, Jeannie. But, suppos- 
 ing you prove to be in the right " 
 
 "We can't do it." 
 
 " Then what becomes of your cousin ?" 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Just think of her condition, Jeannie. Only 
 twenty-one years old ; absent all her life from 
 England ; fatherless, motherless, friendless, penni- 
 less, half-educated ! What is to become of her ? " 
 
 " She must support herself as other girls do 
 in her position," I said, trying to steel m.yself 
 against her. 
 
 "How? Mr. Pleydell describes her as utterly 
 unfit for the life of a governess, or even of com- 
 panion to a lady. She knows nothing of English 
 ways. What can she do ?" 
 
 " Suppose we had a dozen penniless cousins," 
 I said suddenly ; " would your knight-errantry go 
 so far as to make you take them all in ? " 
 
 "Wait till the dozen make their appearance. 
 Possibly some among them might have learnt to 
 spell, which it seems Esmeralda has not done 
 yet. Happily we have only one to deal with, and 
 all I want is to be clear as to the ' can ' and 
 ' ought ' of the whole affair."
 
 10 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " That is very simple," I said. '* Uncle Amory 
 can, and uncle Amory ought to, support her." 
 
 "And if he will not, upon whom does the duty 
 devolve ?" 
 
 " I think we have enough to do to keep our- 
 selves afloat," I answered. 
 
 " And yet," he said after a slight break, " if you 
 were swimming with difficulty, and saw one sinking 
 near you, would you refuse to stretch ahelpinghand, 
 — ay, though it might be your death ?" 
 
 A certain consciousness was in my mind that 
 self-preservation might in such a case prove a 
 stronger instinct than pity. But if so with me, 
 it would not be so with Lennox, I knew right 
 well. And I did not care to confess that un- 
 pleasant little glimpse into my real self. 
 
 "Mother, you don't agree with Lennox?" I 
 said abruptly. 
 
 Mother was generally a good deal troubled by 
 indecision. It was one phase of her character to 
 have great difficulty in making up her mind what 
 course to pursue. But Lennox's words seemed to 
 have carried conviction with them, for she said, — 
 
 " Yes, I do, Jeannie." 
 
 Francey sighed, and so did L To think of 
 having our dear little home broken in upon ! 
 That was the worst part of the whole concern, 
 I do believe, in our opinion. 
 
 " However, we must still hope the best," re- 
 marked Lennox, standing up. "After all, Mr.
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. II 
 
 Pleydell may be willing to take her in. If not, 
 then we must make up our minds as to our own 
 duty. I should be sorry to wrong any of you 
 out of pity for her. Mother, we must pray for 
 guidance in this." 
 
 The lowered deepened voice let me know that 
 Lennox was a good deal more disturbed than 
 appeared on the surface. It was no light question 
 to decide. 
 
 " Yes, we must pray," Mother echoed. 
 
 They, were speaking in softer tones together. 
 Francey and Ellie made a move to go to bed, and 
 when they had disappeared, I slipped away like- 
 wise. Somehow I did not feel inclined to stay. 
 But a few words from Lennox reached me as 
 I went through the door, — 
 
 "To know what His will in the matter is — " 
 
 That was what they wanted, — Mother in a 
 gentle simple fashion, often distressed and uneasy, 
 yet meekly yielding through all ; Lennox, with 
 the full strength of a manly determined nature, 
 bending submissively before his God. They 
 wanted to know what God willed, that they might 
 do His will. And they were content to do it, 
 whichever way it might point. 
 
 But I was not. I lit my candle and hurried 
 upstairs into my little bedroom. Maggie had 
 slept there with me, until the last month. Now 
 it was mine alone. Should Esmeralda be my 
 companion henceforward ? My whole soul rose
 
 12 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 in stormy opposition to the idea. I sat down 
 moodily on the bed, and sighed. 
 
 No ; I was not willing. I could not have joined 
 in the prayer, which I felt quite sure was being 
 prayed downstairs, to be shown the will of God in 
 this matter. I wanted to have my will. I wanted 
 Esmeralda not to live with us. I pitied her, of 
 course, for her story was a sad one ; but I did not 
 want to have her in our home. It was uncle 
 Amory's duty to see to her. If he did not ■ 
 
 Well ; why must the duty devolve upon us ? 
 Why had not uncle John provided for his only 
 child ? Why had he so run into debt ? Why 
 had he not given her a better education ? 
 
 Practical questions all of them. But the still 
 more practical view of the whole matter was just 
 this : Was it or was it not our duty to take this 
 burden on ourselves ? Had God called us to it, 
 or had He not ? And my heart answered that the 
 affirmative seemed probable. And my will rose 
 passionately up, and said, — It shall not be ! 
 
 It was strange how little of opposition to my 
 will I had yet known in life. Mother was always 
 so ready to yield that I was quite unaware how 
 much I really domineered over her. Maggie was 
 one of those people who never came into collision 
 with anybody, her whole life being devoted to 
 making others happy. I had never dreamt 
 of actually resisting any decision of Lennox's, but 
 he did not often exert his authority over me ;
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. I3 
 
 while Francey and Ellie and the boys had long 
 learnt the only peaceable plan of doing just what 
 I told them. 
 
 So there had been nothing hitherto to try my 
 temper or test my will, except in the matter of 
 our losses, and sorrows, and cares. Three years 
 before, the will of God had been to take our 
 Lilias and Minna and dear Papa home. And 
 I had murmured deeply in my heart, even while 
 calling myself submissive. 
 
 I doubt if I had ever truly said under these 
 trials, " Thy will be done." But the grief had been 
 inevitable. I had been compelled to accept it, 
 and to endure as best I might. It was not till, as 
 in the present case, the question of submission or 
 non-submission seemed in a measure to rest with 
 ourselves, that I realised in some faint degree the 
 flood-tide force of this unchecked earthly will of 
 mine. 
 
 And yet even in those days I was not without 
 the desire to follow after better things. Through 
 other longings and other strivings, many and 
 tumultuous, I never absolutely lost my hold upon 
 the aim to live as a child of God. And I did seek 
 to serve the Lord, but it was with no whole- 
 hearted service. Not that I was new to these 
 things. In the days of our sore troubles I had 
 known repentance, — had known the sense of 
 loving pardon, — had known, with somewhat of 
 certainty, that Christ the Saviour of the world
 
 14 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 was my Saviour, and that His blood was sufficient 
 for the cleansing of my sins. But a thick growth 
 of thorns had since sprung up, and the young 
 plant of life had waxed feeble and sickly. I had 
 become careless in seeking the daily supply of 
 heavenly oil for my lamp, and its flame was 
 flickering low and faint. I wanted to serve God, 
 but I wanted to have my own way as well. My 
 will was not in unison with His will, and as yet 
 I scarcely cared to have it so. Rather did it rise 
 up as a barrier and a hindrance, clogging my 
 steps and keeping me back when I might have 
 been pressing forward. 
 
 For a while I sat and thought, nursing and 
 encouraging my intense dislike to the thought 
 of Esmeralda Pleydell being an inmate of our 
 home. Then I rose and went to a little side- 
 table. It was my own especial province, where 
 I was wont to sit for hours, and write or draw. 
 Maggie had never used it. Her deft fingers and 
 light feet had always been blithely busy about the 
 house, helping Mother. How Mother must have 
 missed her ! It seemed so cruel of Digby Drum- 
 mond to take her awa}^, — and yet, no wonder he 
 wanted her. When Maggie was leaving us she 
 said tearfully, " My only comfort is that there will 
 be one mouth less in the house to feed." And I 
 answered, " Oh, Maggie ! how can you ? " But 
 neither of us dreamt how soon another mouth 
 would be coming to supply her place.
 
 A FIRESIDE CONSULTATION. 15 
 
 There was a small block on the table, bearing 
 a half-finished sketch of a little child in its 
 mother's arms. A small oil painting was there 
 too. Also part of a manuscript written in a 
 clear large hand, and some proof sheets partly 
 corrected, lying side by side. 
 
 One very simple little story for young children 
 had been accepted by a publisher, and was just 
 coming out. It was my first gleam of success in 
 that quarter. My drawings had been spoken about 
 very encouragingly by more than one whose 
 opinion was worth having, but as yet they 
 had brought me nothing beyond barren praise. 
 
 It was a doubtful point with me, in which line 
 my talents lay most distinctly. But I believed I 
 had talents, and I had long since made up my 
 mind that success in one line or the other, if not 
 in both, lay before me. My whole heart was set 
 upon it. The name of Jane Phillimore was to be 
 a known and honoured name. 
 
 If God willed, I used to say in my prayers. If 
 He did not so will — then I could not answer. Thy 
 will be done ! I rather dared to pray. Give me 
 my will at any cost, and let it, O God, be Thine. 
 
 Some such prayer I remember offering up that 
 evening. And I know I asked very earnestly that 
 Esmeralda might not live with us. 
 
 But there are petitions which in loving wisdom 
 God wills to deny, even to His own children.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 
 
 Uncle Amory Pleydell's house was at a consider- 
 able distance from ours — indeed, in quite another 
 part of London. Sometimes when I could man- 
 age to spare the time, and felt inclined for a chat 
 with my cousins, I walked there and back ; but it 
 was a long way, and we could not afford unneces- 
 sary omnibus fares, so they and we did not often 
 meet. I do not think this troubled me much. 
 There was very little congeniality between them 
 and us. No doubt, if my heart had been in the 
 matter, I should have managed to go oftener, as I 
 did manage with Katherine de Salvernai, who 
 lived quite as far in another direction. But then 
 Katherine, though only Lennox and Maggie's 
 cousin, and not mine, was my dearest friend, 
 whereas I cared very little for the five Pleydell 
 girls. 
 
 However, distance or no distance, uncle Amory 
 found his way to us on the following day. It was 
 a dismally wet afternoon again, and sounds of 
 hammering came up from the unused back-kitchen,
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 17 
 
 which the boys had transformed into their work- 
 shop. Francey fled, after her fashion, at the first 
 sound of the front-door knocker, but Ellie was so 
 busily engaged with Lennox, who had just re- 
 turned from his office, that she did not even 
 hear it. 
 
 " Mr. Pleydell, please, ma'am." 
 And with the announcement he walked in, 
 nodding familiarly to one and another, as he put 
 his hat upon one chair, his gloves on another, and 
 his stick on the table. He always had a sort of 
 easy good-natured way of letting us know that 
 he felt thoroughly at home in our house, and 
 doubtless we should have appreciated the same, 
 only somehow he never allowed us so to act or 
 feel in his house. Without taking the trouble to 
 shake hands with anybody except mother, though 
 we had not seen him for at least a fortnight, he 
 sat down opposite the fire, and heaved a sigh. 
 Mother echoed it gently. 
 
 "All quite well, eh?" asked uncle Amory, 
 glancing round again and spying each in turn. 
 "Jeannie at her writing, as usual, I see. Ha! 
 ha ! — we shall have you quite an authoress some 
 day — quite an authoress." 
 
 "No, I was drawing," I said shortly; and I 
 rose and put my block into a drawer, lest he 
 should ask to see it. 
 
 " An artist, then— ha ! ha! " and uncle Amory 
 seemed for a moment to enjoy the joke amazingly. 
 
 3
 
 l8 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Of course certain reports as to my little attempts 
 and aspirations had travelled to his ears, though 
 never with my consent. 
 
 " You have had a wet walk," interposed Len- 
 nox, with kind consideration for my ruffled 
 feelings. 
 
 " Raining cats and dogs, but I took a 'bus to 
 the corner; didn't get more than a sprinkling. 
 Well, Jane, sad news this about poor John, eh ? "• 
 
 He looked decorously sorrowful, blew his nose, 
 gazed into the fire, and brought down one hand 
 upon each knee with a sort of commiserating slap. 
 
 " Melancholy, dying out there all alone, — not a 
 soul near him." 
 
 " Except Esmeralda," I suggested. 
 
 " Except Esmeralda. Just so. Poor girl ! 
 Dear me, it is sad." 
 
 " Poor John," said Mother, with tears gathering 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Poor John — yes," repeated uncle Amory, 
 abstractedly. I could see that he was considering 
 how to bring about his wish respecting the 
 daughter, " Poor fellow! who would have thought 
 it twenty years ago ? " 
 
 " It seems so long to have been separated," 
 sighed Mother. 
 
 " So long — yes. And you and I are the only 
 ones left now, Jane, my dear," said uncle Amory, 
 quite affectionately. 
 
 Mother's eyes overflowed. She had had so
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. ig 
 
 little kindness in her lifetime from her two 
 brothers, that any show of tenderness overcame 
 her at once. I think she would have done any- 
 thing for him at that moment. 
 
 Was it only a show — and a show with a pur- 
 pose ? I dare not judge now, but I did not doubt 
 it then. And I saw a sudden slight contraction 
 of Lennox' brow. 
 
 " How soon will Esmeralda arrive in England ? " 
 asked Mother. 
 
 " Early next week. She was to start by the 
 first steamer after the funeral. Short notice — but 
 she had nowhere else to go. Poor John ! Well, 
 it is what we must all come to, sooner or later. 
 My wife and daughters will cost me a pretty 
 penny with their mourning, I suspect. Your 
 ladies are more economical — happily for you." 
 
 " Of necessity they are," answered Lennox, to 
 whom this remark was addressed. 
 
 " It seems strange that Esmeralda's American 
 friends should not offer to take her in for at least 
 a few days," I said. 
 
 *' Canadian, not American," corrected uncle 
 Amory, who never allowed verbal errors to slip ; 
 "Canadian friends, my dear. But the truth is, 
 poor John never did make friends. Otherwise it 
 would be very inconsiderate of Esmeralda to come 
 upon us so quickly." 
 
 And this time it was Lennox who involuntarily 
 breathed, " Poor girl ! " 
 
 3'-"
 
 20 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Uncle Amory caught at the words. 
 
 " Poor, yes. I felt sure you would feel for her. 
 In fact, I said so only last night — talking with 
 my wife, you know ; Ellinor was remarking on her 
 friendless condition. So unfortunate that my 
 hands are not more free just now; in fact, I am 
 burdened to that extent that it is simply an im- 
 possibility — that I — ahem — that we — you under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Lennox, with a very 
 evident determination to spare uncle Amory no 
 explanations. 
 
 " Impossibility — ahem — that we should receive 
 Esmeralda into our circle. A business man — a — 
 you see — has so many calls upon him. Five 
 daughters, too. Really, it is a serious difficulty 
 how to get on at all in these days. I could not 
 feel myself warranted to undertake extra expenses 
 — I couldn't, really — in conscience. My duty to 
 my wife and daughters " 
 
 Uncle Amory paused. I wondered he could 
 proceed at all under that steady half-satirical 
 gaze. 
 
 " So you see — you understand — with the best 
 will in the world, I — a — absolute impossibility." 
 
 Lennox simply waited. Mother would have 
 spoken, but I squeezed her hand, and she took 
 the hint. Not a word was uttered. 
 
 " Fact — as I was saying last night — fact is — 
 desolate condition of the poor girl," went on uncle
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 21 
 
 Amory, stumbling about vaguely over his own 
 words. " I couldn't in honour and conscience 
 undertake to support a sixth daughter just at the 
 present moment. vSo much depending on the 
 next few months. Critical crisis just at hand. 
 You are a happy man — regular income — don't 
 know anything about this sort of thing. Why, I 
 might be a bankrupt in a twelvemonth. Last 
 straw breaks the camel's back, you know. Ellinor 
 or I were remarking — I don't know which — really 
 it seems as if your sister's marriage was quite a 
 providential circumstance." 
 
 " May I ask what you understand by a provi- 
 dential circumstance, Mr. Pleydell ? " 
 
 " I — really, you put very searching questions," 
 said uncle Amory, trying to laugh, though I could 
 see he felt too anxious to do so heartily. " Isn't 
 there something, somewhere, about marriages 
 made in heaven ? " 
 
 " There are many foolish things said. This is 
 no subject for a jest," returned Lennox coldly. 
 " I trust God's blessing has truly been upon our 
 Maggie's marriage. But will you kindly explain 
 its connection with Esmeralda ?" 
 
 Ellie rose and left the room. I think it was at 
 a sign from Mother. Uncle Amory fidgeted. 
 
 "You keep one very closely to the point; capital 
 head of a committee you would make. Well, 
 really, it did occur to us that here was — ahem — a 
 gap which might be filled up, with something of
 
 22 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 advantage to all parties. By 'providential cir- 
 cumstance ' I only meant — to one believing in an 
 over-ruling Providence, you know — seems quite as 
 if one young lady had been removed elsewhere, to 
 make way for the arrival of a second ! " 
 
 And, though he did not laugh, he did smile in a 
 benignant self-satisfied way, perfectly unaware 
 that he had said anything to wound us. 
 
 I don't know what Mother felt. It did not per- 
 haps touch her quite so closely as it did me ; for 
 though her feelings were deep, they were not quick 
 or passionate. I know what I felt. It was all I 
 could do to keep my seat, and almost more than I 
 could do to keep silence. Waves of angry indig- 
 nation rose and swelled in my heart, and all but 
 broke outwardly. I knew too something of what 
 Lennox felt. There came a rush of burning crim- 
 son into my face, but I saw his turn pale as marble. 
 Was it the white-heat of passion, exceeding 
 mine ? 
 
 The words carried a special sting. For beneath 
 the man's careless ignorant utterances there 
 lurked the possibility of a terrible truth. It struck 
 coldly to my heart. Was Lennox thinking the 
 same ? God had taken from us our Maggie. Was 
 it therefore His will that we should receive Esme- 
 ralda ? If Maggie had been living still at home 
 we could not have so done. 
 
 But if there were indeed aught of truth in this, 
 what business had uncle Amory to lay his hard
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA, 23 
 
 hand upon our sorrow, and press it recklessly ? 
 He put us to such pain. I could hardly bear it, 
 or Lennox either. 
 
 "Hey?" said uncle Amory, quite unconscious 
 of the effect of his words. 
 
 There was a pause still, and then Lennox spoke 
 in a low constrained voice, — 
 
 "You wish us to understand that you altogether 
 wash your hands of your niece, and devolve your 
 duty upon us ? " 
 
 " I shall be most happy, I assure you, to do — 
 to do all in my power. If a ten-pound note " 
 
 He drew it out of his purse and laid it on the 
 table with a magnanimous air. 
 
 " Am I to understand that you are willing to 
 give Esmeralda a regular allowance ? " 
 
 " Not regular,'' said uncle Amory hastily and 
 very decisively. " When I can — conveniently. In 
 fact, we may look upon this as just a first instal- 
 ment." 
 
 The first and the last. Lennox knew that as 
 well as I did. He took up an envelope. 
 
 " Will you kindly enclose it in this, and address 
 to your niece ? I have nothing to do with it 
 myself." 
 
 " I should have preferred leaving it in your 
 charge — less ostentatious, you know," said uncle 
 Amory blandly, 
 
 A gesture answered him, — sufficiently expressive 
 without words. He did as he was told, playing
 
 24 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 with his pen by the way, and making flourishing 
 tails to his capitals. Lennox did not once raise 
 his eyes during this operation, and his bent brows 
 never relaxed. He had the look of one carrying 
 on a battle. There was no battle at all on my 
 part, for my whole soul was surging with angry 
 indignation, which I did not attempt to quell. I 
 only kept silence because I trusted Lennox to 
 manage better than I could do. That it would 
 come to our taking charge of Esmeralda in the 
 end I feared there was little doubt, but I wanted 
 uncle Amory's suspense to be prolonged. Lennox 
 would keep him for awhile on tenter-hooks — would 
 refuse immediate decision. That was what I 
 hoped. 
 
 "There! "said uncle Amory complacently, with 
 the air of one who has done a generous action. 
 "And now " 
 
 He wanted Lennox to settle the matter there 
 and then. And I was rejoicing in the thought 
 that Lennox would not do so, — that, with the quiet 
 satirical power which he possessed, he would keep 
 the other at bay; put him off; play with his 
 anxiety. He could do all this to perfection. He 
 had not used the power of late, but I knew that it 
 was his, and I felt sure he would not let slip this 
 opportunity. 
 
 How the next words startled me ! 
 
 " And now, Mr. Pleydell " 
 
 " Yes," said uncle Amory nervously.
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 25 
 
 " I accept the responsibility which you repu- 
 diate. For the present, — mark me, I do not say 
 more, — for the present Esmeralda shall find a 
 home with us." 
 
 The thing was done. No drawing back was 
 possible. Absolute astonishment kept me dumb, 
 and strong annoyance with Lennox took its place 
 beside my other sensations. 
 
 "Most generous — most kind — indeed, just what 
 I had expected, knowing you so well," murmured 
 uncle Amory. 
 
 " But I leave it in your hands to meet her and 
 bring her here." 
 
 "I was hoping — my time so much occupied — 
 if you could have managed " 
 
 "No," said Lennox decidedly; " I cannot spare 
 a day. That I leave to you." 
 
 Uncle Amory did not look particularly pleased. 
 
 " Well ; I'm sure I don't know — but I suppose 
 it will have to be." 
 
 And then we were silent. 
 
 *' Will you stay to tea, Amory?" asked Mother. 
 
 " Dear me, I'm forgetting the time," exclaimed 
 uncle Amory, starting up, glad of an excuse to 
 move. " Sorry I can't stop — got an engagement 
 to dine at the West End. Good-bye, all of you. 
 Good-bye, Jeannie ; don't wear out your brains 
 before their time. I'll take care Esmeralda reaches 
 you safely somehow. Very grateful to you for 
 your obliging readiness in this matter, Lennox.
 
 26 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 You see my difficulties, I know — should have 
 been so glad to do more, could I have seen my 
 w^ay. Good-bye." 
 
 Lennox accompanied him out to the front door, 
 and was detained there for two or three minutes 
 of confidential talk about nothing. Mother went 
 away to make tea, and I had time to indulge in a 
 little private stew of indignation which was any- 
 thing but profitable. My dear little upstairs 
 chamber, — that was what haunted me most,— 
 Maggie's and mine ! To think of my having to 
 share it with Esmeralda ! What right had Lennox 
 to saddle her upon me in that fashion, without 
 giving me the power to say yea or nay ? I don't 
 think I had ever so rebelled against a decision of his 
 before. It was all very well, he and Mother being 
 so generously ready to receive her. But neither 
 of them seemed to remember that I should be the 
 chief sufferer ! 
 
 Oh, that empire of self over self ! oh, that worship 
 of self before self, in my being ! Self reigned upon 
 self's throne. Self bowed down at self's footstool. 
 
 Lennox came back again with a somewhat heavy 
 step and burdened look. I fancy he thought the 
 room empty, for I was back in the shade. He 
 walked up to the fireplace, rested his arm on the 
 mantelpiece, and gave one short deep sigh. There 
 was more in it than mere weariness, though how 
 much more I did not then care to fathom. I was 
 thinking more about myself than about him.
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 27 
 
 " Lennox, how could you ? " I asked abruptly ; 
 and he started a little to find that he was not 
 alone. 
 
 " How could I what?" 
 
 " Let uncle Amory have his own way so easily. 
 He will think he can do anything with you now." 
 
 " He will find his mistake, then." 
 
 " Why didn't you at least keep him in suspense 
 for a time?" 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 " He deserved it." 
 
 " Possibly. I can't judge what his deserts may 
 be." 
 
 " Didn't you feel inclined ?" I asked shortly. 
 
 " Too much. I found the temptation so strong, 
 that it was impossible not to recognise it as temp- 
 tation." 
 
 Something of rebuke to me lay beneath the 
 words, and I did not relish it. " Where do you 
 mean Esmeralda to sleep ?" I asked. 
 
 Man-like he had not thought of that. I could 
 hardly see his face in the shadow of the mantel- 
 piece, but perplexity was plainly written there. 
 He could not make up his mind to answer, 
 " Where Maggie slept." 
 
 " You and Mother must settle that. Is there 
 any difficulty ?" 
 
 " If you mean her to step into Maggie's place, 
 and sleep with me, I think I might have been 
 allowed a voice in the matter."
 
 28 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I could hear my own watch ticking in the 
 silence that followed. 
 
 " I am sorry if I have been too precipitate," he 
 said at length. " It seemed to me the right thing. 
 After all, I don't know " 
 
 A sudden movement brought his face out of the 
 shade, and I caught a glimpse of purple pain- 
 shadows under his eyes. I relented a little, 
 though too proud to show it. 
 
 " Has uncle Amory given you a headache, or 
 have you had one all day ?" 
 
 " No ; only the last half-hour. What are we to 
 do about this sleeping business ?" 
 
 " I don't know." My tone was hard. 
 
 " Will you talk it over with Mother ? " 
 
 " Really, Lennox, when you have settled the 
 matter so far without reference to me, 3''ou may 
 as well settle the rest." 
 
 He looked excessively harassed, and rested his 
 forehead on his hand. I hated myself for the 
 temper I was showing, and yet it seemed as if I 
 had no power of self-control. 
 
 " Of course, Jeannie, I cannot force Esmeralda 
 upon you as a companion in your room, if you are 
 resolved against it. We must think of another 
 plan." 
 
 " No other plan is possible. We haven't a 
 spare corner." 
 
 " Then what is to be done ? I cannot and will 
 not draw back."
 
 WHAT TO DO WITH ESMERALDA. 29 
 
 " I don't know. That is your business." 
 
 There was a sound of longing for Maggie in his 
 sigh. She would have put things straight imme- 
 diately. It seems to me that the world is divided 
 into two classes : those belonging to the one being 
 always engaged in raking up difficulties, and 
 those belonging to the other in smoothing them 
 down. I belonged to the former class, and Maggie 
 to the latter. 
 
 " What makes you dislike Esmeralda's coming 
 so much ?" asked Lennox. 
 
 " Everything. I can't bear strangers. And I 
 detest the whole concern, just because it is all 
 uncle Amory's doing." 
 
 " I don't look upon it in that light." 
 
 " Don't you ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 And then it flashed across me what he did 
 mean ; and I started up, saying, " But it is tea- 
 time." 
 
 And I went to the door; and then, under a 
 udden impulse, I turned back. 
 
 " Lennox, " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Do you think it is that?" 
 
 " What ? I don't understand." 
 
 " W^hat uncle Amory said. That Maggie — that 
 Esmeralda " 
 
 Somehow I never could easily express myself in 
 anything bearing upon religion. Lennox looked 
 confused, as he was sometimes apt to do, when
 
 30 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 those sudden and acute headaches came on. He 
 had only been subject to them for about a year. 
 
 "That Maggie — our Maggie — was taken from 
 us to make room for Esmeralda. If you want 
 to make me hate her outright, you will say, Yes." 
 
 " I can neither say ' yes ' nor ' no,' " was the 
 serious answer. " It is enough for me to know that 
 my Master has given Maggie a happy home, and 
 that He seems to be calling us to this little piece of 
 self-denial for Him, His purposes are beyond my 
 grasp. It is enough for me to trust and to obey." 
 
 " But you don't mind — you are willing " 
 
 " I have my own will in the matter; but I dare 
 not ask or wish for it to be granted, if it is con- 
 trary to His will." 
 
 And then he moved in his turn towards the door. 
 I did not want them to know in the dining-room 
 how I had worried him. 
 
 " Esmeralda will have to sleep with me, of 
 course, if she comes at all," I said ungraciously. 
 " There is no other way." 
 
 "Then I may consider it settled?" he asked, 
 evidently thankful to avoid further discussion. 
 
 " If it must be, it must," I answered. 
 
 But if I felt it to be inevitable, why could I not 
 give way pleasantly, instead of bringing a cloud 
 upon the household by my gloomy annoyance all 
 that evening ?
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OUR NEW INMATE. 
 
 Early next week Esmeralda Pleydell made her 
 appearance. 
 
 Uncle Amory sent her on to us, in a fly, from 
 his house, with her solitary huge box. He paid 
 the fare generously, and doubtless considered 
 thenceforward that he had done his duty by her. 
 Mother and Ellie were out walking when she 
 arrived, and Francey was lying down, so I had to 
 welcome her alone. I knew I ought to be kind 
 and cordial, but somehow I felt frigid as ice. 
 
 My first impression was of a slight-made girl, 
 under medium height, with a great quantity of 
 untidily-dressed and strongly-golden hair; a rough 
 short jacket, and a black skirt hanging in awk- 
 ward folds, which teased my rather artistic eyes. 
 My cold manner acted upon her instantaneously. 
 One glance ran me over from head to foot, and a 
 limp hand-shake and chilly kiss passed between 
 us. She just offered one cheek, and moved away 
 almost before I could touch it. 
 
 There was some difficulty about the box. The
 
 32 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 cabman grumbled at having to lift it, and utterly 
 refused to carry it upstairs. Indeed, I did not 
 know where it could be put, even had he been 
 willing. So it stood against the wall in our 
 narrow passage, barely allowing space for one 
 person to squeeze by. Esmeralda took the matter 
 very coolly. I suppose she was well used to such 
 things in her rough Canadian life, but it vexed 
 me to see how little she seemed to consider the 
 inconvenience to which she was putting us. 
 
 " Would you like to come and warm yourself in 
 the drawing-room ? " I asked, when the cabman 
 was gone. 
 
 " Thank you." And we walked in together and 
 sat down on the sofa. Esmeralda pulled off her 
 gloves, and bent forward, holding her chilled blue 
 fingers to the blaze. I examined her face fur- 
 tively, while she was taking an open unabashed 
 survey of our poor little homely room. " Plain and 
 uninteresting," was my silent verdict. " She has 
 a pretty complexion, to be sure; but her features 
 are quite irregular, and her eyes are too light a 
 blue. They don't seem to have any expression in 
 them, except calm curiosity. Her eyelashes are 
 very long and thick, and if they were dark instead 
 of light I should admire them ; but I never do 
 admire light eyelashes and eyebrows. And her 
 forehead is too low, or she makes it look so, by 
 the way she brings her hair forward. Her mouth 
 is really the best part of her face, but there is
 
 OUR NEW INMATE. ^^ 
 
 something singular about it too. Obstinacy — I 
 don't know whether it is that, or temper, I am 
 sure there are possibilities of temper in those 
 
 eyes. Her figure isn't bad, but " and a softer 
 
 voice, farther back in my mind, took up the 
 sentence, and concluded in a whisper, " Not so 
 good as mine.'' 
 
 "Which of my cousins are you?" asked 
 Esmeralda suddenly, having apparently satisfied 
 her mind with respect to the room, and being free 
 to bestow her attention upon myself. 
 
 "Jane," I replied. 
 
 "The eldest?" 
 
 " Except two." 
 
 " How many younger are there ? " 
 
 " Four." 
 
 " What are your ages ? " 
 
 " I am twenty. Francey and Ellie are seven- 
 teen and sixteen, the boys fourteen and twelve." 
 
 " Do you belong to the first family or the 
 second ? " 
 
 I felt as if I were being catechised, and par- 
 ticularly disliked it. "The second; but we don't 
 count that it makes any difference. Lennox and 
 Maggie are just the same to us that we are to one 
 another." 
 
 " They are only your half-brother and half- 
 sister." 
 
 " We don't count them so. We all love one 
 another alike."
 
 34 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Esmeralda's eyes looked amused, I thought, in 
 a cool dry sort of a way — whether at me or my 
 words I knew not. 
 
 " Isn't one married ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Maggie was married to Digby Drum- 
 mond a few weeks ago, and went to Africa." 
 
 " Are any of the others like you ? " 
 
 The tone implied that she hoped not, or at 
 least I fancied so. I brought her a photograph 
 album from the table. " You can judge for your- 
 self," I said. " These were taken last year." 
 
 " Is that aunt Jane ? How sweet-looking ! 
 You have not told me anything yet about Lennox, 
 or Mr. Phillimore, whichever I am to call him." 
 
 " Lennox has an appointment as secretary." 
 
 " To a nobleman ? " 
 
 " O no, — a society." 
 
 " Isn't he in any profession ? " 
 
 " He went through college, and had been 
 travelling for a year, and was just going to be 
 ordained, when Papa died. That altered every- 
 thing." I knew Esmeralda must hear these 
 things, and I was steeling myself to tell her as 
 shortly and drily as I could. 
 
 " How?" 
 
 " There was nothing for us to live upon. Len- 
 nox could not have supported us on a curate's 
 income. And this secretaryship offered itself." 
 
 "Then did he give up the thoughts of being a 
 clergyman ? I don't like that."
 
 OUR NEW INMATE. 35 
 
 " It was not by choice. He had all of us 
 depending on him. It was only said to be put 
 off, but there does not seem any prospect of its 
 becoming possible." 
 
 " I don't like him for doing it. He ought not 
 to have turned aside." 
 
 " I do not see that you have any right to con- 
 demn him," I said, restraining stronger words 
 which were fast rising to my lips. " For any lighter 
 reason it would have been wrong. He could not 
 leave us to starve. You know nothing of the 
 particulars." 
 
 " How long ago was this ? " 
 
 " Over three years." 
 
 " What did your father die of? " 
 
 " Scarlet fever." 
 
 " Nobody else ? " 
 
 "Yes, Lilias and Minna." 
 
 " Where did they come in age ? " 
 
 "After me." 
 
 " Were they twins ? " 
 
 " Yes. Esmeralda, I can't talk about them to 
 you yet," I said, half choked. 
 
 " Don't call me that. Esma is my name. 
 What a lovely face ! Whose is it ? " 
 
 " Maggie's." 
 
 " Maggie Drummond ? She is sweet." 
 
 " Ellie is thought like her." 
 
 " I am glad of that. I like a pretty face to look 
 at. Who is this ? Mr. Drummond, I suppose. 
 
 4*
 
 36 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 What a fine face he has, — quite noble, only there 
 is something sad about the outline here. Look." 
 
 " That is Lennox." 
 
 "Mr. Phillimore?" She studied the carte 
 attentively in different lights. "There is some- 
 thing quite unusual about the contour — I don't 
 know what it is precisely." 
 
 " He is very like a picture of one of his 
 ancestors," I said. " His mother came from an 
 old French family. There is a picture of a 
 French Count de Salvernai, who was driven over 
 to England by persecution in the reign of James 
 the Second. The old family history and some 
 portraits have been handed down." 
 
 " Who has them ? " 
 
 " Lennox' uncle, Mr. Claire de Salvernai." 
 
 " Where does he live ? " 
 
 " In London. He is quite an invalid, and ver}^ 
 poor; and he has one daughter, Katherine." 
 
 " What is she like ? " 
 
 " She is my greatest friend." 
 
 " What makes Mr. Phillimore look so sad in 
 his photo ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think he does. It 
 isn't his way." 
 
 "Is he lively ? Are you a lively family ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. You had better wait 
 and see for yourself," I said, getting out of 
 patience. " Would you like to come upstairs, 
 and take off your hat ? " 
 
 £^1
 
 OUR NEW INMATE. 37 
 
 " If you wish. I can take it off here just as 
 well." 
 
 She pulled off the little round thing of black 
 straw, and hung it on the back of her chair as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " You had better come," I said, getting per- 
 plexed what to do with her. 
 
 " Don't you like telling me about yourselves ? 
 I shall have to know it all now, if I live with you. 
 However, you have given me some general 
 notions." 
 
 " You can fill up the gaps from personal obser- 
 vation," I said. "Would you like to come up- 
 stairs ? " 
 
 Esmeralda laughed. "You seem determined 
 on a move. One would think you had no end of 
 family secrets to guard. Very well, I am ready." 
 
 I wished then that I had not pressed it ; but 
 she rose and led the way herself into the passage, 
 and just at that instant Mother entered the front 
 door. 
 
 " You don't say she has come ! My dear 
 child ! " 
 
 Mother's welcome was just all that it ought to 
 have been. She received Esmeralda straight into 
 her arms, and kissed her right lovingly. And 
 then she took a good look at her, — only not such 
 a look as mine had been, and not with the same 
 result. Esmeralda's delicate complexion, which 
 had been pale hitherto, flushed up now with a
 
 38 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 brilliant pink in the cheeks, making the white 
 look whiter by contrast, and tears shone visibly 
 on her long fair eyelashes, and her light-coloured 
 eyes seemed suddenly to darken and deepen. I 
 could not deny even to myself that she certainly 
 did look " rather pretty." 
 
 *' My dear child ! " Mother repeated more than 
 once. And she put up a hand, and smoothed 
 back a wavy lock from the girl's forehead. " Dear 
 child, I am so glad to have you. I wish I had 
 been at home to give you the first welcome; but 
 we did not know exactly when you w^ould arrive. 
 How like you are to your father when he was 
 young — in features I mean, for you are not a 
 Pleydell in colouring. You have made Jeannie's 
 acquaintance, of course, and here is Ellie. I 
 want you not to look upon any of us as strangers. 
 Have you come straight from the ship ? Did 
 Uncle Amory give you lunch ? No ! What could 
 he have been thinking about ! Then Jeannie has 
 seen to your wants ? " 
 
 " I thought she had dined, of course," I said. 
 " At least, I did not think about it." 
 
 ** I am in no hurry. Don't disarrange any- 
 thing," said Esmeralda. " Backwoodsmen are 
 used to irregular meals," and she laughed. 
 
 " My dear, I could not think of letting you 
 wait." And Mother hurried away, pursued by 
 Ellie with offers of assistance. So I was left a 
 second time with Esmeralda on my hands. She
 
 OUR NEW INMATE. 39 
 
 turned to me again, cool and quiet as before, 
 saying,— 
 
 " Now I can go upstairs." 
 
 I led the way without a word. It was a small 
 slip of a room in which I slept, long and narrow, 
 with a double bed at one end, and the door close 
 beside it, and the fireplace at the other end. In the 
 middle of one side stood my private writing-table, 
 close under the window. The chest of drawers, 
 cupboard, dressing-table, washhand-stand, and two 
 chairs, fairly filled up all remaining space, except 
 a little necessary room for moving about. Maggie 
 and I had done very well there together. Esme- 
 ralda and I might not do quite so well. She 
 looked round with one quick glance. 
 
 " Am I to sleep with you ?" 
 
 " Yes. There isn't another spare corner in the 
 house." 
 
 She turned from me, and went to the window. 
 I have often thought since that it might have 
 been to hide something of distress. She had 
 always been accustomed to a room alone, and 
 doubtless her future companion appeared to her 
 that day in anything but fascinating colours. 
 I was thinking a great deal of the trial as it 
 concerned myself, but perhaps it was greater to 
 her than to me.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 " There will be hardly room for my box up here," 
 said Esmeralda, suddenly facing me again. 
 
 " No," I said ; " it must go down into the back 
 kitchen. I have cleared out some of these 
 drawers for you." In fact, I had removed all my 
 own things into the receptacles which had once 
 appertained to Maggie, leaving my own free for 
 Esmeralda. I could not bear her to step into 
 Maggie's place. 
 
 "Then my best plan will be to unpack the 
 box in the hall, and carry the things up here. 
 What a nice little side-table ! Is this your draw- 
 ing?" 
 
 My blood boiled to see her calmly fingering my 
 possessions. Even Maggie had never meddled 
 with that table. " Esmeralda ! those things are 
 all mine." 
 
 " So I supposed. That is a pretty little sketch, 
 only there is something rather odd about the 
 perspective." 
 
 I just walked up to her, took the picture out of
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 4I 
 
 her hand, and laid it face downwards upon the 
 table. If I had spoken at that moment I verily 
 believe I should have flown into a passion. 
 Esmeralda looked straight at me with genuine 
 surprise. 
 
 "Can't you stand criticism? That is a pity. 
 I have always heard that real genius and great 
 minds never shrink from it. Not that I know," 
 she added, with her composed little laugh. " / 
 am not clever at all in any way." 
 
 " I do not mind criticism from those who are 
 competent to give it," I said coolly. 
 
 " If I am not competent, then my remark 
 matters so little that it is not worth your annoy- 
 ance," said Esmeralda, with quickness. 
 
 Clever or no, the girl had the upper hand of me. 
 I wished I could have said, " I am not annoyed ;" 
 but it would have been untrue, so I remained 
 silent. 
 
 "Do you write as well as draw?" asked 
 Esmeralda, moving a small pile of papers. " That 
 looks like manuscript," 
 
 " Yes," was my short answer. 
 
 " Have you printed anything yet ?" 
 
 " One book is coming out this spring." 
 
 "A novel?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Esmeralda caught sight of a proof sheet, and 
 took a look at it, never seeming to doubt that she 
 was at liberty to do so.
 
 42 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Oh, I see : only a story for children." 
 She put it down, and turned away, as if it were 
 not worth her attention. I was just as much 
 nettled by her indifference as I had been by her 
 over-interest. What perverse creatures we are ! 
 What a specially perverse creature was Jane 
 Phillimore ! Self-worship was at the bottom of 
 it all, however. 
 
 A nice little luncheon awaited Esmeralda in 
 the dining-room. Mother was called away to 
 a visitor ; so she left Ellie and me in charge. 
 The two boys just rushed in to shake hands and 
 then rushed out again. They were deep in the 
 delightful mystery of rigging out a dainty little 
 three-decker, to be presented as a birthday gift 
 to Katherine de Salvernai, and Esmeralda's very 
 existence was a secondary matter with them. I 
 sat grave and silent at the head of the table, 
 seeing Esmeralda's wants attended to but making 
 no effort to entertain her. Ellie was shy, but the 
 continued silence distressed her notions of pro- 
 priety, and she brought out an occasional remark 
 with a pretty rose-colour mantling her cheek. 
 Esmeralda seemed equally ready to converse or 
 to abstain from conversation, and responded at 
 once to Ellie's efforts. And then Francey ap- 
 peared, and I saw Esmeralda's scrutinising glance 
 run all over her from head to foot. Francey 
 could not stand it, and beat a hasty retreat almost 
 immediately.
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 43 
 
 " What an interesting-looking girl ! " was Esme- 
 ralda's comment. " Is that Frances ? I thought 
 she was a child, from the way uncle Amory 
 spoke." 
 
 " Francey and I are both children, — are we 
 not?" said Ellie, with a glance at me. "We 
 want to be children as long as we can." 
 
 " Most people are in a hurry to grow old, till 
 they are old enough to wish to be young again," 
 said Esmeralda. 
 
 "But not Francey and I," said Ellie, in her 
 soft way, with the dreamy look in her blue eyes 
 which was almost habitual. " We're mammy's 
 fledgelings still." 
 
 "What is the matter with Frances?" asked 
 Esmeralda, after an admiring but, as I considered, 
 non-appreciative glance at Ellie. 
 
 " Hush ! Oh, the door is open," exclaimed 
 Ellie, starting up in alarm, and she went to close 
 it, while I remarked, — 
 
 " You must make no allusions in her hearing, 
 Esmeralda. Frances is ver}^ sensitive." 
 
 " But what is wrong?" 
 
 " She had an accident when she was a child, 
 and the spine has never been right since." 
 
 " What a pity. She would not have a bad 
 figure if her shoulders were not so high ; and she 
 looks so clever ; I am sure she must be the genius 
 of the family." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Jeannie is our genius," said Ellie
 
 44 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 merrily. " She is going to do all sorts of wonder- 
 ful things." 
 
 "Frances looks like the genius," persisted 
 Esmeralda. 
 
 " Do you want any more ?" I asked abruptly. 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " Then I had better ring for the things to be 
 cleared away." 
 
 "And I had better go and unpack my box. 
 Somebody will be tumbling over it out in the 
 passage." 
 
 Mother reappeared, and could not honestly deny 
 that it would be a great comfort to have the huge 
 thing put away. Ellie eagerly offered to be of 
 use in the transport of the contents upstairs, and 
 her services were accepted, with slight thanks, 
 as a matter of course. I could not resolve to 
 offer mine also. It did not seem to be my 
 business to wait upon Esmeralda. At least, pride 
 maintained that it was not. 
 
 The box was curiously packed, with heavy 
 things at the top and light things at the bottom — 
 delicate breakable articles flung carelessly in 
 among piles of clothing, and some apparently 
 valuable bracelets and brooches tossing loosely 
 about in the mass of confusion. Yet somehow 
 nothing seemed to be broken or lost, and not a 
 dress looked tumbled. Esmeralda pulled out 
 each in turn, gave it a slight shake, and laid it on 
 the floor till Ellie could carry it away for her. 

 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 45 
 
 1 thought this going rather far. " Ellie, you will 
 be quite tired," I said. " Cannot Kitty help ?" 
 
 " Oh, no; she is busy, and I love to be useful," 
 said Ellie brightly. 
 
 " Oh, here is my diamond ring ! I could not 
 think where it was." 
 
 *' How pretty," said Ellie. " But cousin Esme- 
 ralda, were you not afraid of losing it ?" 
 
 " My things never get lost. I knew I had put 
 it in, and it could not walk out by itself. I was 
 sure I should come to it in time." 
 
 " Who gave it to you ?" I asked. 
 
 Esmeralda was fitting the ring on her finger, 
 and did not speak. I guessed the truth, that it 
 had been her mother's, and I said no more. 
 
 By this time the hall was completely strewn 
 with odds and ends, for the box was emptied much 
 more quickly than its contents could be con- 
 veyed upstairs. And in the midst of this scene 
 of confusion the front door opened, and Lennox 
 walked in. 
 
 Mother had just vanished to hunt up the in- 
 visible Francey, and in her absence I ought no 
 doubt to have performed some sort of introduction, 
 seeing that I was Esmeralda's cousin and he 
 was not. However, I forgot my duty, and they 
 managed without. She rose from her cramped 
 position, not in the least embarrassed, and gave 
 him a quiet half-inquiring glance, as if doubtful 
 how he would meet her. But his exceedingly
 
 46 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 kind and courteous bow brought a sudden change 
 into her manner. Her eyes fell, and a faint colour 
 rose in her cheeks. And before either of them 
 could speak, Ellie came running downstairs, and 
 sprang past Esmeralda to his side. 
 
 " O, Lennox ! " she exclaimed, with the little 
 joyous note and eager kiss which she always 
 accorded him on his return. " It doesn't rain 
 to-night ; does it ? Your coat feels dry. Lennox, 
 Esmeralda has come ! Cousin Esmeralda, this is 
 our Lennox." 
 
 She spoke the little word "our" so proudly, 
 yet so simply, as she stood by his side, doing in 
 her childish way the thing which I ought not to 
 have forgotten. Ellie never seemed to think there 
 was any one in the world like Lennox. Francey 
 was her darling companion, but Lennox was 
 almost her idol. And her love was returned in full 
 measure. I saw his hand steal tenderly over the 
 back of her glossy brown hair for a moment, 
 before he stepped across a pile of clothing and 
 held it out to Esmeralda. 
 
 " Am I to reckon you as my cousin, Mr. Philli- 
 more?" 
 
 He bent his head again. I could not make out 
 whether or no he liked her. There was nothing 
 of particular admiration in his expression, but a 
 great deal of cordial kindly welcome — the welcome 
 of the master of the house. She evidently appre- 
 ciated it.
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 47 
 
 " Certainly. As your cousin, Lennox Phillimore. 
 There are no differences reckoned among us." 
 
 " Then I am Esma to you, as to the rest." 
 
 " Too soon for that," I thought ; but Lennox 
 simply answered, " If you wish." 
 
 " Has it been a very hard day's work ? " asked 
 Ellie, with her fingers on his arm. 
 
 " Pretty well." 
 
 *' And you are tired ?" 
 
 " Not too tired to act as additional carrier for 
 some of these things." 
 
 "Oh, no, if you please; I could not think of 
 it," said Esma, drawing back. 
 
 "No; it isn't gentleman's work," said Ellie. 
 " Make haste and get ready, Lennox, and have a 
 little rest before tea." 
 
 Esma stepped aside to let him pass through the 
 narrow passage between the box and the wall. She 
 stood thoughtfully for a minute after he was gone. 
 
 " Don't you mean to finish your unpacking?" 
 I asked ; and she lifted her eyes to mine. 
 
 "Yes; I was thinking. You are right. He 
 has the look of noblesse about him, — blue blood, 
 isn't it ? such as we hear of, but don't see in 
 America. He is a born count. But the sad look 
 is there, and I like him the better for it." 
 
 She spoke with a sort of composed quiet in- 
 terest, just as she would have done in criticising 
 a portrait. But I did not like her the better for 
 her words.
 
 48 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Lennox is no count, even by descent," I said. 
 "The title in a French family does not go in the 
 female line. Katherine de Salvernai is a countess, 
 if you like — and we often call her so." 
 
 " I don't know anything about her. I have not 
 seen her. He looks like it, whatever she does." 
 
 And then Esma set to work expeditiously, and 
 soon reached the bottom of the box. The two 
 boys were called into requisition to remove the 
 now useless piece of lumber down to the back 
 kitchen, which task they accomplished with some 
 difficulty and much merriment. Ellie carried up- 
 stairs the last pile of clothes from the hall floor ; 
 and I followed, to find my once peaceful domain 
 looking as if a tornado had whirled through it, 
 leaving everything upside down. 
 
 " Esmeralda, how will you ever get the room 
 straight to-night ?" I asked in despair. 
 
 "Nohow at all, I suspect, "responded Esmeralda, 
 lifting her long eyelashes to look at me calmly. 
 
 " If you can sleep in this sort of confusion, I 
 am sure I can't." 
 
 " I can sleep anywhere, happily ; but I am sure 
 I shall be very much obliged to you if you feel 
 disposed to do away with the mess." 
 
 She pulled out from the mass of confusion a 
 black evening dress, thin in texture, and, though 
 heavily trimmed with crape, hardly suitable I 
 thought to be worn so soon after the loss of a 
 father. However, she did not ask my opinion,
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 49 
 
 but quietly pinned fresh ruffles in the neck and 
 and sleeves ; and then proceeded to let down 
 before the looking-glass a magnificent profusion 
 of hair. I really was startled at the length and 
 thickness of those deep gold waves, and I saw 
 her steal a glance at me as if for admiration ; but 
 I allowed none of m.y surprise to appear. So she 
 began in a leisurely style to twist it up again ; 
 while I sat upon my bed, between opposing piles 
 of dresses and jackets, debating with myself which 
 of us two would be the most punished by my 
 declining to assist in necessary arrangements. 
 Pride absolutely won the day against my own 
 proper inclinations. I could not resolve to wait 
 upon Esmeralda. 
 
 The summons to tea came before I had thought 
 of changing my dress. We did not invariably 
 follow the custom when by ourselves, so I paid 
 little heed to the matter, and went down as I was 
 in my heavy black serge — for of course we were 
 all in mourning for uncle John. I felt myself 
 immediately an incongruous element there. Every- 
 body else wore something of festive trim in honour 
 of Esmeralda's arrival. Even Mother, though her 
 soft plain black merino never varied, had donned 
 a fresh cap for the occasion. I fancied I caught 
 a passing glance of disapproval from Lennox as 
 I took my seat behind the urn. It had been 
 Maggie's seat awhile back, and how differently 
 she would have filled it that evening ! She 
 
 5
 
 50 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 would have been a bright spot where I was a 
 dark one. 
 
 I caught myself watching Lennox jealously, 
 lest he should admire Esmeralda, for I did not 
 want her to be admired. Yet I could not but be 
 aware of her attractions. Somehow, that half- 
 transparent black dress seemed just made to set 
 off her snow-white skin and bright colour. I 
 preferred darker hair as a matter of personal taste, 
 but there was no denying the beauty of this rare 
 rich mass of gold ; and though it had been fastened 
 up in any sort of fashion during the day, its 
 present arrangement was elaborately simple and 
 simply elaborate, in massive coils and becoming 
 twists. The eyes, which had seemed to me so 
 cold and pale a blue, now shone with bright warm 
 lustre, and the pink tinting of her cheeks might 
 have rivalled painting on the purest porcelain. 
 
 But I could make out nothing of what Lennox 
 thought concerning her. He was all gentlemanly 
 courtesy and cousinly kindness, and nothing more 
 and nothing less. Ellie, our fair opening rosebud, 
 on his other hand, was a curious contrast to 
 Esmeralda. Her brown hair was only smooth 
 and glossy as silk, with no gold or waviness about 
 it, just coiled neatly round the beautifully-shaped 
 little head ; and though she was fair, she had not 
 Esmeralda's dazzling whiteness, and the gentle 
 flush which came and went in her cheek was not 
 brilliant. I thought the soft purity of outline 
 
 m
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS. 51 
 
 and the sweet careless dreamy repose of expres- 
 sion were worth tenfold any amount of more 
 meteor-like brilliancy. So at least I told myself; 
 but all might not be found to agree with me — and 
 I knew this well. 
 
 After tea Lennox retired as usual to his daven- 
 port in the corner of the drawing-room, where he 
 almost invariably spent the evenings in writing. 
 I was glad to see that he made no difference for 
 Esma's presence — but in truth the said presence 
 made his work more needful than ever. Esma 
 looked rather flat, I thought, for a minute ; and 
 then Mother drew her into a long talk about her 
 Canadian home and uncle John. Ellie stole out 
 of the room, and did not reappear for an hour. 
 Nobody knew what she had been after, till late at 
 night, when Esma and I found our room as neat 
 as wax, with everything folded up and put care- 
 fully away, as at the touch of a fairy's wand. 
 Peace-making Ellie had saved us from something 
 of a household stir that evening, assuredly ; for 
 displeasure had been brewing in my mind hour 
 after hour, as I sat over my drawing, and ex- 
 changed few words with Esma. Happily it found 
 nothing to feed upon.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DISCORDANCE. 
 
 Those were not happy weeks following upon 
 Esmeralda's arrival in our midst. 
 
 Most of the unhappiness was my own fault — I 
 do not say all. I had determined to dislike her, 
 and everything she did or said was harshly pre- 
 judged in my mind. But, apart from that, and 
 even with the kindest disposition on my part to- 
 wards her, she could hardly have been anything 
 but a trial to me, or I to her — at least until there 
 had been time for a measure of assimilation. 
 There was something in our two natures which 
 caused them of necessity to jar upon and fret one 
 another. 
 
 Loving forbearance might have kept the peace 
 between us — only we did not love ; and I showed 
 no forbearance towards her, and she made no 
 effort to avoid annoying me. I think she rather 
 knew her power, and exercised it purposely. Still 
 I blame myself far more than her ; for Esmeralda 
 made no profession whatever of leading a Christ-
 
 DISCORDANCE. 53 
 
 like life, while I — I counted myself to be one of 
 the followers of the lowly Jesus. How sorely do 
 such followers dishonour His name among men ! 
 
 They were very little matters about which we 
 disagreed, or from which unpleasantness sprang. 
 Esmeralda had a sort of cool manner of taking 
 things as her right, which vexed me beyond ex- 
 pression. She was six months my senior ; but, 
 then, I was the eldest daughter of the house, and 
 she was only a poor penniless cousin, taken in 
 out of kindness. Nevertheless she unhesitatingly 
 presumed upon those six months, and took upon 
 her the standing of an elder sister in a quiet easy 
 fashion. She gave her opinion readily, and criti- 
 cised my performances without mercy, and with a 
 certain sting in her words, though she did not 
 possess aught of real critical power. But a gnat- 
 bite, though it be not a scorpion-sting, has yet its 
 power to worry. 
 
 There was an odd mixture of acuteness and 
 dulness about her. An utterly neglected educa- 
 tion made it impossible to say what her natural 
 gifts might be, but she certainly showed no lean- 
 ing towards intellectual pursuits. Nevertheless 
 she had managed to pick up enough of stray infor- 
 mation to enable her to pass current in society ; 
 and, after the fashion of people not much bur- 
 dened with knowledge, her views, if not deeply 
 rooted, were always strongly stated. Sometimes 
 she would make assertions which I believed to be
 
 54 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 utterly opposed to the truth ; and if I entered on 
 the task of convincing her, which I was apt to do, 
 being somewhat dogmatic in my own opinions, 
 she always stuck to her point with unreasoning 
 pertinacity, unable or utterly refusing to see the 
 logic of the question. The discussion generally 
 ended in loss of temper on both sides — first, alas! 
 on mine. 
 
 Hardest of all to bear, she set herself to step 
 into Maggie's empty place. Something of pain 
 was here allowable on my part, but anger too 
 often mingled with the pain. Mother never saw 
 the matter as I did. She had taken a fancy to 
 the girl, and Esmeralda with Mother was a dif- 
 ferent person altogether from Esmeralda with me. 
 But may not this have been my own fault ? What 
 a different welcome had we two accorded her ! 
 
 Esma was very clever with her fingers. She 
 had quite a natural gift for cutting-out, and 
 making old things look like new, and trimming 
 hats and bonnets. That was the sort of work 
 which had always fallen to Maggie's share, and 
 now Esmeralda undertook it. Perhaps it was 
 partly her way of doing the thing which irritated 
 me, for the thing itself should rather have roused 
 my gratitude. She saved Mother a great deal of 
 trouble, and left me more leisure for my own 
 concerns; and I do think she meant it kindly, and 
 wanted to do her best to help us all. Only she' 
 had a certain want of tact which made her some-
 
 DISCORDANCE. 55 
 
 times wound us unconsciously. Us ! — for I know 
 she put Lennox to pain as well. I have seen him 
 flush up many a time at her calm assumption that 
 she might do whatever Maggie had done. But 
 I would not and could not ascribe to her kind 
 motives and right intentions, as he always per- 
 sisted in doing. 
 
 Mother took me to task one day — gently, yet 
 firmly. I think she must have been a long time 
 making up her mind to it ; and I remember her 
 dear face looking very pale when she began. She 
 would not flinch from her duty, however. 
 
 So she told me quite plainly how grieved she 
 was to see so much of this jarring and disagree- 
 ment between Esma and me. The example was 
 so bad for the younger ones, and it brought quite 
 a shadow on the house. She could not under- 
 stand it, for Esma seemed to get on very plea- 
 santly with all the other members of the family. 
 Why was it that I alone disliked her ? Whatever 
 I felt, I was old enough to exercise more self- 
 control. Mother had never seen so much temper 
 in me before, and it made her very unhappy. 
 Would I not think the matter over earnestly, and 
 pray about it ? She was sure I had not been 
 always quite kind or fair to Esma. Perhaps 
 Esma might try me a little ; but could I not make 
 allowances, and win her by love ? Anything 
 would be better than to go on as we were then 
 doint 
 
 ig-
 
 56 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I listened without interrupting — but I listened 
 proudly, sitting there by Mother's side. It was a 
 new thing to me to be found fault with in this 
 direct way. Mother must have seen very especial 
 cause for such a step before she took it. Once I 
 drew my hand out of hers, but she took it back. 
 Tears were in her eyes when she stopped speak- 
 ing. 
 
 " I am sorry for it, Mamma; but I can't help it. 
 You don't know what Esma is," was my answer. 
 
 " In what way, Jeannie dear ? " 
 
 *' She does all she can to try me. She is sweet 
 and submissive enough to you, I know; but to me 
 she is very different." 
 
 I suspect Mother found Esma anything but 
 " sweet and submissive " at times ; but she did 
 not say so. She only inquired again, " How ? " 
 
 " She interferes so. Nothing that I have is 
 my own. Maggie never used to meddle with my 
 drawing-table, and I should not have minded if 
 she had. But Esma seems to think all my things 
 are hers as well. Her eyes and fingers are every- 
 where." 
 
 " I am sorry for it. But she will learn better 
 in time. And if meanwhile you would be a little 
 more forbearing " 
 
 " It just amounts to positive persecution," I 
 said. " Yesterday she took possession of my 
 table for two hours, and refused to let me have it 
 till she had done cutting out scraps for the boys."
 
 DISCORDANCE. 57 
 
 " It is trying for you ; but I suppose she can't 
 understand that she has not an equal right over 
 the table. I will explain it to her." 
 
 " She behaves so all the more if I show that I 
 mind it." 
 
 Mother was silent for a minute. 
 
 " But it is not that which brings on the discus- 
 sions downstairs," she said. " If you only would 
 avoid them, Jeannie ! Every evening lately we 
 have had vexatious arguments about nothing." 
 
 " Esma has such foolish ideas, and is so igno- 
 rant," I said petulantly. " And she has such an 
 immense idea of her own opinion. It is of no use 
 trying to convince her." 
 
 "Then don't try." 
 
 " I can't help it. When people say such weak 
 things, I can't pass them over." 
 
 " Don't give me reason to think yoii weak, 
 Jeannie," said Mother gravely. " I want you very 
 much to get over this habit. It is childish, and 
 it will grow upon you. And you don't know how 
 it tries Lennox, and hinders him in his evening 
 work. He does not mind talking or music, as you 
 know, but that sort of thing does trouble him 
 extremely." 
 
 " Why, Mamma, he took part himself last night 
 in one discussion, when Esma would persist in 
 saying " 
 
 " Yes ; because you were hard upon her, and 
 really gave her* pain. But after you had all gone
 
 58 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 to bed, he said he did so wish we could have a 
 little quiet in the evenings. He ought to have 
 it. The day before yesterday I was really quite 
 ashamed of all the wrangling that went on, and 
 it was nothing but that which made his head 
 ache so." 
 
 " Now, Mamma ! " I protested incredulously. 
 
 " It almost made mine too," said Mother, in her 
 quiet fashion ; " and I had not been working all day 
 in an office." 
 
 " Mamma, Lennox is always having headaches 
 now, without any special reason. Only that Esma 
 being here of course gives him more to do." 
 
 "And you do not lighten his work," said Mother. 
 *' The least we can do is to give him peaceful even- 
 ings. What do you think Maggie would say to all 
 this sort of thing ?" 
 
 Tears seized upon the excuse, and rushed to my 
 eyes. " I wish Maggie had never married, and then 
 we could not have taken in Esma," I said. 
 
 " I can't wish anything of the kind, for I love 
 Maggie far too much not to think with joy of her 
 happiness. She had toiled long enough for us. It 
 grieves me to see Lennox throwing away the best 
 years of his life for our sake, as he is doing now." 
 
 " And yet you wanted Esma to live here! " 
 
 " How could we leave her homeless ? " 
 
 " She ought to have worked for her living." 
 
 Mother sighed. I think she was disappointed 
 to find me of so impracticable a spirit.
 
 DISCORDANCE. 
 
 59 
 
 "I don't want to get into an argument with you, 
 Jeannie ; only do think over what I have been 
 saying. It is not right to give way to this sort of 
 irritation. It is not Christian." 
 
 Somehow I did not want to get upon the subject 
 of rehgion. I knew I had no defence to offer there, 
 and yet my pride would not stoop to the acknow- 
 ledgment that I had been wrong. 
 
 "' Mamma, I meant to go and see Katherine this 
 afternoon. If I don't start soon, I shall be late 
 back." 
 
 " I will not hinder you. Only, Jeannie, you will 
 think this matter over ? " 
 
 My "yes" was reluctant and cold. Mother said 
 no more, and I left the room. 
 
 It struck me that Esma would want a com- 
 panion for a stroll that afternoon. Ought I not 
 to ask her to accompany me ? But I did so dislike 
 her presence in a long tete-a-tctc walk. vSo I made 
 up my mind not to ask her, and thereby threw 
 away the opportunity of doing a kindness, gaining 
 nothing by it, for when I went downstairs I found 
 her waiting in the passage. 
 
 "Aunt Jane says you are going out, and I 
 thought I would go with you. What a time you 
 have been getting ready ! " 
 
 " I could not guess that you were here," I said. 
 " Mother said nothing about you, and I meant to 
 go alone." 
 
 " To see Lennox' cousin ? "
 
 6o THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Yes,— no ; I don't think I will do that to-day." 
 
 " You mean that you don't want me to go," said 
 Esma. " Then I will ask Ellie to walk there 
 with me, for I want to make Miss de Salvernai's 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Ellie can't walk so far to-day; she isn't very 
 well." 
 
 " She will not refuse if I ask her." 
 
 " It would be bad for her. No ; I will go my- 
 self," I said ungraciously. And hardly another 
 word passed between us throughout the long cold 
 walk until uncle Claire de Salvernai's residence 
 was reached. 
 
 The said residence was an exceedingly unpre- 
 tending one. Mr. de Salvernai and Katherine 
 occupied a tiny house in a by no means select 
 neighbourhood. That is to say, it was neither 
 rich nor fashionable. I suppose the inhabitants 
 of the row were chiefly clerks with their families, 
 varied by a sprinkling of daily governesses and 
 music mistresses. A dressmaker's brass plate 
 shone in the doorway just across the road. What 
 did it matter ? There was an innate superiority 
 about Kathie which made one oblivious of her 
 surroundings. 
 
 On one noted occasion uncle Amory Pleydell 
 found his way to the house. I do not remember 
 the cause of his visit. I only know that he never 
 went again. Some people's dignity requires such 
 painfully careful guarding lest it should be lowered
 
 DISCORDANCE. 6l 
 
 from its pedestal. I think ours was of a tougher 
 texture. And as for Katherine, if she had dressed 
 in rags and lived in a hovel, she would have been 
 an unmistakable lady still. 
 
 There was a single tiny parlour, which had 
 to serve as drawing-room, dining-room, and 
 library — all in one. The back room was uncle 
 Claire's, for he was only able to walk a few paces, 
 and could not manage to ascend steps in any wise. 
 Upstairs were Katherine's bedroom, the maid-ser- 
 vant's room, and the lumber-room. I often told 
 her she ought to put the servant into the lumber- 
 room, and turn the other into a sort of studio, or 
 work and writing room, for herself. But, as she 
 always said, "What would be the use ? " Uncle 
 Claire could never bear her out of his sight. 
 
 He had once been a rising and prosperous man, 
 with every hope of future wealth and fame. And 
 then, in one day, came the blow which cut him off 
 from his profession, and left him a widowed, help- 
 less, half-crippled life-invalid, with but a pittance 
 for his support and one little daughter for his 
 comfort. How bravely and cheerily through twelve 
 years past had Kathie fulfilled her mission ! 
 
 She became simply everything in life to him. 
 One hour's walk in the day she wisely secured for 
 the sake of her own health, and also a certain time 
 of absence in the kitchen to superintend the pre- 
 paration of his meals. Nobody's hands save hers 
 could do this to his satisfaction. But working.
 
 62 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 painting, copying, or aught else in the way of oc- 
 cupation, had all to be carried on in the parlour. 
 
 I wondered how she could endure it sometimes. 
 Before a stranger, indeed, though but a wreck of 
 his former self, uncle Claire showed always as a 
 splendid wreck — handsome, dignified, cordial, well 
 read, sometimes even playful and witty. Kathie 
 used to look right proud of him at such times. 
 But he was a victim to strong nervous excitement 
 and intense irritability, and often talked complain- 
 ingly for hours together without stopping. Kathie 
 always maintained that the injury to his spine 
 must in some measure have affected the head, so 
 as to weaken his self-control. It was difficult 
 otherwise to account for or in any wise to excuse 
 this conduct in one who at other times would 
 speak almost with tears in his eyes of his Saviour's 
 love. Oh, poor weak human nature, not knowing 
 its own weakness ! That was it. Uncle Claire 
 did not know himself. I never saw a man so free 
 from introspection or self-examination — except no 
 doubt so far as he urged himself to it from a sense 
 of duty — or so calmly confident in the belief that 
 he was always in the right. 
 
 Therein lay one main point of difference between 
 him and Kathie. Each had by nature an intense 
 will and a hasty temper. But uncle Claire had 
 never yet attained to Kathie' s measure of self- 
 knowledge, and therefore never battled, as Kathie 
 did, for victory. The force of his will went to self-
 
 DISCORDANCE. 63 
 
 gratification, not of course wholly, for that could 
 not be with a Christian man if his religion had 
 any life at all, but still in a large degree. The 
 force of hers was bent to self-conquest. 
 
 I dare not say that in those days she had more of 
 victory than failure. She failed often — constantly. 
 Her patience as a whole was much to be com- 
 mended, in consideration of how she was tried ; 
 but I doubt if a single day ever passed without at 
 least some hot words of stormy self-defence on her 
 part. I have seen her positively stamp her little 
 foot with the moment's irrepressible indignation. 
 She used to say that she envied me my calmer 
 nature — but the said calmness, resulting I am 
 afraid from the lack of a disturbing element, had 
 been sorely ruffled of late.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 
 
 Uncle Claire was reading to himself when Esma 
 and I entered the little room, and Kathie was 
 copying at the table. It was one of her plans for 
 eking out their scanty income. She had taken 
 the idea from Lennox, and I believe it was he 
 who procured the work for her in the first instance. 
 Her little firm brown fingers wrote a capital hand, 
 clear and regular as letter-press. 
 
 Papers were lying all over the table and down 
 upon the carpet, for neatness was not Kathie's f 
 
 forte, except in her own person. She looked tired 
 that afternoon, and out of spirits, though her face 
 lighted up at the sight of visitors. I saw Esme- 
 ralda's eyes soon straying up to the dark old family 
 portraits on the walls, and she took advantage of 
 the first pause to ask, — 
 
 " Is that the Counl de Salvernai ? " 
 " What do you know about him ? " asked uncle 
 Claire, looking gratified ; for he always liked to • 
 meet with interest on the subject of his fore- 
 fathers.
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 65 
 
 Esma rose and went nearer. It is a half-length 
 life-size portrait, worth more perhaps from its 
 age than its execution. Still it must have borne 
 a good resemblance to the original. The face is 
 dark, thin, and worn, with shadowed dark eyes, 
 and the long flowing hair of the period falling over 
 the shoulders. Esma studied it earnestly awhile, 
 and the other two studied her. I thought she was 
 aware of this, and did not object to be an object 
 of interest. Did I judge thus because I should 
 so have felt in her place ? 
 
 " Yes, it is very like," she said at length. 
 
 "No doubt," said uncle Claire; "although — 
 pardon me — I do not see on what grounds you 
 have come to your conclusion. Miss Pleydell." 
 
 " Father thinks you mean that it is like the 
 Count," said Kathie. 
 
 " O no ; I mean that it is like Lennox. I don't 
 know about your ancestor, of course." 
 
 And I saw that she immediately sank many 
 degrees in uncle Claire's estimation. He did not 
 underrate Lennox ; but Lennox was in the pre- 
 sent, and Henri de Salvernai was in the past ; and 
 uncle Claire preferred the past. 
 
 " Almost every one thinks with you," remarked 
 Kathie. 
 
 " Even to the very expression," said Esma, 
 gazing thoughtfully still. " Quiet and self-con- 
 trolled, — half-worn, half-sad, — a little weary of life 
 altogether, I thiftk." 
 
 6
 
 66 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Uncle Claire was too much of a gentleman to 
 say to a stranger, " Don't talk nonsense," as he 
 undoubtedly would have said to Kathie or me. 
 
 " There are the marks of the rack and fiery 
 persecution in that face. Miss Pleydell. You will 
 hardly discover such marks in my nephew, good 
 fellow though he is. Look there — another of my 
 family at the same date : collateral ancestor of 
 my own — Henri de Salvernai's brother-in law." 
 
 " The same painter, evidently," said Esma ; 
 but she made a false shot for once. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, — quite a different man. 
 The style far more stiff. Sir Vaughan must have 
 been a fine-looking man, but it wants some dis- 
 crimination to discover the fact." 
 
 " More than I possess," said Esma, laughing. 
 " I don't admire him at all. Who is this lady ? " 
 " Ah ! she was a hundred years later — a De 
 Salvernai still." 
 
 Kathie twitched my dress slightly. 
 " Father, I want to speak to Jeannie upstairs. 
 Would you tell Esma all about the pictures while 
 we are gone ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, if Miss Pleydell really feels an 
 interest in the matter," said uncle Claire politely; 
 and happily Esma gave by look and word a satis- 
 factory answer. The next moment Kathie's eager 
 fingers were pulling me up the narrow staircase. 
 
 " What is it, Kathie ?" I asked, when we reached 
 the little bedroom with its scanty furnishing.
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 67 
 
 By way of answer Kathie put her face down on 
 my shoulder, and burst into tears. I knew what 
 that meant, and I called her, " Dear pet," and 
 " darling," and did my best to comfort her. 
 
 " There. I'm better now," she said, sitting up 
 and trying to smile, though she caught her breath 
 rather hysterically. " I haven't had one cry for 
 a whole month, and I could not stand it any 
 longer. I never can cry when I am alone. I only 
 fume." 
 
 " What is the matter to-day ? " 
 
 '' Nothing — especially ; only things have been 
 going wrong. Father wanted a basin of gruel at 
 a particular moment; and just before it was 
 ready, down came the soot in the kitchen chim- 
 ney, and spoilt it all. I could not possibly help 
 that; could I, Jeannie ? But he told me that I 
 was no manner of use to anybody, and that he 
 would sooner have a charwoman to wait upon 
 him any day. Of course I knew he did not really 
 mean it ; but — but — O Jeannie, sharp words are 
 cruelly hard to bear ! " said Kathie, with her lips 
 quivering. 
 
 My conscience gave me a prick. Esma had 
 had many a sharp word from me lately. Had 
 she found them so hard to bear ? She had not 
 indeed Kathie's warm sensitive nature ; neverthe- 
 less, she had doubtless in some measure felt the 
 pain. 
 
 " It seems sucn a time since I have seen any of 
 
 6*
 
 68 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 you," said Kathie. " Father can't bear my leav- 
 ing him, or I should have been to see you before 
 now ; but I can't get there and back in an hour's 
 walk. Sometimes I treat myself to a make- 
 believe that I am going, so as to get up a little 
 spirit for my ramble ; but the coming back is 
 dismal. Oh, Jeannie, how do you like Esmer- 
 alda ? " 
 
 And she soon drew my troubles from me. What 
 a fund of sympathy there always was in that girl. 
 The deep trial of her own cheerless toilsome life 
 was put aside, that she might comfort me in my 
 lesser trial. I had so many to love me in the 
 inner home-circle, and only one jarring spirit 
 among them. She had only one to love her 
 within that dividing line, and that one was himself 
 her greatest trouble. But she kissed me and 
 pitied me far more than was for my good, and 
 said it was " too bad " when I enlarged on Esma's 
 delinquencies. 
 
 " She is a pretty pleasant-looking girl too, 
 Jeannie — don't you think so ? I should not have 
 expected from her such teasing ways." 
 
 " She is pretty, I suppose ; I don't admire her. 
 I like people to be dark." 
 
 " Why Jeannie !— look at Ellie." 
 
 " Ellie has dark eye-lashes and brown hair, if 
 her eyes are blue." 
 
 " / like fair beauty. But it isn't that at all. It 
 is only that you don't love Esma. Be honest,
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 69 
 
 dear old Jeannie." Kathie could say things to me 
 which no one else would have ventured upon, 
 " Esma is very pretty, there is no doubt whatever, 
 — and pleasant-mannered " 
 
 " She can be if she chooses." 
 
 " And of course she chooses in company ? " 
 
 " I wish she would choose when she is alone 
 with me." 
 
 *' But, then, if you don't like her, is it to be 
 expected that she should care for you ? " 
 
 " I don't want her to care for me. I only want 
 her to leave off meddling." 
 
 " Yes ; youwant her to be an individual of perfect 
 tact and good taste. She isn't that evidently. But 
 I dare say she does not mean to be disagreeable." 
 
 " Perhaps not," I said dejectedly. " O Kathie, 
 I could bear almost anything, if it were not for 
 her way of slipping into Maggie's place." 
 
 I think I was pleased that Kathie should see 
 me in that light, not so much annoyed as suffer- 
 ing. But Kathie had a great knack of seeing 
 through people, and she was too sharp for me. 
 
 " You wouldn't," she said. " It is Esma her- 
 self, and Esma as a whole, that jars upon you, 
 not Esma in one or two particulars. Jeannie, 
 you and I sorely need to learn a little patience." 
 
 " I don't really see that I am more impatient 
 with Esma than she deserves," I said. 
 
 Kathie put her two little slight strong hands on 
 mine, and looked me straight in the face.
 
 70 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Jeannie, I can't mince matters," she said. 
 "I don't with myself; and I won't with you. 
 There isn't the faintest atom of excuse in that, 
 for you and me to give way to temper as we do. 
 It isn't because of their deserving,'" — she was 
 alluding I knew to her father as well as to Esma, — 
 "but just because we can't help it, that we get 
 put out so easily." 
 
 " I hope you don't think I am as bad as Esma," 
 I said. 
 
 " I dare say you try her as much as she tries 
 you." 
 
 " O Kathie ! " 
 
 "You don't know," said Kathie. "Your side 
 of the question seems quite right and fair to you, 
 and you see her all in the wrong. But no doubt 
 Esma's side of the question seems quite right and 
 fair to her, and she sees jyoM all in the wrong." 
 
 " How can she ? " I asked. 
 
 " You would not like me to answer that truly. 
 Let us talk about something else." 
 
 "No; I don't mind it from you, Kathie. Tell 
 me. How am I in the wrong ? " 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then spoke with 
 straightforward frankness, — 
 
 " You can be brusque and curt, Jeannie, where 
 you don't like a person, though you are so tender 
 where you really love. And you are positive, and 
 do like to hold your own in an argument. And f 
 
 there is nothing you hate like having to allow
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 7I 
 
 yourself to be mistaken or in the wrong. And if 
 you want a thing, you only see the force of your 
 own need, and not the force of the difficulties 
 affecting other people's comfort." 
 
 Sentence by sentence my own conscience bore 
 witness to the truth of these assertions. I had 
 never seen it so before. A veil seemed lifted 
 from my eyes. But I was silent, for the very 
 pride, in that moment revealed to me, held me 
 dumb. 
 
 " If you knew what it was to have a temper 
 like mine!" said Kathie. "I'm not setting up 
 myself as a model, so don't think that. The hot 
 words come slipping out before I know what I am 
 about, and then I feel miserable for hours. O 
 Jeannie, it does so dishonour Christ." 
 
 The last words were whispered. But I think 
 that gentle whisper made an impression on my 
 heart as deep as words falling with sledge- 
 hammer force could have done. Only I said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Can you forgive me?" she asked suddenly. 
 "What for?" I know my tone was hard, 
 though I did not feel hard. 
 
 " For speaking out so plainly." 
 " Of course. I asked you to do it." 
 " But you don't like it quite." 
 And then uncle Claire's voice called, " Kathie, 
 Kathie." 
 
 She sprang ap to answer the summons, but
 
 72 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 lingered for one moment, looking down on me as 
 I sat, with her tears glistening. I just gave her 
 a kiss, and said, " Thank you, Kathie." I could 
 not do more at that moment, but I have been 
 always glad since that I did not do less. And 
 Kathie looked satisfied. We went downstairs, 
 and soon after Esma and I started for home. 
 
 Why is truth so seldom out-spoken between 
 friend and friend ? The poet would have been 
 thankful to see himself as others saw him. That 
 is a power none of us possess ; but cannot a true 
 and tender friend act the part of a second self, 
 and open the eyes so often stupidly blind and 
 dull to our own defects ? I think so. The 
 only real barrier in the way is our own self-satis- 
 fied pride. But I know I have owed much to 
 those few honest words of Katherine de Sal- 
 vernai's. They laid hold upon me with a grip as 
 of steel. 
 
 Not that they immediately took effect in any 
 wise upon my outward conduct. Esma must 
 have found me a very brusque and disagreeable 
 companion throughout the homeward walk. And 
 I saw Mother look at me once or twice afterwards 
 with a sigh, as if feeling sure that her remon- 
 strances had been all thrown away. 
 
 It seems to me that spiritual lessons, whether 
 of guidance or of reproof, are often sent in a two- 
 fold or threefold form, and not from one quarter 
 only. I, at least, have remarked it thus. So it
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. "JZ 
 
 was this time : first, Mother's words, then Kathie's 
 plain speaking, and lastly, a stamp or seal set 
 upon it all from the Word of God itself. 
 
 I think I sat down to read in my room that 
 night with a sort of vague intention to find out 
 what a Christian life really ought to be. What 
 it too often is I knew well. I wanted to see 
 clearly, not the common measure, but the Bible 
 standard. 
 
 That which I sought was not hard to find. As 
 I turned over page after page of the Epistles, 
 verse after verse helped to fill up the picture. I 
 was to "be holy as God is holy." I was to walk 
 as Christ had walked. I was to adorn the doc- 
 trine of God my Saviour in all things. I was 
 to be gentle, humble, lowly, longsuffering, kind, 
 compassionate, unselfish. 
 
 Yes ; all these, and more. But I stumbled 
 suddenly upon one brief passage, which stood out 
 luminously as if stamped in letters of gold. I 
 knew then that I had received my marching- 
 orders. 
 
 " Do ALL THINGS WITHOUT MURMURINGS AND 
 UISPUTINGS ; THAT YE MAY BE BLAMELESS AND 
 HARMLESS, THE SONS OF GOD, WITHOUT REBUKE, 
 IN THE MIDST OF A CROOKED AND PERVERSE 
 NATION, AMONG WHOM YE SHINE AS LIGHTS IN 
 THE WORLD." 
 
 No murmurings ! No disputings ! Absolutely 
 none. The " i^ll things " left no margin whatever.
 
 74 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 No matter how much cause I might have to 
 murmur, how much reason to dispute in self- 
 defence — still the calm stern gentle rule remained 
 inexorabl}^ the same : No murmurings ! No dis- 
 putings ! 
 
 "Blameless," and "without rebuke." None 
 to be able to stand up and say, looking me in the 
 face, "Jane Phillimore, what sort of a religion do 
 you show in your life?" None to be able to 
 whisper behind my back, " I suppose she is a 
 Christian, as she professes to be; but " 
 
 A life absolutely blameless ! A life absolutely 
 free from murmurings, disputings, arguments, 
 disagreements, self-defendings ! These things 
 might be natural, but they were not Christ-like. 
 
 My head went down upon the open page in 
 deep humiliation. Kathie's words swept strongly 
 through my heart : " O Jeannie, it does so dis- 
 honour Christ." Yes ; I knew it then. Every 
 murmur dishonoured Him. Every dispute dis- 
 honoured Him. Every rebuke to which I laid 
 myself open, as a Christian of inconsistent pro- 
 fession and practice, was a rebuke against Christ. 
 
 What sort of a shining had mine been ? Verily 
 few, looking at Jane Phillimore, would have turned 
 instinctively with upward glance to see whence 
 came the reflected light. The lamp had not, 
 perhaps, absolutely flickered out, but the supply 
 of oil was feeble and the flame was dim. And I 
 had not sought to have it otherwise.
 
 BELOW THE SURFACE. 75 
 
 Strange new glimpses of myself below the 
 surface did I obtain that day and evening — seeing 
 darkness where I had dreamt that all was bright, 
 and blackness where I had deemed myself fair. 
 I made deep heart-resolutions that the future 
 should be utterly different from the past, and 
 utterly failed in the carrying of them out. Better 
 so. I needed to learn my own absolute weak- 
 ness. 
 
 And the stirred-up mud and agitated waters of 
 my heart were not suffered to settle down again. 
 Days, weeks, months of battling and restless 
 striving followed ; often painful, weary, almost 
 hopeless, yet with occasional gleams of light, and 
 in any case far better than the self-satisfied stag- 
 nation preceding.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. 
 
 It was somewhere near the end of June that 
 summer that Lennox' college tutor and particu- 
 lar friend, the Reverend Austin Auriol, was ap- 
 pointed to the incumbency of the district church 
 which we were in the habit of attending. 
 
 His arrival caused a good deal of sensation 
 among us. The last time we had seen him was 
 during a bright little visit which he had paid in 
 our midst, just at the close of Lennox' university 
 career, and a year before the coming of all our 
 troubles. He was closely associated with dear 
 faces never to be met again in this life. Also we 
 liked him for his own sake. Ellie had been quite 
 his little pet ; while over my dawning girlish mind 
 he had exercised a singular fascination, winning 
 from me an amount of confidence which I be- 
 stowed upon few. At fifteen years old, the 
 thoughtful well-read man of twenty-five — as old 
 for his years as I was young for mine — seemed 
 placed at a most fatherly distance. I had looked 
 up to him with silent respectful hero-worship, and
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. 77 
 
 now and then had responded to his kindly interest, 
 by letting him have glimpses into my inner life 
 and longings, which perhaps I had accorded to 
 none other. 
 
 But those days seemed far away, and Jane 
 Phillimore at twenty was another individual. I 
 was curious to see him again — curious to find out 
 whether my girlish estimate of the man would 
 prove unchanged, and rather bashfully curious to 
 discover whether he had forgotten those little 
 outpourings of confidence. On the whole, I hoped 
 he had. 
 
 The first evening of his appearance among us is 
 strongly graven on my memory, for the dawning 
 of another trial broke upon us that day. Lennox 
 received a scrawled line, telling us to expect him 
 to look in for an hour or two on his way from the 
 station to the lodgings. He wanted a friendly 
 welcome, he said, to make him at home. So we 
 determined that it should be a festive occasion, 
 and we went to the extravagance of a bunch of 
 flowers from the market ; and tea was spread in 
 the drawing-room instead of the dining-room, that 
 we might dally over the meal, and sit about as 
 we liked and enjoy ourselves. It was an intensely 
 hot day, and our little drawing-room, facing north, 
 could boast tolerable coolness, whereas the back 
 of the house was like an oven. 
 
 And then came two knocks at the door in quick 
 succession before one could be answered, and
 
 78 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Kitty ushered into our presence — Mr. Auriol and 
 uncle Amory Pleydell ! 
 
 A more thorough wet blanket could hardly have 
 been provided. I was so vexed that I quite 
 missed the sight of the two friends' greeting, and 
 only looked up in time to see Austin Auriol scan 
 Lennox' face with a swift questioning glance 
 of strong dissatisfaction. I did not know what 
 it meant. The next minute he was shaking hands 
 with me, and apologising for not having done 
 so earlier. 
 
 The same face and the same manner that I 
 remembered — a little singular, yet pleasant withal. 
 He was of medium height, and inclined to stoop 
 his head in a thoughtful fashion ; and his forehead 
 was remarkably well developed, wide, and full. 
 The grey eyes were avowedly short-sighted ; never- 
 theless they contrived to see a good deal ; and the 
 well-cut nervously-sensitive lips were rarely at rest. 
 
 Uncle Amory did not seem for a moment to 
 doubt our gladness at seeing him. I have often 
 felt disposed to envy the comfortable conviction of 
 some people that their friends can never have too 
 much of them. One of my minor life-torments 
 has been the dread of putting myself in the way; 
 but I do not suppose uncle Amory would have 
 known the meaning of such a fear. 
 
 He was just in time for our tea — so fortunate, 
 he said. Such a fine day, he had felt tempted to 
 walk over and see how we were getting on. Esme-
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. 79 
 
 ralda was quite at home by this time, no doubt 
 — charming addition to our domestic circle. He 
 was so glad to find us all looking so well. I saw 
 Mr. Auriol give a quick glance round at Lennox 
 and Francey, as if he were marvelling at some 
 folks' obtuseness. And a few minutes later, as I 
 sat somewhat apart in my office of tea-maker, I 
 found him by my side. 
 
 " Let me hand that cup for you, Miss Philli- 
 more." 
 
 "Thank you. O no ; I don't think it is 
 wanted just now." 
 
 " Your brother never wrote me word that he 
 had been ill." 
 
 " Lennox ! No. Why ? He has not been," 
 I said, in surprise. 
 
 " Oh ! " It was a curious low long-drawn 
 sound. 
 
 " The hot weather makes him look pale," I 
 added, " I hope you will like London life, Mr. 
 Auriol." 
 
 " Not much fear. What a pretty creature the 
 little Ellie is growing." 
 
 He looked across at her with genuine admira- 
 tion, and then suddenly brought back his attention 
 to me. 
 
 " How about the name and the fame ? " 
 
 " Oh, girlish dreams are not often realised," I 
 said, blushing. " I hoped you had forgotten all 
 that."
 
 8o THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Not at all. It used to am— interest me, I 
 mean, excessively," 
 
 Amuse him, indeed! For a moment I felt the 
 least little bit savage. The next he disarmed 
 me. 
 
 " You see, I never had a sister of my own, and 
 that month of fresh home-like intercourse with 
 you all — you especially — was like a glimpse into 
 a new life." 
 
 " They were bright days," I said sadly. 
 
 "Ah!" and his quick sigh told me how much 
 he had felt for us. I knew by his glance round 
 the room that he was comparing it with our 
 former home. 
 
 " But now I want to know what your pen and 
 pencil are about," he said suddenly, seeming to 
 consider that he had a sort of right to be let 
 into our secrets. 
 
 " Jeannie is hard at work upon something that 
 is to astonish the world," said a soft slow voice on 
 my other side. 
 
 " Francey ! " I said rather sharply. 
 
 She flushed up and moved away, and I saw him 
 give a quick glance from one to the other. 
 
 " And to enlighten posterity, I hope," he added 
 drily. 
 
 " Francey had no right to tell," I said, unable 
 quite to subdue my annoyance. " I am only writing 
 a tale, Mr. Auriol." 
 
 " A three-volume novel ? "
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. (Si 
 
 " no; only one volume." 
 
 ** Are you near the conclusion ? " 
 
 " It is done — virtually," I said. " I hope to 
 send it off to a publisher in two or three days." 
 
 " Virtually, but not actually ? " 
 
 " There are only a few more corrections needed. 
 Lennox proposed a few." 
 
 " And did you agree to them ? " 
 
 "Some. I don't know why I should tell you all 
 this," I said. 
 
 " When will the book be out ? " he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Never, perhaps." 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 " I mean that it is quite uncertain. The pub- 
 lishers may not like it." 
 
 " I thought it was not your iirst." 
 
 " No, not quite. But that was accepted a year 
 ago. I have had one complete failure since then. 
 Nobody knows, out of our own circle, Mr. Auriol." 
 
 "Just so," he said composedly. "But we 
 must be hopeful about this." 
 
 " I don't think I am — very. What if I should 
 have mistaken my vocation ? " 
 
 I hoped that he would treat that as an absurdly 
 impossible idea. Instead of which he looked up 
 at the ceiling thoughtfully, and remarked, — 
 
 "Well, people do sometimes. In that case you 
 must take up something else." 
 
 So lightly said on his part. But to me it almost 
 
 7
 
 83 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 seemed that I could more easily lay aside life 
 itself, if called upon so to do, than yield without 
 a murmur my longings for earthly success and 
 earthly distinction. 
 
 " Your brother has seen your book, then ? " 
 
 "Yes; they have all read it," I said. 
 
 " What is the family verdict ? " 
 
 " I shall be glad if the publishers' verdict is 
 half so good." 
 
 " Phillimore's opinion ought to be worth some- 
 thing in such a case. You would be very much 
 disappointed in case of failure. Don't put your 
 heart into the matter too deeply. Miss Philli- 
 more." 
 
 And then he carried off a cup of tea to Mother, 
 and I saw him playfully renewing his old ac- 
 quaintance with Ellie. His last words carried a 
 sound of warning to my ears; but I had no leisure 
 to think them over just then. Uncle Amory came 
 behind the round table, and seemed disposed, in 
 his turn, to honour me with a little confidential 
 conversation. 
 
 " Been very busy lately, eh ? I tell my girls 
 they ought to take a leaf out of your book. 
 Well, and how does Esmeralda get on ? Fine 
 looking girl." 
 
 " Will you take some more tea, uncle Amory?" 
 
 " Thank you, yes. A little more sugar than 
 last time. You are a first-rate tea-maker. So 
 Esmeralda has quite fitted into her nook in your
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. 83 
 
 household — seems like your own sister by this 
 time, I should imagine." 
 
 "No," I said, rather shortly; "sisters are not 
 of such easy growth." 
 
 " A little jealous for Maggie, I am afraid, my dear 
 Jeannie — ha, ha — quite natural feeling, but after 
 all — by the bye, have you heard from her lately ? " 
 
 " Last mail." It was as much as I could do to 
 speak civilly. 
 
 " Quite well and happy, of course ? " 
 
 I did not see why it should be a matter of 
 certainty, but I answered in the affirm.ative. 
 
 " Marvellous how the young generation ad- 
 vances. One marrying ; another growing up. To 
 say nothing of my five girls at home, look at your 
 sisters, now." 
 
 " I wish we could keep them children a little 
 longer," I answered; " Ellie is almost a young 
 lady." 
 
 " Quite a pretty girl, too — really quite pretty. 
 What has become of Frances ? " 
 
 " She generally helps the boys with their lessons 
 in the evening." 
 
 " Latin and Greek, eh ? I am afraid she is a 
 little blue:' 
 
 I could not deny the fact, and would not con- 
 firm it, for I knew Francey was very shy on the 
 subject. Happily uncle Amory seemed at length 
 to have done the agreeable to his own satisfaction, 
 and rose to depart. Like a lady keeping the gist 
 
 7'
 
 84 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 of her letter till the postscript, he had reserved 
 the point of his visit to the close. It came out 
 now in the shape of an invitation to dinner from 
 aunt Ellinor. 
 
 Mother declined for herself at once, but seemed 
 anxious that some of us girls should go. Uncle 
 Amory pressed for all — every one. Only just a 
 family dinner, he said — nothing grand ; we were 
 to take them just as they were. He seemed to 
 think this would be a particular inducement, 
 though I could not imagine why. We had plenty 
 of quiet dinners in our own home, and a grand 
 one would at least have made a variety. How- 
 ever, we settled to think the matter over, and 
 send an answer by post, the more so as Lennox 
 seemed exceedingly indisposed for the exertion. 
 
 I believe I was struck by something a little 
 unusual in his manner. He had been very silent 
 the last half-hour; and no sooner was uncle 
 Amory fairly gone than he frightened us all 
 dreadfully. 
 
 Francey had just returned from her work with 
 the boys, and we told her of the invitation we had 
 received. 
 
 "What for?" she asked, knitting her brows. 
 " Uncle Amory doesn't really want us, and I'm 
 sure we don't care to go." 
 
 A glance from Mother reminded her of Austin 
 Auriol's presence, but he was talking to Esma, 
 and made believe not to hear.
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND: 85 
 
 " It can't be helped now and then," Lennox 
 remarked. " Dinners are necessary evils once 
 in a " 
 
 He just stopped speaking in the middle of his 
 sentence. I heard no more ; but before I could 
 even glance round to see why he did not continue, 
 there was a terrified scream from Esma, and the 
 next instant I found that he had suddenly sunk 
 into a state of death-like insensibility. 
 
 For a moment our consternation was extreme. 
 I believe there was hardly one among us who did 
 not fear the very worst. It did not look like an 
 ordinary fainting fit. The room went round with 
 me, but somehow I was the first to lift his head. 
 Its strange leaden heaviness alarmed me in- 
 expressibly. Gordon, who had appeared oppor- 
 tunely in the room, rushed off for the doctor at 
 Mr. Auriol's suggestion. Nobody else seemed to 
 know what to do. Mother just sat down, feebly 
 chafing Lennox' hand, and looking at him with 
 dim tearless eyes, as if she expected never to see 
 him move again. I tried to think of what Maggie 
 could have done in my place, and- the word 
 " water " came into my head. I said it aloud 
 instinctively, and Francey hurried away to get 
 some, though the poor child was trembling so 
 that she could hardly stand. 
 
 But before she came back, and not two minutes 
 fj'om the beginning of the attack, so far as we 
 could judge/ Lennox regained consciousness as
 
 86 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 suddenly as he had lost it. He did not seem in the 
 least faint, but sat up and looked surprised at our 
 state of excitement, asking, " What is the matter ? " 
 
 Mother burst into tears and cried bitterly. It 
 was about the worst thing she could do, but the 
 shock had been too much for her; and her weeping 
 set off Ellie at once. Lennox put his hand to his 
 temples with a look of pain and confusion, as if 
 hardly knowing where he was ; and I said de- 
 spairingly to Esma, " Oh, do take Mother out 
 of the room." But she was leaning on the back 
 of a chair, as white as a sheet herself, and evi- 
 dently on the verge of hysterics. I was intensely 
 grateful to Mr. Auriol for offering his arm to 
 Mother, and gently but firmly leading her away. 
 He came back immediately, sent Francey to 
 attend to her, and was going to dispose of Ellie 
 in a like fashion. At this point, however, Lennox 
 unexpectedly started up, crossed the room, and 
 brought back the sobbing girl to where he had 
 been sitting. It was too late to protest. 
 
 " What are you crying about, Ellie ?" he asked 
 in his gentlest tone. 
 
 Ellie only flung herself down on her knees, with 
 her face pressed against his arm, and wept more 
 than before. 
 
 " I wish you would rest," I said nervously to 
 him. " Did you feel faint, Lennox?" 
 
 "Just now? I believe I did for a moment — 
 something of the sort."
 
 A COLLEGE FRIEND. 87 
 
 " Did you not know you fainted away ?" 
 
 A light evidently broke in upon his mind. 
 
 " I see ! Then that is what startled you all." 
 
 "Have you ever done such a thing before?" 
 asked Mr. Auriol, who was standing beside the sofa. 
 
 " Only once, about three weeks ago. It was an 
 overpowering hot day, like this, and I had all at 
 once a queer dizzy far-away sensation, and then 
 suddenly discovered Mr. Whymple gazing at me 
 as if I were an Egyptian mummy. He told me 
 I had fainted — but I don't know ; it all passed 
 off very quickly." 
 
 "And you never told us!" I said reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " There was no need. I only mention the 
 thing now, that you may see how little it signi- 
 fies." 
 
 But I did not expect that the doctor would be 
 precisely of the same opinion. Lennox exclaimed 
 quite indignantly, when he found that one had 
 been summoned. It was three years and a half 
 since our last visit from a physician ; for though 
 Mother and Francey were not strong, they had 
 never been really ill, and we could not afford 
 needless visits. I had a nervous shrinking from 
 the advent of one again within our doors. We 
 had never even spoken to Mr. Ramsay, though he 
 lived only in the next street, and we had long ago 
 decided to call him in, should medical advice be 
 at any time required.
 
 88 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 He was a little gentle-looking frail man, with 
 a big forehead and soft movements. I believe he 
 inspired most people with implicit trust from the 
 first ; certainly it was so in our case. Lennox 
 was smiling and talking quite brightly when he 
 came in ; but I do not fancy he was in the least 
 deceived. He stayed some time, examining and 
 questioning in close and business-like style. And 
 when he left, Austin Auriol went out of the room 
 with him, and Esma slipped after them. I did 
 think it too bad of her, for I could not go also, 
 and I was longing to know what Mr. Ramsay 
 thought. Mother presently re-appeared, and then 
 I found an opportunity of making my escape, 
 unobserved by Lennox.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PENMANSHIP. 
 
 Mr. Ramsay had only just taken his departure, 
 and Mr. Auriol, Esma, and Francey were still in 
 the dining-room. I had it on the tip of my 
 tongue to reproach Esmeralda for running away 
 as she had done ; but she looked so shaken and 
 miserable, that I checked the words, and only 
 asked, — 
 
 " What does Mr. Ramsay think ? " 
 
 " He thinks will you sit down, Miss Philli- 
 
 more, and let us speak of it quietly?" asked 
 Mr. Auriol, pulling forward a chair. 
 
 " What does he say ?" I repeated. 
 
 " He does not fancy it was quite a common 
 fainting fit," said Mr. Auriol, in a hesitating way. 
 " He is a little afraid it was a — a — some kind of 
 attack resulting from pressure on the brain." 
 
 "But you don't mean — O Mr. Auriol ! — O 
 Francey ! " — for Francey's dark anxious dilated 
 eyes were shining like two lamps out of her 
 colourless face, — "you don't mean that it is any- 
 thing serious ? "
 
 go THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " no, — not if taken in time," said Mr. Auriol 
 cheerfully. " Mr. Ramsay prescribes absolute rest 
 from head-work." 
 
 We three girls exchanged glances. 
 
 " Would you like me to go back to the drawing- 
 room?" asked Mr. Auriol suddenly. "I seem 
 rather intruding into family matters ; only per- 
 haps—if you knew — Phillimore and I have had 
 few secrets apart. I am a poor man, but I can 
 give advice ; and your pastor has a right to be 
 consulted in your troubles." 
 
 The curious half-gentle half-blunt simplicity 
 of the man almost made me smile. 
 
 "Thank you ! I do not think there is anything 
 which you may not hear," I said. " You know 
 as well as I do that we are dependent on Lennox 
 for our support." 
 
 He bent his head in acquiescence, but only 
 observed, — 
 
 " It is strange — I did not like the look in his 
 eyes at the first moment of seeing him to-day. I 
 was surprised that you did not seem more anxious ; 
 but Miss Pleydell told me she was sure all was 
 not right with him." 
 
 " Why — what do you mean ? How could you 
 know?" I asked, turning to her; and I must 
 have spoken brusquely, for she shrank back, and 
 Francey whispered, " Jeannie, do be gentle with 
 her." 
 
 " I could not help seeing," she said in a broken
 
 PENMANSHIP. 91 
 
 voice, very unlike her usual cool confidence of tone 
 and manner. " You never notice such things ; but 
 I do. That dark shade under his eyes — I learnt 
 to know it at first, when he only had head-ache 
 now and then. But the last few weeks it has 
 been always there." 
 
 " Yes, since you came " I broke off there, 
 
 seeing how much the words implied, and Esma's 
 face quivered ; but she went on with what she was 
 saying. 
 
 " I did not like to make aunt Jane anxious, or 
 you either, so I spoke to Katherine the other day. 
 She had noticed the same thing." 
 
 " I know Lennox has had a good deal of pain 
 lately," I said; "but I always thought the hot 
 weather was enough to account for it." 
 
 " He hardly ever has a day without pain. You 
 don't ask him, and he never complains, and you 
 all get used to seeing him look ill ; but I tell you, 
 he is just killing himself." 
 
 She spoke collectedly so far, and then — rather 
 to my annoyance, for I thought she might have 
 shown more reticence in Mr. Aurioi's presence — 
 she put her hands over her face and burst into 
 tears. We all looked a little uncomfortable for a 
 minute, and at length I said, — 
 
 " Come, Esma, I really don't think there is any- 
 thing so bad that you need cry about it." Where- 
 upon she tuj-ned suddenly round, and clung to 
 my hand, which I had put out with a soothing 
 intention.
 
 92 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " O Jeannie ! Jeannie ! — what shall I do ? If 
 he dies, I shall have killed him. I ought never 
 to have come here. O Jeannie, it is dreadful. I 
 know you don't love me ; but can't you pity me ? 
 I'm all alone in the world — and I haven't any 
 home — and aunt Jane has been so good to me — 
 and now — now — oh, what shall I do if I have 
 killed him ? " 
 
 *' Esma, this is nonsense," I said, really hardly 
 knowing what line to take, between embarrassment 
 at some of her words and agitation at others. 
 " You are talking nonsense," I repeated. " Len- 
 nox has been wearing himself out for a long while 
 — ever since our troubles began. You have nothing 
 to do with it." 
 
 " Oh, but he wasn't like this when I came. 
 But it shan't go on. I'll go away. I'll get a 
 situation as companion to somebody — anybody — 
 I don't care who. Only tell me you forgive me 
 for coming here at all. If I had known better 
 I would not." 
 
 Suddenly Lennox' own voice said, close to my 
 side, — " What is the matter ? You all seem very 
 much excited." 
 
 Nobody had seen him enter, but the words took 
 electric effect. Mr. Auriol, who had been gravely 
 awaiting the right moment to speak, instantly as- 
 sumed a look of cheerful indifference. Esma 
 checked her tears, and Francey and I did our best 
 to get up each a lively smile.
 
 PENMANSHIP. 93 
 
 "What is it all about ? " repeated Lennox. 
 
 " What made you leave the drawing-room ? " 
 I asked. " You ought to be resting." 
 
 " Very well," and he took possession of the 
 easy-chair ; " I can rest here. I did not stay in 
 the drawing-room, for the simple reason that I 
 felt tempted to have a share in your discus- 
 sion." 
 
 "What discussion? " I asked. 
 
 " That is the question. Something highly im- 
 portant, to judge from the tones of your voices. 
 What was Mr. Ramsay's opinion ? " 
 
 Glances were exchanged, and I saw that he 
 marked the fact. 
 
 " You are to stop work," I said. 
 
 Lennox' " Indeed ! " had a sarcastic sound. 
 
 *' You are overdoing yourself, Phillimore," 
 added Mr. Auriol. 
 
 " The hot weather is overdoing me, if you 
 like." 
 
 " But it isn't prudent to go on without any 
 rest," I said. " You might make yourself ill." 
 
 " A good many evils might happen. I suppose 
 it was in connection with all this that Esma was 
 making such startling resolutions when I came 
 in. Did the ' anybody ' include a possible coster- 
 monger's wife, or a retired groceress ? " 
 
 She gave him rather a pitiful glance, unable to 
 smile. 
 
 " I am not quite laid on the shelf yet, so your
 
 94 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 arrangements are premature," he said kindly, 
 though a httle drily. " Besides, you know my 
 Mother quite looks upon you as one of her own 
 children now. I wonder if you would mind going 
 to sit with her while we are all absent." 
 
 Esma rose at once, but lingered to say, — 
 
 "If I might but do one thing — ^justhelp in your 
 copying " 
 
 " Yes, the evening writing — the extra work," I 
 added, catching at the idea with eagerness. "The 
 very thing, Lennox ! We could so easily manage 
 that between us." 
 
 " You would find it troublesome. But if you 
 like, you may try." And she went off, with her 
 face lightened of half its trouble ; while I thought 
 that quiet acquiescence the very worst sign I had 
 yet seen in him. I knew he would never pass on 
 the labour to another, unless he felt the absolute 
 necessity for so doing. 
 
 " Has the extra writing tried you much lately?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Rather. I have once or twice thought of 
 asking you to help, only you always seemed 
 busy." 
 
 He spoke cheerfully, yet I was struck by a 
 certain habitual look of weariness, and a pang 
 of self-reproach assailed me, for having never 
 thought of offering the needed assistance. We 
 talked a little longer, and he seemed so sure that 
 quiet evenings would afford all the repose he
 
 PENMANSHIP. 95 
 
 needed, that we fell in with the plan. Austin 
 Auriol looked grave, and averred that the doctor 
 had intended something more ; but what could we 
 do ? Lennox was the household support — the 
 household bread-winner. Everything rested upon 
 him. 
 
 So we girls undertook a sufficient amount of 
 copying to release him from work in over hours. 
 I do not know what I should have done without 
 Esma,for she toiled most perseveringly, though the 
 occupation was ill suited to her tastes. Francey 
 was never able to continue long without back-ache 
 or fatigue, and Ellie did not manage to accom- 
 plish much. The brunt of it fell upon Esma and 
 me. But we took care to leave none for the 
 evenings, since Lennox could not see us at work 
 without lending a helping hand. 
 
 Just at that time we were all more or less in 
 anxiety about the tale which I had recently written, 
 and concerning which I had spoken to Mr. Auriol. 
 The family opinion having been as a whole highly 
 satisfactory, the manuscript had been despatched 
 to a publisher, and his decision we were awaiting 
 with the best patience we could muster. 
 
 It was a book of many hopes and many prayers. 
 For long months I had busily woven into its 
 pages my longings and aspirations, and had 
 pressed into its service my best strength and 
 vigour. Whatever else of mine might fail, this, I 
 thought, wou'ld surely win its way. My prayers
 
 96 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 must receive an answer. I had asked so often 
 and so earnestly for guidance in the writing, and 
 success at the close. If it should be God's will, 
 of course. But, then, it seemed so likely that this 
 would be God's will. 
 
 Success on my part was an important thing to 
 us all. Lennox's failing health — for it was failing, 
 and we knew it, though we tried to shut our eyes 
 to the fact — made it doubly needful that others 
 among us should be earning something. What if 
 I could gain enough to give him the required rest 
 and change, and supply deficiencies in our income ? 
 I had visions of gold and silver falling in showers. 
 It seemed such a wonderful thing that God should 
 have given me this talent, just fitted to our need. 
 
 If He had ! 
 
 But I felt sure that He had. I made up my 
 mind that thus it was to be. Looking back, 1 can 
 see now, more than I knew at the time, what pas- 
 sionate intensity of desire went out for success ; 
 partly for my own fame ; partly for the benefit of 
 others ; partly — yes, that had a share — because I 
 hoped the book might do some small portion of 
 work for God. But I am afraid that the order in 
 which I have here placed the motives, was the true 
 order of precedence which they occupied in my 
 heart. 
 
 I wanted to do some work for God, and this was 
 the work He had doubtless given me to do. It 
 was very pleasant to think so, and how happy I
 
 PENMANSHIP. 97 
 
 was in the thought ! At one and the self-same 
 time it would be work for God — work for those 
 dearest to me — and, alas ! work for self. It 
 seems to me that there is great danger in that 
 which God gives to do for Him, being just the 
 thing we would ourselves have chosen. The task 
 of gauging our motives, hard enough at all times, 
 becomes then doubly hard. Self-gratification 
 creeps in where self-denial ought to reign, and the 
 simple love of the work for its own sake may so 
 easily be mistaken for the higher aim of pleasing 
 Christ. 
 
 I do not by any means say that it must of 
 necessity be so. There is no danger so great but 
 that sufficient grace may be obtained to over- 
 come it. Nevertheless I know the reality of the 
 danger. 
 
 8
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. 
 
 The two pathways of my inner and outer life, 
 during those summer months, how commingled 
 and how distinct they were ! Looking back now, 
 I can see it so with strange clearness. No shade 
 could fall upon one without casting a gloom 
 athwart the other. But of those around who 
 watched me pacing the latter pathway, not even 
 the clearest in vision caught ever more than a 
 passing glimpse of that shadowy, yet more real, 
 self which walked the former. 
 
 They were da5's of battling ; I think I have said 
 this before. So long as the soldier remains upon 
 the field he has not done with fighting, but he 
 has his intervals of comparative rest and of simple 
 watchfulness. The seasons of quiet watching 
 were not for me that summer, however. Rather 
 did the enemy seem near about me on every side, 
 strong, relentless, and unwearying. I was weary 
 often with a bitter weariness, for the battle was 
 too strong for me and my strength was faint ; 
 yet though oppressed and driven back, and some-
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. QQ 
 
 times almost in despair, I was never entirely 
 crushed. 
 
 Strivings against temper, strivings against self, 
 strivings after holiness, strivings against unbelief, 
 wrestlings with my own will, fightings with sug- 
 gestions of evil, strugglings upward — these were 
 some phases of the battle. But each and all 
 gradually resolved themselves into one intense and 
 absorbing desire — a longing, "as the hart panteth 
 after the waterbrooks " — for more of union, more 
 of communion, more of holy intimacy with Christ 
 my Lord; nay, including all briefly, for Jesus 
 Himself, in fulness of love and presence and 
 blessing. 
 
 Not that I did not know Him yet ; but the dim 
 view did not satisfy. Not that I had not tasted 
 the water of life ; but I longed for a rich un- 
 bounded draught, in place of the few drops which 
 awhile back had seemed sufficient. 
 
 On the outer pathway of life, the self that 
 showed must have showed too often as a jarring 
 harp-note in a well-tuned harp. I knew myself 
 at last as the family cross, and bitter was the 
 knowledge. Yet I think that if those around 
 could have caught one clear glimpse of that other 
 self, walking upon the inner pathway, they would 
 have pitied more than they would have blamed. 
 They did not see. How could they ? The foes, 
 so personal and real to me, were absolutely hidden 
 from them. * They thought me absent, restless, 
 
 8* '
 
 100 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 unhappy, gloomy, irritable ; and chided or coaxed 
 me as the case might be. And I was all these 
 things — one and all, without excuse. No shadow 
 of excuse for the sin. Yet I doubt not that One, 
 looking on near at hand, though to me He seemed 
 so far away, had tenderer pity for my weakness 
 than fellow-men would bestow ; even while seeing, 
 with clearer eyes than they, the blackness of the 
 defiling stains, day by day contracted. Each pet- 
 tish word, a stain ; each selfish desire, a stain ; 
 each complaining thought, a stain. If we could 
 see these things as they stand in the light of 
 Christ's contrasting holiness, what mind would 
 bear the knowledge? 
 
 But to come back to the outer pathway of my 
 life. 
 
 The "family dinner" at aunt Ellinor's house 
 did not come off the next week. It was deferred 
 until the last day in July, just before the annual 
 family migration of the Pleydells to the sea-side. 
 We found then that we could hardly get out of 
 it any longer, without the possibility of giving 
 offence. I do not know that they cared to have 
 us, any more than we cared to visit them ; but 
 aunt Ellinor liked to do the correct thing, and we 
 had not been for a year. 
 
 Mother would not go, neither would Francey, 
 The boys' lessons were more important, she 
 averred, and they never worked hard unless she 
 were at hand ; and besides, she hated society.
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. lOI 
 
 Mother seemed sorry to see the growth of this 
 latter feeling in Francey. The child was shooting 
 up into womanhood — growing fast, not in body, 
 but in mind. Where Ellie was all yielding soft- 
 ness, Francey had certain angular tendencies, and 
 just a leaning towards a cynical turn. We did not 
 think solitude good for her; but nothing short of a 
 positive command would take her from home, and 
 Mother found it hard to cross her indulged darling. 
 
 So we left those two together, and Esma, Ellie, 
 Lennox, and I started on our unwelcome pleasure 
 trip — unwelcome, at least, to him and to me. I 
 believe the other two rather enjoyed it. We per- 
 formed the greater part of the distance in an 
 omnibus ; a plan which saved our feet, but did 
 not suit Lennox' head. I was sorry to see him 
 put. back the hair from his forehead with a gesture 
 of suffering as we neared the end of our rattling 
 drive. I did not want to destroy Ellie's pleasure by 
 drawing her attention, but she was at a safe dis- 
 tance, and I said something to him in a low voice. 
 
 " One must have one's little burdens," he said 
 quietly. " You as well as L" 
 
 " What is mine ?" I asked. 
 
 " Having to appear in an alpaca dress — isn't 
 that what you call it ? — when the cousins will 
 wear silks." 
 
 " You don't think I really mind that ?" 
 
 "You are^ a woman, Jeannie," he said, smiling. 
 " You only don't allow yourself to mind."
 
 102 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " And yotir burden is " 
 
 "The gas-lamps down on a level with my eyes 
 all the evening ;" and he laughed, but suddenly 
 added, in a different tone, " There are heavier 
 burdens than these. You know them." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Spiritual restlessness — longing — pain." 
 
 " If it is longing after things unattainable, it 
 must be pain." 
 
 " But the things which seem unattainable to you, 
 may all the while be lying within your grasp." 
 
 " I did not mean what made you think I 
 
 was speaking of myself?" I asked quickly. 
 
 " I did not know. I guessed. / was thinking 
 of you." 
 
 " Lennox, how do you know anything about it ? " 
 
 " Perhaps because I have gone through the 
 same. I don't know how I came to speak just 
 now on the subject, but I have sometimes felt 
 inclined." 
 
 " You see deeper than most people," I said, 
 longing for a word of help, and yet trying to shirk 
 it by an uninterested manner. 
 
 " That is as may be. Jeannie, there is one 
 offered gift which you have not yet accepted." 
 
 "What gift?" 
 
 "'My peace I give unto you.' * Let the peace 
 of God rule in your heart.' " 
 
 And I would have said, " How can I ?" but the 
 omnibus stopped, and there was no opportunity
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. IO3 
 
 for more. We walked down half a street and 
 reached uncle Amory's house. 
 
 I could not put aside his words all that evening. 
 'They clung to me tenaciously. "Peace;" "My 
 peace ;" " The peace of God ruling ! " How little 
 I knew of all that ! How could I know more ? 
 What peace could there be for me while my sins 
 and failures were so many ? 
 
 The two paths of my life were very distinct that 
 evening. On the inner I was searching and grop- 
 ing and struggling. On the outer I was seated 
 quietly beside aunt Ellinor Pleydell or others, 
 making polite conversation to the best of my 
 ability. 
 
 Dinner proved but a heavy affair. Three or 
 four people had been asked to meet us ; acquaint- 
 ances who were not so high in the social scale, 
 that aunt Ellinor had any qualms about intro- 
 ducing to them her poor relations. I could not 
 help thinking how she need not have hesitated to 
 introduce Ellie or Lennox to the first nobleman in 
 the land. Ellie's soft ladylike refinement was 
 certainly not to be matched among any of her own 
 five daughters, Ellinor and Janet were fine-look- 
 ing girls, but they dressed in colours a trifle too 
 bright, and talked in voices a trifle too loud. 
 Sybil, the third, was the plain and dull one of 
 the family, consequently also the shy one. Her 
 mother and^ sisters were always trying to rouse 
 her up, but to no purpose. I could have had
 
 104 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 more sympathy with her than the others but for 
 the utter impossibility of drawing her out. Frances 
 and Minnie were just out of the schoolroom, 
 clever bright girls, eager after lectures, learning, 
 and examinations, such as were once considered 
 not to appertain to womankind, and by no means 
 loath to display the accumulation of knowledge 
 whereby they were wont to astonish friends and 
 relations. 
 
 " Fan has just begun to take up Greek. Isn't 
 that a joke ! " Ellinor said, rustling up to me in 
 her blue silk, a while after dinner. " And Minnie 
 says she won't be beaten, and she means to do the 
 same." 
 
 I thought of Francey's quiet studies and the 
 old-fashioned horror with which she would have 
 heard them proclaimed. And a little brown-eyed 
 single lady, with grey silk dress and mittened 
 hands, sitting beside me, remarked, — 
 
 " Classics for young ladies are very well in their 
 way, if they don't put aside the darning needle." 
 
 " Darning ! Oh," cried Ellinor, " Fan wouldn't 
 thank you to set her down to a hole in a stocking." 
 
 And then she rustled away, and Janet came up 
 instead. It was a curious thing about the Pley- 
 dell girls that they had no idea of sustained 
 conversation. They could ask questions or give 
 detached pieces of information, and they could 
 joke or argue, but they did not know how to con- 
 verse in the strict and simple sense of the word.
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. I05 
 
 It was a difficult evening to get through, and 
 would have been more difficult but for the pre- 
 sence at home of Harry Pleydell, the only 
 individual in the family for whom we had real 
 genuine affection. 
 
 He did not resemble either of his parents or 
 one among his sisters. It was quite impossible 
 to help liking Harry : there was such a free frank 
 bonhommie about him. I do not think he ever 
 could have been out of temper in his life for any 
 wrong done to himself. Though he had just 
 finished his last term at the University, it was 
 difficult to give him credit for his twenty-two 
 years, so boyish was his appearance, with his 
 curly head of brown hair and innocent blue 
 eyes. 
 
 I did not come much in Harry's way that night, 
 however, for he attached himself to Ellie, and 
 followed her about the room like a faithful dog. 
 He had always been her devoted knight in child- 
 hood ; but there was danger now of the thing 
 becoming more serious, despite Ellie's uncon- 
 sciousness. I thought aunt Ellinor did not 
 approve of his exclusive interest in her, for once 
 or twice she tried to call him off. It was of no 
 use, however, for he was back again almost im- 
 mediately. There had been some debate whether 
 Harry's law-studies should be carried on in London 
 or in Edinburgh, and the point was undecided till 
 that evening. But I think uncle Amory and aunt
 
 I06 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Ellinor came then and there to the conclusion that 
 Harry would be better at a distance. 
 
 We said good-bye at a comparatively early hour, 
 to allow for the long homeward walk. A second 
 omnibus was not to be put into requisition. 
 Lennox and I were the two silent ones, so we 
 naturally fell into the position of listeners, Esma 
 attaching herself to me, and Ellie walking in front, 
 clinging to Lennox' arm. I could hear her sweet 
 merry tones pouring out the history of the evening, 
 and dwelling much upon Harry's general improve- 
 ment. 
 
 " He isn't the least bit like any of the others, is 
 he, Lennox ? I think he has grown so handsome ; 
 at least, nice-looking. And, do you know, he 
 means to study as hard as possible and to get on, 
 and, perhaps, to be a great man some day. Don't 
 you think he will ? I am sure he will be some- 
 thing quite different from uncle Amory. Harry 
 won't be like most lawyers, you know ; for I don't 
 like lawyers, do you ? Uncle Claire always says 
 that he, and you too, would have been much better 
 off if it had not been for the lawyers. But, of 
 course, there are some nice specimens among 
 them, and Harry will be one of the nicest." And 
 so on, in a childish light-hearted way which 
 almost made me smile, though I was sorry too. 
 
 Esma's remarks were of a different class. She 
 had a good deal to say about the dresses and 
 appearance of all whom she had seen, and I
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. lOJ 
 
 allowed her to run on, only putting in an occa- 
 sional vague reply to keep her going. But I am 
 not quite sure that she paid much more heed than 
 I did to what she uttered. 
 
 Reaching home we found that all but Mother 
 had retired, and she carried off Esma and Ellie 
 immediately. Lennox went into the drawing- 
 room and threw himself into the arm-chair ; and 
 I followed him in with a sort of undefined longing 
 for something of help — I hardly knew what. He 
 seemed in no state for conversation, however, so 
 I said nothing; and I do not think he was even 
 aware of my presence till I laid a wet sponge on 
 his brow, when he said in surprise, " Jeannie !" 
 
 " Don't you like it ? Has your head been aching 
 like this all the evening ?" 
 
 " Not so acutely." 
 
 He let me bathe him steadily for a while, and 
 then I suddenly found him with his eyes open 
 watching me. His next move was to take the 
 sponge and apparatus out of my hands and put 
 them on the table. 
 
 "That will do," he said. "Sit down, Jeannie, 
 and tell me what you were going to say when the 
 omnibus stopped." 
 
 " I don't know," was my involuntary reply. 
 And then I remembered. 
 
 " One soldier can help another in action some- 
 times," he said. " Are you quite sure I cannot 
 now ? "
 
 I08 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Tears were threatening to come, and I did not 
 know what to answer. 
 
 "Don't think me interfering," he said gently; 
 " but I am sorry to see you unhappy. What is 
 it all about, Jeannie ? Not outside troubles, I 
 think." 
 
 I do not know what I said or how much I told 
 him. Certainly I only spoke a few words. But 
 I found the next minute that he had become 
 possessed of my secret grief — the long long 
 hiding of my Saviour's face ; that he was ac- 
 quainted with my secret heart-desire for the 
 abiding presence of Jesus. 
 
 "What keeps you back? What comes between ? " 
 he said, briefly and searchingly. 
 
 "I suppose it may be — sin," I said hesitatingly. 
 " There is no sin so great that the cleansing 
 Blood cannot wash away. The ' all sin ' leaves 
 no margin." 
 
 "No," I said. "But don't you think— don't 
 you think He does hide His face sometimes — for 
 our sins." 
 
 " No doubt of it. Unconfessed sin — habitual 
 sin — allowed indulged sin — these soon rise in a 
 black cloud and shut off His countenance. It 
 cannot be otherwise." 
 
 And I asked him suddenly, " Has it been so 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Put that question to your own heart, Jeannie," 
 he said, with seriousness. 
 
 I
 
 WITHIN AND WITHOUT. IO9 
 
 There was no need to repi}'- in words. I knew 
 the true answer, and so did he. 
 
 " I can't help it," I said bitterly. "What am 
 I to do ? I don't allow them in one sense, but in 
 another — I don't know." 
 
 " Allow what ? Habits of sin ! You don't 
 allow them as desirable, but you allow them as 
 irresistible." 
 
 " I find them so." 
 
 " Take each one separately — whether it be 
 temper or pride or aught else. Yoti, have found 
 it too strong to be stamped down. But — ' Is any- 
 thing tao hard for the Lord ? ' " 
 
 "No, but " 
 
 " Have you ever practically, and with unques- 
 tioning faith, claimed the fulfilment of that grand 
 promise, ' Sin shall not have dominion over 
 you ' ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Then I am safe to conclude that you have not. 
 You have failed hitherto in doing for yourself. See 
 now what Christ can do for you. There was one 
 * could not' in His life, but that was 'because of 
 their unbelief.' Only trust Him, Jeannie. There 
 is no promise whatever, that in this life you will 
 ever get beyond the tempting, enticing, clinging 
 power of sin ; but there is the promise that you 
 shall be free from its dominion, free from its 
 mastery, free from its enslaving command." 
 
 He flushed up suddenly, and put his hand to
 
 no THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 his head with a return of the sharp pain, and I 
 wanted him to stop. 
 
 " In a minute. One word more. Jeannie, if 
 you wish to walk close to the Saviour, your aim 
 must be to ' walk as He walked.' " 
 
 " How can I ? How could I ? " 
 
 " Give yourself into His hands — let Him work 
 His will in you — no resistance or holding back on 
 your part. Never make your own weakness an 
 excuse for yielding to sin. Other temptations will 
 rise as these are overcome, but see that you do 
 overcome — in Him. Allowed sin is fearfully dis- 
 honouring to His name, and fearfully dangerous 
 for ourselves. It isn't His will to take us out of 
 the battle-field in this life, but it is His will to 
 keep us from being overcome by the enemy. I 
 can't talk any more now, I think. Good-night, 
 Jeannie." 
 
 He would not let me do anything for him, but 
 went at once to his own room, and I went to 
 mine. Esma was happily asleep, and I had 
 leisure to think over the past conversation. 
 
 It seemed to me the dawning of a new hope in 
 my life. I had cast already upon Christ Jesus the 
 burden of unpardoned sin. But now I knew that 
 I might also cast upon Him the burden of un- 
 conquered sin. And I felt at last that, in so 
 doing, He would not fail me.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. 
 
 One hot day in the beginning of September, when 
 the half-empty city lay lazily sweltering beneath 
 the sun's rays, Katherine de Salvernai spent an 
 afternoon and evening with us. 
 
 Directly after our early dinner I went with 
 Esma on a little shopping excursion, for which I 
 knew we should have time before Katherine's 
 arrival. As we approached the house on our 
 return, the front door suddenly opened, and Austin 
 Auriol rushed out. I say "rushed" advisedly, 
 for though at all times an impetuous walker, his 
 ordinary pace was on this occasion nearly trebled. 
 He almost ran over me, and then pulled himself 
 up and apologised confusedly with a flurried look.. 
 
 " Is there anything the matter ? " I asked. 
 
 " The — matter ? I — I beg your pardon " 
 
 " I thought you might have been sent for 
 suddenly," I explained, for he seemed be- 
 wildered- 
 
 " Oh— oh, I see ! Yes, thank you ;— no, — I— I 
 believe there Is a committee "
 
 112 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 And then he took off his hat, bowed, and 
 walked on at an express-train speed, leaving us 
 in a state of amaze. 
 
 " What has come over him ? " exclaimed Esma. 
 
 " We had a narrow escape of a collision. Per- 
 haps that embarrassed him. Or he may have 
 forgotten his committee, and suddenly remembered 
 that he would be late." 
 
 Esma shook her head doubtfully, but we had 
 now reached the house, and my latch-key admitted 
 us without delay. No sooner were we within than 
 I caught a glimpse of Ellie coming out of the 
 drawing-room, with her face perfectly crimson, 
 tears brimming her eyes, and her little hands 
 clasped distressfully together. The moment she 
 saw me, she turned and fled upstairs. I had time 
 for one passing wonder, as to whether Mr. Auriol 
 could by any possibility have seen it his duty to 
 speak any words of pastoral rebuke or admoni- 
 tion to Ellie— a thing exceedingly improbable with 
 one so sweet and gentle. And then Katherine 
 arrived. 
 
 Poor Kathie ! Half a day's holiday was a rare 
 pleasure in her life ! How she revelled in a few 
 hours' escape from her round of petty troubles. 
 
 She came dancing into the house in a state of 
 exuberant spirits, like a child set loose from school, 
 perfectly indifferent to the heat of her long walk. 
 I took her straight upstairs to my own room, and 
 Esma for once had discretion or kindness enough 

 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. II3 
 
 to keep aloof. Kathie was universally acknow- 
 ledged to be my special friend, and my right to 
 her was undisputed. 
 
 She sat down on one chair and I on the other, 
 and then she took my hands, and looked straight 
 into my face with a pair of devouring eyes. 
 
 ''Well, Jeannie?" 
 
 " Well, Kathie ? " 
 
 " Tell me all — everything. I am sickening for 
 details of something beyond my own little 
 cramped circle of interests. Pies, puddings and 
 pies ; puddings, pies and puddings ; with shirt 
 buttons and darning by way of variety." 
 
 " It doesn't narrow you, that is one comfort." 
 
 " It does. My mind has grown painfully con- 
 tracted of late. Oh, what an age it is since you 
 and I have had a chat. Tell me all about your 
 drawing and writing." 
 
 So I poured out a history of my hopes and 
 efforts into those most sympathising ears, and 
 Kathie looked by turns as delighted and as 
 anxious as I could desire. She was very sanguine ' 
 of success for me. 
 
 '* You clever creature, I wish I were you," she 
 said. " I'm such a humdrum animal — only 
 capable of copying other folks' ideas." 
 
 " Oh, Kathie ! you paint beautifully ! " 
 
 " Copying— only copying. I can't originate. 
 If I could I would invent some new puddings to 
 satisfy father, for he is tired of all the old ones. 
 
 9
 
 114 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 But go on — tell me something more. What 
 about Esma ? Do you and she get on better ? " 
 
 ** Yes," I said thoughtfully, for I had wanted to 
 speak with Kathie on this very subject. " I am 
 always so glad you told me what you did that day." 
 
 " It was very cool of me." 
 
 " It was real kindness. I am sure I needed 
 something of the sort." 
 
 " You were very good not to be offended. Are 
 you more fond of her now ? " 
 
 " Not exactly that," I said. " But I am more 
 sorry for her. And — yes, it is easier than it used 
 to be to live smoothly with her." 
 
 " She isn't so vexatious in her w^ays, you 
 mean." 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think she can help 
 being a little— a little " 
 
 " Teasing," suggested Kathie. 
 
 " Yes. But, Kathie " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 *' I don't think we ought to give way to temper 
 when we are teased." 
 
 " Of course not. It is dreadful. But I can't 
 help it. Oh, how I have fought and tried — and 
 almost to no purpose." 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears all in a moment. 
 " I know — I know what it is," I said. " But, 
 Kathie, though you and I can't conquer, there is 
 One who can." 
 . "Yes— but "
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. II5 
 
 "You don't quite believe it ? " 
 
 " Of course I know it must be so. But — He 
 doesn't." 
 
 " May I speak plainly ? " I asked. 
 
 " As plainly as I did to you." 
 
 " Kathie, have you asked Him ? " 
 
 " To do what? Conquer my pride and temper ? 
 Yes — of course." 
 
 " But how ? In a general or in a special way ? 
 Because, you know, general prayers bring only 
 general answers ; and vague prayers bring vague 
 answers ; and special prayers bring special 
 answers." 
 
 " I suppose it has been in what you would call 
 a general way," said Kathie slowly. 
 
 " And not looking out afterwards for any marked 
 answer ?" 
 
 She fixed her eyes on me and shook her head. 
 And then I said, — 
 
 " But I have proved His power." 
 
 ''How? What power?" 
 
 "To be my strength where I am weak. To 
 conquer where I fail." 
 
 "Tell me how?" she repeated. 
 
 " I told Him my weakness. I put the sin alto- 
 gether into His hands — whichever I was most 
 troubled about just then. I asked Him to set me 
 right — to keep me right — to give me patience 
 and calmness.* And then I waited for the answer 
 — expecting it." 
 
 9*
 
 Il6 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 "And it came?" 
 
 •" Oh, Kathie, you can't think what a difference 
 it has made." 
 
 " J/ow?" 
 
 " The hopelessness in batthng is gone. It is just 
 the difference of fighting alone, and of fighting with 
 Him beside me, — with His hand holding mine." 
 
 " Since when ?" 
 
 " Only lately. It was something Lennox said 
 which helped me first. I am just learning step 
 by step, and I can't always see so clearly." 
 
 " But the feeling Him beside you," and tears 
 flooded her eyes again. "You don't know, 
 Jeannie, — I never spoke of this to you before, — 
 but you don't know how I long just for that. I 
 wish I were you. Oh, I wish I were you !" And 
 she sighed heavily. 
 
 I hardly distinguished at the moment that 
 which I remembered so distinctly afterwards, 
 a little voice in my heart saying softly, — " Ah ! 
 Kathie set you right a while since, but now see how 
 far you have advanced beyond her ! " But for 
 that voice I should surely have answered in other 
 wise than I did, — should have tried to help 
 Kathie onwards, rather than have dilated further 
 on my own experience. 
 
 " It makes such a difference," I said again. 
 *' To feel Him with me, to know that He is 
 watching all I do, and that I am doing it all to 
 Him ; I don't think that any earthly joy can equal
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. II7 
 
 that. And sometimes the sense of His nearness 
 is so strong, — like that verse, ' His left hand is 
 under my head, and His right hand doth embrace 
 me.' I could not say this to anybody but you, 
 I think, Kathie, but to you I may." 
 
 "And you have felt like that!" she said in 
 a longing sort of a way. " But you don't always, 
 do you ?" 
 
 " No, — and then everything is dark — nothing 
 apart from it is worth having. And then I pray, — 
 and it always comes again sooner or later." 
 
 She sighed again quietly, as if feeling it quite 
 hopeless to attempt to reach up to where I stood. 
 Was her feeling the reflection of something in my 
 own heart ? And then she began telling me how 
 fractious uncle Claire had been of late, and how 
 nothing she ever did could satisfy him ; and how 
 her brave little heart grew at times almost weary 
 of her life, with its fretting round of dull duties 
 and puny cares. She found some relief doubtless 
 in talking to me ; but I do not think I said any- 
 thing which gave her particular comfort, long as 
 our talk lasted. 
 
 All at once the tea-bell rang, and we went down- 
 stairs. I was surprised not to see Ellie present, 
 and Mother said, in answer to my inquiries, that 
 she did not feel quite well, and a cup of tea was to 
 be sent up to her. I felt sure something unusual 
 had happened ; but it was no time to inquire ii\ 
 public. Mother's cheeks wore their little worried
 
 Il8 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 flush, and though Lennox' face told no tales, I 
 felt sure he knew all about the matter. 
 
 Other people were light-hearted and careless 
 enough. The only one who seemed really out of 
 tune w^as Esma. I fancied that she felt herself 
 rather cast into the shade by our little dark-eyed 
 brown-skinned countess, as we used laughingly to 
 call Kathie. How heartily Kathie enjoyed the 
 fun and freedom of our family party ! She kept 
 the whole table alive with her little flashes of wit 
 at one and another, and had one or two regular 
 passages at arms with Lennox. Esma grew 
 curt in tone, and I wondered whether she were 
 jealous. 
 
 Among other subjects that of uncle Claire's 
 family pictures came up, and the supposed like- 
 ness of Lennox to the count was touched upon. 
 
 " Highly flattering to myself, only I never could 
 perceive it," he remarked; while Kathie merrily 
 maintained that the two faces were as like as two 
 peas. " If Lennox only had a long curly wig, 
 there would be no knowing them apart," she 
 declared. " I always used to say he was not thin 
 enough, but I can't say even that now." And then 
 such an anxious look came into Mother's eyes, 
 that Kathie was quite sorry for her words, and 
 tried to cover them over by adding brightly, " Just 
 as Maggie grew more like the baronet, you know, 
 with advancing years." 
 
 " What ! Sir Vaughan Menteith ! " I asked.
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. IIQ 
 
 " Ah ! I always said she had a strong look of him ; 
 but nobody sees it except you and I." 
 
 "A mere collateral ancestor; she has no right 
 to it, and father says it is all fancy on my part. 
 Never mind, Jeannie. You and I may indulge 
 ourselves in the happy belief that we can see 
 farther than most folks." 
 
 " I thought Maggie was supposed to be a 
 beauty," said Esma, looking at me, and speaking 
 in her most " contradictious " tone. 
 " She is," I said warmly. 
 
 " And yet you think her like that plain rigid- 
 looking Sir Vaughan ! " 
 
 I was insulted for my hero and my pet picture, 
 as well as for Maggie. 
 
 *' Sir Vaughan plain ! The idea of such a 
 thing ! Lennox, don't you agree with me ? The 
 execution of the picture is inferior, of course ; but 
 surely any one who knows anything of physi- 
 ognomy must see his face to belong to a far higher 
 type than Henri de Salvernai's." 
 
 " I don't know about the physiognomical part of 
 the question, but I am bound to give my sanction 
 to your verdict, after the remarks on my likeness 
 to the count." 
 
 " It isn't that I want to depreciate the count ; 
 only the other face has a peculiar attraction for 
 me," I said. 
 
 " It hasn't for me," said Esma, ** If I am any- 
 thing of a physiognomist, which Jeannie would
 
 120 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 deny, he must have been one of the most dogged, 
 dogmatic, self-opinionated, ill-tempered men that 
 ever existed." 
 
 She was just stringing words together to tease 
 me ; and I knew it. Something had irritated her, 
 and she was venting her irritation on me. Why 
 could I not pass quietly over the question ? What 
 did it matter, whether she or I agreed or disagreed 
 in our estimate of a couple of old portraits ? 
 
 But, no ; I must needs endeavour to convince 
 her that she was wrong and I was right. Mother 
 tried to keep the peace, by remarking that Maggie 
 was too completely an Orme to bear much re- 
 semblance to a De Salvernai ancestor, much less 
 one who was not even a De Salvernai in descent. 
 But it was of no use. We were in the thick of one 
 of our wrangling discussions before I knew what 
 I was about ; whereupon Mother made a hasty 
 move to go into the drawing-room, though Edwy 
 had not done tea ; and our argument was broken off. 
 
 Just at that instant I met Kathie's eyes fixed 
 steadily on mine. It rushed across me what she 
 must think ; but I could not undo the last few 
 minutes. 
 
 There was no opportunity yet to see Kathie 
 alone, as I longed to do. She was petitioning for 
 a game of chess with Lennox, and an interested 
 group soon gathered round the board. I busied 
 myself with sketching the scene lightly on a piece 
 of paper. Mother had disappeared, and Esma
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. 121 
 
 was sitting rather apart ; but Francey stood 
 behind Lennox' chair ; and Kathie was flanked on 
 either side by a devoted knight-errant of a boy, 
 sympathising largely in her suppressed excite- 
 ment, and endeavouring to help her with advice, 
 which she received gratefully but did not follow. 
 It was a pleasure to commit those three exuberant 
 faces to paper. Esma, soberly working in a sort 
 of " middle distance " behind them, made a 
 curious contrast ; Francey's brow had lines of 
 trouble on it, which came out strongly in the 
 drawing, with no intention on my part ; and 
 Lennox' attenuated look had never struck me 
 so forcibly. I put down my pencil twice to 
 scan him. His cheeks were almost sunken, 
 and there was a strange shadowy line across 
 his forehead which I had not noticed before. It 
 told me how he had wasted of late. 
 
 " Now, Kathie, do, do check him," whispered 
 her right-hand adviser. " Why, if I was you, I'd 
 checkmate him in two moves." 
 
 "How?" asked Kathie kindly, willing to be 
 instructed. 
 
 " Why, I'd move the castle so; and then next 
 time, the queen so; and then — oh, dear! but I 
 didn't *see he could take your queen." 
 
 *' No; so I'll do this instead," said Kathie, in a 
 peculiarly quiet tone which ought to have warned 
 Lennox of danger. A shout made me look up and 
 ask, —
 
 122 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " What now ? " 
 
 " She's taken his castle. Hurrah ! " 
 
 " Game's yours now, Kathie, sure enough. 
 Hurrah ! " 
 
 " Mine ! I wish it were. Don't sing my victory 
 before it is gained. Lennox, your head is ach- 
 ing." 
 
 " Check ! " said Lennox coolly. " There is one 
 thing you have not learnt yet, Kathie, in the 
 course of your wide experience." 
 
 "What ? " she asked wonderingly. 
 
 " Stale news is wasted breath." 
 
 " But doesn't this make it worse ?" 
 
 " I can't possibly give up the pleasure of beating 
 you." 
 
 More than that was not needed to make her 
 forget all other considerations in the excitement 
 of the fight. Mother glided into the room, and I 
 said to her softly, " Is Ellie better? What is the 
 matter?" 
 
 Mother shook her head and glanced at the others. 
 
 " Don't you know what it is ? " I asked, rather 
 bewildered. 
 
 " lean guess; butthe poor child only cries, and 
 will not talk. She does not want any one with 
 her, she says ; but when Kathie has gone you 
 might try." 
 
 Mother moved away into the chess-group, and I 
 felt perfectly mystified. Just then, however, my 
 thoughts were directed into another channel.
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. I23 
 
 The postman's knock sounded, and I slipped un- 
 noticed out of the room. I remember, how with 
 hghtning speed certain thoughts flashed through 
 my mind. What if an answer had come about 
 my book ! O for success ! If I could but make 
 a few pounds, what a relief it would be ! Change 
 of air for Lennox must be our first consideration. 
 He was worn-out with the long hot summer of 
 ceaseless work, and I had an intense dread of his 
 breaking completely down, if things were allowed 
 to continue thus. Six weeks of sea breezes and 
 absolute rest might set him up for the winter ; but 
 otherwise 
 
 I opened the front door, and took from the post- 
 man's hand a letter and a parcel. I knew in a 
 moment what it meant. 
 
 How glad I was to be alone. I went into the 
 dining-room, shut the door, and lighted a candle 
 before opening the letter. Yes ; my tale of many 
 hopes and many prayers was refused, was seemingly 
 'altogether a failure. It was kindly and courteously 
 refused — but still it was refused. There was no 
 disguising this bitter fact. It was refused, and 
 that in a way which convinced me that the home 
 estimate of my story, and doubtless also my own 
 estimate of my powers, had been pitched far too 
 high. 
 
 What if, after all, I had no such talent ? What 
 if this were noi to be the way in which our difficul- 
 ties should be hedged over, and Lennox enabled
 
 124 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 to slacken work ? Sadder thought still — what 
 if he were not to slacken work in time ? What 
 if there should come at length a complete break 
 down, and all means of livelihood should fail 
 us ? 
 
 No need to fear this only because my plan had 
 not succeeded. God could help us in a thousand 
 other ways, if it were His will. Nothing was im- 
 possible to Him. The whole world, with its silver 
 and gold, and the hearts of all mankind, lay at 
 His disposal. 
 
 Ah ! but this way of mine was the way I wanted. 
 How could I give it up ? For ten minutes I re- 
 mained apart, and wrestled passionately with the 
 fierce striving of this will of mine. How power- 
 less I found myself to conquer ! O the bitterness 
 of those few minutes ! 
 
 And then I thought I would use the present 
 opportunity of absence from the drawing-room, 
 to see how Ellie was. I had taken care not to 
 shed any tears, lest their traces should be seen, 
 but I wanted no sign whatever of agitation to be 
 visible on my face, and I was glad of a little longer 
 delay. 
 
 The door of Ellie's bedroom was shut, and I 
 thought at first that it was locked. Tapping failed 
 to bring any answer, and I could hear, with atten- 
 tive listening, the sound of low sobbing within. I 
 spoke her name, but in vain ; and then to my joy
 
 KATHIE DE SALVERNAI. 125 
 
 I found that the door yielded on the turning of 
 the handle. 
 
 I shut it behind me, and went softly to the bed. 
 Poor little Ellie ! she had thrown herself down, 
 with her face buried in the pillow and only the 
 outline of a flushed distressed brow was visible. 
 But when I touched her, she started to a sitting 
 posture, with an exclamation of surprise, — 
 
 " Jeannie ! oh, I don't want — please leave me 
 alone," 
 
 " What is the matter, Ellie ? " I asked gently. 
 
 " I'll tell Mamma by-and-by. Do leave me 
 quiet, please." 
 
 She looked pitifully entreating, and her sweet 
 face quivered with the effort for self-control. I 
 longed to have her turn to me for comfort, but 
 somehow Ellie had never been accustomed to do 
 so, and she was not likely to begin it now. I felt 
 painfully that I had not sought her confidence, as 
 I might have done, by more outpouring of sym- 
 pathy in everyday life . 
 
 " Don't you feel any better ? " I asked. 
 
 "There isn't much wrong with me. I'm only 
 so — so miserable." 
 
 The word forced its way out, and she sobbed 
 again. 
 
 " Would you not like to see Francey or Len- 
 nox ? " 
 
 " no. They have both been in, and I've
 
 126 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 promised to talk to Mamma presently. Please, 
 Jeannie, I do want to be quiet." 
 
 What more could I do ? I put the shawl straight 
 over her feet, and gave her a kiss, which she re- 
 turned, but I could not force confidence from her. 
 Feeling altogether very useless and heavy-hearted, 
 I retraced my steps to the drawing-room, taking 
 care to assume a tolerably cheerful expression as 
 I entered.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. 
 
 " Did the postman bring anything, Jeannie ? " 
 asked Mother. " We have been wondering what 
 could have become of you." 
 
 " I went to see ElHe for a minute; but she did not 
 want anything, and I came away," was my answer. 
 " Yes, the postman brought back my manuscript. 
 They decHne to publish the tale : so it is evidently 
 a failure." 
 
 Thus bluntly and composedly did I announce 
 my news. Exclamations of sorrow and disap- 
 pointment answered me, and Mother's tender half- 
 tearful kiss of sympathy put my self-command 
 to a pretty hard test. I could stand anything 
 except that. 
 
 " What reason do they give ? " asked Kathie, 
 kindly taking it for granted that I did not care, 
 and speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. 
 
 " Oh, you can see, any of you," I answered, 
 holding out the letter as invitingly as if it had 
 been a sugar-plum. " It wants plot and interest ; 
 and they don't think it would sell. They ought
 
 128 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 to know at all events. I suppose I must try some- 
 where else; but I don't expect now to succeed. 
 What has become of the game of chess ? " 
 
 " Done," said Edwy ; " and Kathie won." 
 
 "Yes; but I don't feel proud of my victory. 
 Lennox isn't up to doing his best." 
 
 " The beaten party has no right to comfort him- 
 self with excuses," said Lennox. " There never 
 was a battle lost yet in which something or some- 
 body might not be blamed. The stern fact of de- 
 feat remains untouched." 
 
 He laughed slightly as he spoke ; but I thought 
 I could detect an unusual air of oppression about 
 him and a weight of pain rested upon his eyes. 
 It rushed across my mind more strongly than ever, 
 how there could be no change or rest for him now. 
 I do not know whether my face showed anything 
 of that moment's distress. I had hardly realised 
 till then how much, how very much, I had been 
 building on the success of my book. 
 
 " I am afraid I ought to be going home now," 
 said Kathie, slipping her arm affectionately into 
 mine. " Father made me promise not to be late. 
 Is this yours, Jeannie ? " 
 
 She picked up the little rough sketch which I 
 had made before the postman arrived, and it was 
 passed to and fro, winning praise largely. Dear 
 creatures — they all thought my wounded vanity 
 wanted soothing ; and though I saw through the 
 motive, I loved them the better for it.
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. I2g 
 
 " '\\^ell, who is going with me ? " asked Kathie. 
 " Father will grow impatient." 
 
 Both boys volunteered eagerly to act as her 
 escort, and she went upstairs with me to dress. 
 She chatted upon indifferent subjects until ready 
 equipped for the start ; and then, taking hold of 
 both my hands in a tight squeeze, she said softly — 
 
 " I'm so sorry ! " 
 
 " What about — the story ? Oh, you need not 
 think of that anymore," I said cheerily. "All 
 would-be writers have to go through these little 
 disappointments. Perhaps I have been trying too 
 high a flight. I may succeed, after all, some day; 
 and if not, I must just settle down contentedly to 
 a life without writing." 
 
 " I thought you would have minded more," she 
 said ; and how pleased I was to have so success- 
 fully blinded her. Minded ! O dear ! 
 
 " It is a good thing to be philosophical," I 
 remarked. "But I want now to speak about 
 something quite different. Kathie, did you notice 
 at tea-time " 
 
 " Yes," she said simply. 
 
 " I was afraid you must. I am so sorry and 
 ashamed," I whispered. " But you must not let 
 that make you think what I was saying any the 
 less true. The thing is, I am afraid I was pleased 
 with myself — almost proud of myself — when I was 
 talking to yoa, and that alvvavs brings about a 
 fall." 
 
 ID
 
 130 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE, 
 
 She gave me a kiss and went away. I followed 
 her to the head of the stairs, and then returned to 
 my own room, thinking sadly how my conduct 
 had belied my teaching. Would it be better that 
 I should never speak at all on such subjects, but 
 only strive to witness for my Master by a hol}^ life ? 
 No ; I could not feel this right. Rather should 
 I pray more earnestly against this sin of mine, 
 seeking to be set free from the snare of self-con- 
 sciousness and self-satisfaction, even as I had 
 advised Kathie to seek, according to her need. A 
 " meek and quiet spirit," " a heart at leisure from 
 itself," were what I wanted. 
 
 I had sinned in listening to the whisper of self- 
 complacency. But was the after-failure in temper 
 an absolutely necessary consequence ? Because 
 my motives in speaking for my Master had been 
 thus tarnished, was an outward fall the needful 
 result ? Hardly so. If I had been more upon 
 my guard, more instantly aware of the temp- 
 tation, more prompt in seeking fresh pardon and 
 fresh strength, the after-trial of my temper might 
 not have taken me unawares. 
 
 I thought over these questions for a minute or 
 two, and then my mind wandered off to my poor 
 little book. This unlooked-for failure seemed to 
 bring such a blank with it. The excitement of 
 expectation had suddenly collapsed, and I felt 
 almost as if no interest in life remained to me. 
 I had seemed to myself beforehand to be praying
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. I3I 
 
 SO submissively that God's will might be done in 
 the matter. And now — well, doubtless this was 
 the doing of His will. But it was not that for 
 which I had hoped, and instead of finding sub- 
 mission in my heart, I found rebellion. It is easy 
 to say, " Thy will be done " when all things are 
 shaped according to our own inclinations ; but 
 I failed to stand the test of the direct crossing of 
 my will. 
 
 Afraid of my absence being remarked, I was 
 descending the stairs, when I met Mother. 
 
 "I am going to Ellie," she said. " Will you 
 come too ? " 
 
 " Ellie would rather have you alone." 
 
 " No, Francey says she is asking for us both." 
 
 I was perplexed ; and it was not till the day 
 following that I learnt how Francey had told her 
 of my disappointment, and how Elbe's tender 
 heart had immediately reproached her with hav- 
 ing treated me ungraciously. However, I followed 
 Mother, and we found Ellie seated on the side of 
 her bed, with her hair tangled, one cheek flushed, 
 and a pair of tear-swollen eyes looking out for us 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Do you mind my staying, Ellie ? " I asked, 
 "or shall I go ? " 
 
 She put her hand on mine by way of answer, and 
 held it fast. Mother took a seat beside her, and Elbe's 
 head went down on her shoulder like a little bird 
 creeping close up to the parent wing for protection. 
 
 10 ^^
 
 132 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Bit by bit the story came out, interrupted by 
 occasional sobs from Ellie and slight explanations 
 from Mother, who knew already a good deal more 
 than I did. 
 
 It seemed that Mr. Auriol had walked into the 
 drawing-room unannounced, as he often did, for he 
 had grown to be very much at home in our midst. 
 There he found Ellie seated alone at her work, 
 and immediatelyentered into conversation. Ellie's 
 intention was to summon Mother, but she did not 
 care at that moment to disarrange her work by 
 putting it down, and he seemed well content 
 to have a chat. " Of course, he ahvays is kind, 
 and talks to me like an old friend," said Ellie, 
 in a sort of resentful way. " And I like to 
 hear him speak about Lennox ; and I always 
 thought he treated me as a child, and I didn't 
 want anything else." 
 
 A fact came out here which gave me a start, for 
 somehow I had never imagined such a thing 
 possible. I too had deemed that he looked upon 
 Ellie as a pretty playful child. But it appeared 
 that a month or so earlier he had spoken to 
 Mother and Lennox, asking their permission to 
 seek her hand, and they, though much surprised, 
 were evidently in no wise unwilling. They only 
 considered her very 3-oung, and advised delay. 
 No absolute restrictions were laid upon him, how- 
 ever; and though he seemed content to follow 
 their counsel, I suppose he could not resist the
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. I33 
 
 sudden temptation of finding Ellie alone. One 
 way or another, lie spoke out his mind in unmis- 
 takable terms. 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what I said to him," 
 sobbed poor Ellie, when the tale reached this 
 point. " It isn't that I don't like him, for I do. 
 I never knew anybody kinder. And he is so 
 clever that he almost frightens me. But I can't 
 think how he got such a stupid idea into his head. 
 I'm only a child, and I don't know or care about 
 any such thing. I don't want to know, either. 
 I only want to be a child as long as I can. 
 Mamma, what sliall I do ? I can't — -I couldn't — " 
 
 " You shall do just what you wish, dearest," said 
 Mother, "As you say, you are very young, and 
 can hardly know 3.'our own mind yet." 
 
 " But I do know it," said Ellie. "It isn't that. 
 I shan't change. I like Mr. Auriol ; but I 
 couldn't leave you for anybody in all the world. 
 Mamma, how could I ? How could he ask me to 
 do it ? And I never shall love anybody so much 
 as Lennox and Francey and you. And then 
 — after everybody in this house, you know — I like 
 Harry better th.an anybody, because he is my 
 own cousin and he is so nice. I can't make 
 myself like Mr. Auriol so much as my own 
 relations, can I, Mamma ? " 
 
 " No, dear, of course not," said Mother. 
 " But Mr." Auriol seenjed to mind it so dread- 
 fully," said Ellie, her voice shaking. " Mamma,
 
 134 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I can't bear to make anybody unhappy. Why 
 didn't he have the sense to fix on Jeannie or 
 Esma ? Jeannie would just suit him exactly." 
 
 " Thank you, Ellie," I said as drily as I could. 
 
 " I wish he had. Mamma, isn't it dreadful ? He 
 is such a good man, and Lennox' own particular 
 friend, and you are all so fond of him ;" and poor 
 Ellie broke down completely, and cried as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 Just at this instant the door creaked slightly, 
 and I caught a glimpse of Francey's face peeping 
 in. She said in a low voice, "J,eannie, do you 
 know where the sideboard keys are ?" 
 
 " Downstairs, I believe," I said. 
 
 " Jeannie — come, please, and show me." 
 
 There was a ring of impatience and a sharp 
 tremor in the subdued tones. Mother was sooth- 
 ing Ellie, and noticed nothing. I went to the 
 door, where Francey caught my hand, pulled me 
 out by main force, and whispered breathlessly, — 
 
 " Don't speak ! Don't frighten them ! Lennox 
 has fainted again. Oh, come ! " 
 
 " Lennox!" 
 
 " He went off in a moment, like last time. 
 Esma is so frightened. Do make haste." 
 
 I rushed downstairs at a pace which she could 
 not equal. Nobody was in the drawing-room, 
 except Esma, who stood leaning against the table, 
 looking just as helpless and terrified as she had 
 done once before. Lennox was half-sitting, half-
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. I35 
 
 lying, on the sofa, where he had suddenly sunk 
 back, with his head resting against the cushions. 
 I hurriedly loosened his collar and made him lie 
 flat, as in an ordinary fainting fit ; but the dead 
 weight and deathly whiteness sent a shudder 
 through me. "Some water — the doctor!" — I 
 exclaimed, almost alarmed at the strange sound 
 of my own voice. " Francey, send for him at 
 once : this is worse than last time." 
 
 " He is dying," said Esma, with a gasp. 
 " Don't you see, Jeannie ? I tell you he is dying." 
 
 "No, no, no!" I said vehemently; and I 
 snatched a glass of water — unseen till that 
 moment — from the side-table, dashed some in his 
 face, twice, thrice, without avail, and tried to force 
 a few drops between his lips. Then Francey came 
 back, and we began to chafe the cold wdiite lifeless 
 hands which hung so heavily in our grasp. Was 
 it, could it be, death ? I believe a sickening fear 
 was gaining entrance into our hearts, and I had 
 just said, — "It is of no use; Mamma must be 
 called," when he opened his eyes and looked 
 around. 
 
 The relief of that moment ! but I did not dare 
 to show it. I only said, " Lie quiet, Lennox. 
 You are better now ; but please keep still." 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked involuntarily, 
 and then he caught sight of Esma's face and sat 
 up. "I see! I have startled you all again. 
 Where is Mother? "
 
 136 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Not here. She does not know," I said. 
 
 " I am glad of that. You have not sent for the 
 doctor, of course ? " 
 
 " I wish you would be still," I said uneasily ; 
 for, though himself again, he was white still to the 
 lips, and there was a slight confusion of manner 
 perceptible. 
 
 " Have you sent ? " he asked with unusual 
 peremptoriness. 
 
 "Yes; but indeed, Lennox " 
 
 " Send somebody else and countermand the 
 message." 
 
 I heard the front door open, and ran out, hoping 
 it might be Mr. Ramsay. No ; Kitty said he was 
 from home. There was no concealing the fact. 
 
 "Tell her to go at once and say that I do not 
 require him this evening," said Lennox, more 
 quietly, but not less decisively. " I will call and 
 ask him some day about myself, but I will not 
 have my mother alarmed. Jeannie, if you do not 
 go I must do it myself." I held out for a while, 
 and then found there was no choice but to obey. 
 I found Kitty coming away from Elbe's room, 
 and though she had had discretion enough to give 
 no particulars, she had let slip a word about 
 " master's head being very bad to-night." Mother 
 and Elbe were down in the drawing-room before 
 two minutes were over. I don't know how they 
 escaped knowing from his face what had occurred, 
 but he welcomed Ellie so merrily from her
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. I37 
 
 " retirement " that I suppose they were deceived 
 into thinking him all right. I fancy the slight 
 singular excitement of manner struck Ellie at last, 
 for she looked earnestly at him once or twice, and 
 then made him lie down, and stood for a long 
 while by him, laying her little cool hands alter- 
 nately on his brow. When next he moved he 
 was quiet as usual, only so weary that he had 
 hardly voice to say " good-night." Ellie whispered 
 to me half-pitifully, half-indignantly, — "As if I 
 ever could leave him and Mother ! The idea of 
 such a thing." But I do not think I viewed the 
 matter in quite the same light. I was older than 
 Ellie, and Lennox had never been quite so much 
 the object of my devotion as of hers, though he 
 was a very dear brother to me. How dear I did 
 not then know. 
 
 And then Esma and I were alone in our room, 
 and she came up in front of me wiih a pink spot 
 on each cheek and a glitter in her eyes, and said 
 steadily, — 
 
 " Jeannie, do you know that Lennox will die ? " 
 
 *' Esma, how can you ?" was all I could say. 
 
 " I mean, if things are not changed. He is 
 killing himself." 
 
 It was sadly, terribly true — so far! But what 
 were we to do ? 
 
 " He is wearing out," she said huskil}^, " and / 
 have been just the added weight which is breaking 
 him down."
 
 138 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Nonsense, Esma. We all have to reproach 
 ourselves." 
 
 " You ! you belong to him," she said, coming a 
 step nearer, and looking hard at me. " You have 
 a claim upon him. I have none. I am only a 
 stray waif; nobody to love me in the world ; no- 
 body belonging to me. O Jeannie, it is so bitter." 
 
 She put her hands over her face with a harsh 
 tearless sob. 
 
 " But we do love you," I said. 
 
 " Not you. Aunt Jane pities me. Ellie loves 
 me a little as she would love even a cat or a dog 
 that came in her way. I am nothing to anybody. 
 Jeannie, can't you be a little sorry for me ?" 
 
 " I am very sorry," I said, wishing I could be 
 a better comforter. " But, indeed, Esma, you are 
 not so alone as you think. You seem quite to 
 belong to us now." 
 
 "Only seeming — not reality. I am not one of 
 you. It is very good of you all to put up with me, 
 but you won't have to do it much longer. I shall 
 find a situation, and I want your help." 
 
 I was going to protest, but she took hold of my 
 two wrists and held them like a vice. 
 
 " Jeannie, I won't hear a word ; you shall not 
 act the part of tempter to me. Do you think I 
 don't want to stay ? But I tell you it would be 
 wrong — quite, quite wrong. Lennox will die if 
 his burden is not lightened. Do you want me to 
 feel as if I had been murdering him ? You are to
 
 THE END OF THE EVENING. 139 
 
 make aunt Jane consent, and then help to find me 
 a situation as quickly as possible. Jeannie, you 
 must promise me." 
 
 " If I can see it to be right," I said slowly, for 
 I believed it might be so. 
 
 She put her arms round me, and gave me a kiss. 
 
 " You don't dislike me so much as you once did ; 
 but you know it will be very nice for you to have 
 your room to yourself. Jeannie, I wo;^W have loved 
 you more, if you would have let me at the first ; 
 and lately I really have begun. I know you don't 
 care for me, but you will — will — will pray for me." 
 
 The word would hardly come, and I longed to 
 say something to her about the Friend she needed, 
 only I always felt so reserved with Esma. I just 
 whispered, " Indeed, I will ! " And then we 
 undressed in silence. But I heard sounds of 
 subdued weeping long after we were in bed — so 
 subdued that I could hardly feel sure I was not 
 mistaken, until I saw her heavy reddened eyelids 
 next morning. 
 
 I had a long conversation with Mother, in the 
 course of which we both very reluctantly came to 
 the conviction that Esma was right. It would 
 not do to sacrifice Lennox to cousinly feeling, and 
 Esma was certainly more capable of filling such a 
 situation than uncle Amory had imagined her, or 
 perhaps than she had actually been on her first 
 arrival in England. 
 
 But the thing we wanted was not easily found.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 YIELDING UP. 
 
 The desired situation for Esma did not present 
 itself readily, though she seemed prepared to grasp 
 at the first which might be offered. Lennox had 
 given way in the matter of consent, though he 
 would take no active steps in the matter. Our 
 friends were few, and possessed little interest. 
 Austin Auriol had kept clear of our house for many 
 weeks, which was hardly to be wondered at, though 
 Mother and Lennox had expressed to him earnest 
 hopes that we should not lose him as a friend. It 
 was not the time, however, to ask any favour of 
 him ; and though uncle Amory had promised to 
 help us, he seemed greatly disinclined to bestir 
 himself. We fancied that he considered the plan 
 injurious to his own dignity, and that he would 
 have preferred to see Esma living on in our 
 house. 
 
 One dismal November day, I remember under- 
 taking all alone the long walk to uncle Amory's, 
 for the purpose of trying to impress him with a 
 sense of our true position. I started immediately
 
 YIELDING UP. 141 
 
 after our early dinner, but a faint pall of blue fog 
 hung already over the streets, and a weight of 
 gloom lay at my heart. 
 
 There seemed no hope, no outlet, for us in our 
 troubles. Lennox' co-secretary, Mr. Whymple, 
 had called that very morning to express his serious 
 fears for Lennox, and to offer advice, in terms 
 going beyond a hint, that he should either give up 
 the secretaryship altogether in time, or take a six 
 months rest, finding some competent person to 
 fill his place. Of course Mr. Whymple knew 
 nothing of our circumstances, or how the said 
 competent person would almost deprive us of our 
 means of subsistence. 
 
 We did not need the warning. It was enough 
 to see Lennox failing week by week. He bore up 
 still in a measure, but to the constant pain in his 
 head had of late been added intense mental de- 
 pression, and the struggle to appear cheerful was 
 sadly evident. He had taken a fortnight's holiday 
 in October, but it was too late now for so short a 
 respite to have any permanent effect. 
 
 This could not go on ! How often, oh how 
 often those words passed our lips that autumn. 
 But what was to be done ? Our daily bread literally 
 depended on that failing hand. 
 
 What could / do ? The one opening from which 
 I had hoped so much was steadily closing. My 
 book had be^ refused by a second publisher. It 
 was now in the hands of a third, and I told myself
 
 142 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 that if this also failed I should give up hope. I 
 had not given it up yet. And how I prayed — with 
 what passion and fervour and intensity of desire 
 none around could know. Would success come ? 
 I seemed to think it must at last. 
 
 I reached uncle Amory Pleydell's house with 
 weary feet and muddy skirts. The servant showed 
 me into the breakfast-room, and said she would 
 tell her master that I had come ; for I had asked 
 for him, not for my aunt. SJic would do nothing 
 for us. There was an afternoon party going on, 
 the girl said, but no doubt master would spare a 
 few minutes to speak with me. 
 
 She closed the door behind her, and I sat alone, 
 and waited, and listened to the stir of voices. Now 
 and then a silk dress swept up or down the stair- 
 case outside. I could see that my cousins had 
 been working busily in this room. Bits of white 
 cotton were scattered over the floor, and a pink 
 tarleton skirt lay spread on the sofa. I believe 
 the girls spent three-fourths of their time in making 
 up their own clothes. I used to think that in their 
 place I would rather have dressed a little less 
 stylishly, and paid a little more to the dressmaker, 
 and secured a little extra leisure for matters of 
 weightier import. 
 
 Time passed on, and no uncle Amory appeared. 
 Once I rang the bell, but it was not answered. 
 The house was evidently in confusion, and the 
 servant had no doubt forgotten all about me.
 
 YIELDING UP. 143 
 
 I determined to wait quietly for half an hour, 
 and then, if he did not show himself, to start for 
 home. It seemed an unfortunate day on which to 
 have come ; but I would not give up at once. And 
 having resolved thus, I moved to a low easy chair 
 near the decaying fire, and put my face down upon 
 a small table beside it, half to rest, half to think. 
 
 Thought won the day over repose. All our diffi- 
 culties and anxieties and perplexities seemed to 
 gather themselves into one sharp focus, pressing 
 heavily upon me. What could be done ? What 
 could I do ? Suppose Lennox grew worse and 
 worse ! Suppose he had to leave off work alto- 
 gether for six months or a year. Suppose he had 
 to give up the secretaryship entirely. Suppose 
 Mother's anxiety should end by making her ill. 
 Suppose my book were again refused. Suppose 
 we should find ourselves at length literally without 
 the means of livelihood. Suppose I had to take 
 to the work of a daily governess — a thing which 
 had been discussed already, but strongly vetoed 
 by Lennox. 
 
 Well, suppose it all were so, — 
 
 "Thy will, not mine, be done." 
 
 I lifted my head and looked sadly towards the 
 window. How could I say the words ? My heart 
 was not submissive. My will was opposed to the 
 will of God. I had no power whatever to bring 
 the two into^ unison. I had striven, and striven 
 oft, but without avail.
 
 144 THK BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 No wonder at the dimness of my soul. My 
 adverse will lay across the doorway, blocking up 
 the entrance and keeping out the brightness of 
 my Master's smile. He seemed so far awa}' — so 
 utterly apart from me. Was it so ? Would He 
 never show me the light of His countenance 
 
 't>' 
 
 again ? 
 
 Ah, the barrier was of my own raising, not of 
 His. But how could I expect peace whilst wil- 
 fully struggling for my own way ? There is no 
 absolute peace except in absolute rest upon Jesus; 
 and resting and struggling cannot co-exist. 
 
 A great longing came over me that hour for 
 a spirit of submission, — a great sense of utter 
 helplessness. Other troubles faded almost into 
 nothingness beside that one — the burden of my 
 own unconquered will. 
 
 I think I almost forgot where I was. It did not 
 occur to me that uncle Amory might come in at 
 any moment. The darkening afternoon and the 
 long home-walk went out of my mind altogether. 
 I just knelt down where I was sitting, and poured 
 out my very soul to my loving Master. He did 
 not seem far off then. It was all that I could 
 do. I told Him I had no power to submit, no 
 power to say, " Th}' will be done ; " and yet I gave 
 my will to Him. I told Him I knew I should 
 forget often, act often as if it still were mine. 
 But I brought it there, and laid it down at His 
 feet, and prayed Him to take it and keep it, and
 
 YIELDING UP. 145 
 
 to bend and shape and subdue it, according to His 
 will, at any cost, or by any needful means. 
 
 I think I knew that my Master did take my will 
 that day and make it His own in fact. The 
 moulding of it into accordance with His will was 
 no mere work of an hour. It is still going on. 
 Nevertheless, I laid my gift at His feet, and I felt 
 that He accepted it, and if doubts have since at 
 times assailed me, I come back ever and anon to 
 the old sweet belief. I have given over my will 
 into His hands, and it is mine no longer. 
 
 I cannot go into the matter fully. These things 
 
 are rather to be felt than told. The sense of 
 
 rest in knowing that my will was His, and no 
 
 , longer mine apart from Him, was more than I can 
 
 describe. 
 
 Somehow my wish to see uncle Amory had fled. 
 It would have been hardly possible just then to 
 have talked to him about our troubles. I wanted 
 to be alone still, that I might realise this new 
 sweet peace. O the measureless love of Jesus ! 
 He had done all things well — yes, all ! If these 
 trials of ours were according to His will, it was 
 better not to have them otherwise. He would 
 bring us through and out of them somehow; but it 
 must be in His time and way, not mine. 
 
 The walk home was all brightness. It mat- 
 tered not that the streets were dark, and the 
 ground muddy, and the air heavy with thickening 
 
 fog. Through and over this outer dulness there 
 
 II
 
 146 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 seemed to come a strong soft shining to my heart, 
 as of a light in altogether another atmosphere. 
 This poor lower atmosphere mattered little in 
 comparison, and weariness of mind and body had 
 alike fled away. 
 
 I reached the house, and let myself in with a 
 latch-key. The passage was half-dark and empty, 
 but there lay upon the slab a letter and a parcel, 
 both addressed to me. 
 
 Yes, my manuscript was returned again. It 
 hardly troubled me, however. My Master's will, 
 not mine, had to be done. I had given up my 
 will to Him, and taken His to be my own. I 
 remember looking up with a little smile, in the 
 first fervour of that afternoon's joy, and whisper- 
 ing softly, " As Thou wilt, — only as Thou wilt. 
 I commit it all to Thee." And I think I could 
 have borne anything for His sake. 
 
 Then the drawing-room door opened, and I had 
 to come back to the outer walk of life. 
 
 " Jeannie, what did uncle Amory say? " asked 
 Esma. 
 
 " I could not see him, dear. They had an 
 afternoon party." 
 
 " Not see him in all this time ? " 
 
 " I waited, but I think the servant forgot that 
 I was there. He would hardly have given his 
 mind to the subject even if he had come to me." 
 
 " Well, it doesn't matter much. I have done 
 better than you."
 
 YIELDING UP. 147 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I met Mr. Auriol, and we got into a talk. 
 He looked very restless and careworn — but what 
 a nice good man he is ! I told him how unwell 
 Lennox had been lately, and he said he must come 
 and see him ; and then I spoke of my want, and 
 he thinks he knows of a situation." 
 
 I hardly knew whether to say I was pleased or 
 sorry; so I gave her a kiss. She squeezed my 
 hand for a moment. 
 
 " You won't be very glad to lose me ? Please 
 don't." 
 
 " I really don't know how we shall get on with- 
 out you," I said. " But perhaps this will not 
 come to anything." 
 
 " Yes, it will. He was sure he could get it for 
 me. An old cousin of his, living in Bath, has 
 suddenly lost her companion, and wants another 
 in a great hurry, so I can be off without delay. 
 She is very odd, and keeps no end of cats and 
 dogs; and I hate pets, but that is no matter. I 
 dare say I shall have to feed and wash the little 
 dears all round." She laughed half-hysterically 
 as she spoke. *' It will be interesting, won't it ? 
 And she knits counterpanes a great deal, and 
 drops a stitch every five minutes, which I shall 
 have to pick up for her. But I shall be out of 
 your way, and you'll soon forget all about me." 
 
 " No dangeV of that," I said quietly. " Esma, 
 you know there is not." And she gave a short 
 
 II '■'
 
 148 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 sob, and went hastily away. Yet when I next 
 saw her she seemed very eager to have the matter 
 in train. 
 
 It did not take long to come to a point. Mr. 
 Auriol was prompt in writing, and the old lady, 
 Miss Penzance, was prompt in deciding. All she 
 stipulated for was that there should be no delay, 
 since both cats and counterpanes were suffering 
 for want of attention. So, only one week later, 
 Esmeralda left us. 
 
 I never could have thought that her absence 
 would make so great a blank. The house felt 
 dull indeed, and her vacant place seemed to bring 
 back more keenly than ever the absence of our 
 Maggie. Lennox, who had been the hardest of 
 all to persuade to consent to her going, was the 
 one who seemed least personally troubled by the 
 loss. As a matter of principle and kindness he 
 would have worked himself to death, sooner than 
 have breathed a word relative to her finding 
 another home — yet I doubt if he ever positively 
 had liked her. I certainly detected signs of relief 
 in him at the quieter household and undisturbed 
 family circle.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Christmas came, and with Christmas came Harry 
 Pleydell to his home. That was one event which 
 marked the date. Looking back now to that week, 
 it stands out with a pecuhar calm sweetness in 
 my memory, as if a gleam of sunlight had broken 
 through a rift in the clouds, ere they closed more 
 darkly in upon us. It was well we had no eagle's 
 vision wherewith to see ahead. 
 
 There was no talk of a holiday for Esma, since 
 she had entered so recentl}^ on her new duties. 
 We had received two or three long rambling ill- 
 expressed letters from her, full of palpably forced 
 cheerfulness, but describing a life as free from 
 trial as could be expected under the circum- 
 stances. The cats and dogs worried her, and the 
 incessantly dropped stitches were a perpetual tax 
 upon her patience ; but the old lady herself was 
 not unlovable, and Esma was evidently becoming 
 an important element in the household. 
 
 Great excitment arose on the afternoon of 
 Christmas Eve when a parcel-laden cart drove
 
 150 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 to our door, and left a tolerably large hamper, 
 directed to Mother in a strange handwriting. No 
 word or note within gave the faintest clue respect- 
 ing the quarter whence it came. There was some 
 eager talk as to the possibility of uncle Amory 
 having been seized with an unwonted fit of gene- 
 rosity ; but uncle Amory's gifts always went with 
 a flourish of trumpets before and after. I had 
 my own suspicions, and quietly kept them to 
 myself. 
 
 If the kind giver could but have seen the shining 
 young faces around, as the fat turkey and the big 
 ham and the three boxes of preserved fruits, 
 packed over two layers of splendid apples and 
 pears, were successively pulled out, he would have 
 felt amply repaid. Ellie was in wild glee, frolic- 
 some as a young kitten, and we all felt brightened 
 up by the unexpected windfall. There was some- 
 thing Christmas-like, cheery and encouraging, in 
 the kind thought shown for us ; and it just took 
 away the slight cloud of dulness, which would 
 otherwise have been present on our first Christmas 
 without Maggie. 
 
 Lennox too was well enough to enter into the 
 fun, which was an added element of pleasure. He 
 had not suffered nearly so much since the frosty 
 weather set in, and, except for his increasing fra- 
 gility of appearance, we should have felt less 
 anxious about him. The slight improvement had 
 been used by him as an excuse for postponing the
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. I5I 
 
 consultation of Mr. Ramsay; but I do not think 
 I was so well satisfied as the others appeared to 
 be. That evening, however, we seemed to lay 
 aside our anxieties, and give ourselves up to the 
 spirit of enjoyment. And as if nothing were to be 
 wanting, in an ordinary way, to its completion, 
 the front-door bell suddenly sounded, and Harry 
 Pleydell appeared in our midst. 
 
 What a welcome we all gave him. The straw-and- 
 cord-strewn hall was left to the boys, and we made 
 our way to the drawing-room fire. I thought Harry 
 looked older by three or four years than when we had 
 last seen him — decidedly graver, and yet brighter. 
 
 " I couldn't resist coming over here the first 
 thing," he said. " Will you let me stay to tea, 
 aunt Jane ?" 
 
 "My dear boy — let you!" she said affection- 
 ately. " But what about your home party ?" 
 
 His face clouded a little. 
 
 " They have friends coming in to take dinner, — 
 some gay folks whom I don't care for. I told my 
 father I really could not spend Christmas Eve in 
 that fashion, and said it was a choice between my 
 own bedroom or here. That is^ — -I have promised 
 to be back for a time, but it shall be a short 
 time." 
 
 '* You did not send us a hamper, did you, 
 Harry?" asked Ellie, with her merry half-saucy 
 sisterly freedom towards him. " I have been 
 half suspicious."
 
 152 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " No, indeed. I wish I had ; but it never 
 occurred to me." 
 
 Somehow conversation did not flow quite so 
 readily as it was wont to do with him. There 
 was just sufficient effort at attention on his part, 
 to show that his mind was occupied with other, 
 matters. Not with EHie. He was as unconscious 
 in his manner to her as she was to him ; as 
 affectionate as ever, but in the old simple brotherly 
 style, which had been a little changed during 
 his last stay at home. I wondered whether the 
 boyish fancy were dying a natural death with 
 developing manhood. And yet Ellie looked so 
 sweet and fair that evening, that I almost mar- 
 velled at the possibility of any man failing to fall 
 in love with her. 
 
 Tea was over, and they were all sitting still 
 round the table, chatting about various matters, 
 when I went to make up a fine Christmas fire 
 in the drawing-room. Gordon had procured us 
 the rare luxury of a large log, which I arranged 
 with care upon a fine bed of coals. And then 
 I looked up to see Francey standing beside me. 
 
 " Jeannie, do you know who sent that ham- 
 per ?" she said. 
 
 " I don't know," I answered. 
 
 " I do. It is Mr. Auriol." 
 
 *' Francey, you can't be sure." 
 
 " I am quite positive." 
 
 " Well, it doesn't make any difference," I said
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. I53 
 
 slowly. "The same thought did occur to me; 
 but, after all, it is pure guess-work." 
 
 " The hamper came from nowhere beyond 
 London ; and who else can it be ? Uncle Clare 
 could not — uncle Amory would not. We don't 
 abound in generous friends." 
 
 She spoke a little bitterly. 
 
 " Come, Francey," I said, standing up, " we are 
 not going to look on the dark side of things 
 to-night ; are we ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose not. I think life 
 is dark altogether," she said in an undertone. 
 " Doesn't it seem so to you ?" 
 
 " Sometimes," I said. " What makes you feel 
 so to-night, Francey dear ? Are you not well ? " 
 
 " Fm well enough — only tired. And they are 
 all so bright — and it can't— can't last." 
 
 " No brightness lasts for ever in this world," 
 I said. " But neither do the shadows." 
 
 " O Jeannie, I wish you would talk to me some- 
 times," she said suddenly. " I feel as if I were 
 growing ten years older to every one year of 
 Ellie's, and nobody understands me." 
 
 "Then you must try and help me to do it," 
 I said, giving her a kiss. " Yes, you are much 
 older, Francey — so old that you and I ought to 
 be more of companions." 
 
 That was all that passed, for the others came 
 in ; but I often looked back afterwards, and 
 thought what a curious little unsought glimpse
 
 154 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE, 
 
 I had obtained of Francey's walk upon the hidden 
 pathway of life. She too had her battlings and 
 strivings, all unseen by others; while I, in my 
 self-absorption, had almost deemed myself a 
 peculiar and isolated sufferer. Yet how like was 
 that little spot on her pathway to many a spot on 
 my own ! 
 
 A cheery hour of talk, half-grave, half-merry, 
 followed. We all sat in a semicircle round the 
 fire ; and the boys roasted chestnuts, and Ellie, 
 with her soft fun and laughter, kept us in gay 
 spirits. I think she was afraid of our beginning 
 to talk about Maggie ; but perhaps the remem- 
 brance was more strongly present with us than we 
 acknowledged ; for, after a while, Lennox began 
 to look'weary, and we all grew sober, and the boys 
 ran away to finish holly decorations about the 
 house. We older ones were not sorry to be left 
 quiet, and we speedily fell into earnest conver- 
 sation : first about Maggie, next about Christmas- 
 tide, and thence upwards to those things which 
 alone form the true joy of the season. 
 
 And then it was that I began fully to realise 
 the change in Harry — a change involving much 
 of advance, much of deepening, in the spiritual 
 life, and yet not only or altogether these. We 
 had considered him for many years well disposed, 
 seriously disposed, religiously disposed, — only 
 somewhat kept back by family influences. But 
 there was now no possibility of doubt about the
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 155 
 
 matter. Harry Pleydell had become in heart and 
 soul a follower of Christ. 
 
 He was full of fervour and earnestness, and of 
 longing to work for his Master. There was 
 nothing whatever to be seen of his old easy-going 
 insouciance. He told us how much he had lately 
 learnt to know of the love of Jesus ; how he 
 desired and had resolved to give himself up, 
 wholly and for ever, body, soul, and spirit, unto 
 Him ; how he was ready to go anywhere or to do 
 anything, no matter where or what, in the cause 
 of Christ. He had had some sort of belief and 
 love before for a good while, he said, but this was 
 more — better — higher. He could not be a half- 
 hearted Christian any longer. 
 
 And everything was so bright, and Christ his 
 Lord had such power. All was to be victory 
 with him henceforw'ard. Why should it not be, 
 since the power of Christ is unbounded, and He 
 hath promised to succour His own to the utter- 
 most ? 
 
 Only faith was needed, and Harry seemed to 
 think he could never doubt again. He told us 
 that it was marvellous what power in daily life 
 and in work for God this grasp of faith on the 
 strength cf Jesus brought him. Sin had not its 
 old power over him. He did not want anything, 
 except what God willed to send him. He was 
 ready to take joyfully any trial. Life, with the 
 abiding presence of Christ, was full of nothing but
 
 156 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE, 
 
 joy and victory. There was no such thing now 
 as secular work in his life. Everything was done 
 for God, and done in prayer. He wished we all 
 knew what it was that he felt. 
 
 And we sat and listened, and let him talk. It 
 was all, as a whole, good, excellent, beautiful. I 
 was greatly struck with the similarity of his 
 experience, in many leading points, to what my 
 own had been. Only — only — I did have more 
 than one passing wish, as I listened, that some- 
 body else could have been telling some of these 
 things about Harry, instead of Harry telling 
 them all about himself. I did wish that subtle 
 dangerous " I " might not have been quite so 
 often introduced. 
 
 Yet, when he suddenly remembered the hour, 
 and hurried away to fulfil his promise of being 
 back in time for the guests at home, I did not feel 
 inclined to agree with Lennox' softly uttered, — 
 
 " Poor fellow." 
 
 *' Lennox, you would not wish to see him less 
 warm-hearted ?" 
 
 " No ; but after the hill-top will come the 
 valley." 
 
 " He does not think so." 
 
 " Wait and see." 
 
 "But you are not blaming him, are you?" 
 I said. For Harry's recent experience seemed, as 
 I have said, just so far to coincide with my own, 
 that I felt inclined to defend him. Only / had
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. I57 
 
 come to more valleys than one. He half smiled, 
 and said, — 
 
 " The eyes which adjudge the praise and the blame, 
 See further than thine or mine." 
 
 " You are not satisfied, though." 
 
 *' I would rather see less of self and more of 
 his Lord." 
 
 " I thought tliat was his one theme," I an- 
 swered hastily, though the same thought had 
 been in my own mind. 
 
 " Aye; Christ in reference to self — self's joys and 
 self's victories, through Christ. He does not 
 know it yet. He thinks with you that the honour 
 of Christ is his sole aim. But I am a little 
 afraid for him. Better be looking only at the 
 Master, and altogether away from self." 
 
 And Mother very gently said on my other side, — 
 
 " ' Let hmi that thinketh he standeth, take heed 
 lest he fall.' " 
 
 " Mother, are we never to feel confidence in 
 that strength which is not ours ? " 
 
 She gave only a little smile of assent, and 
 Lennox answered for her, — 
 
 "The fullest confidence. But never to feel 
 confidence in our own standing on that strength." 
 
 " But if, as he says, he has committed the keep- 
 ing of that standing to Jesus " 
 
 •' He will be kept unto the end. Nevertheless, 
 if at any moment he trusts alone to that act of
 
 158 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 past committal, and neglects present looking up to 
 Christ Jesus, he will slip or fall. I never find in 
 the Bible that stores of strength are given before- 
 hand for future exigences. If he fall, he shall 
 arise, I doubt not. But you may work yourself 
 into a labyrinth of perplexity on these matters, if 
 you take each truth by itself and strain it to the 
 breaking point. We must just look up and trust 
 and expect. Isn't that enough ? " 
 
 " You don't doubt Harry's earnestness and sin- 
 cerity, do you ? " 
 
 " Not one iota. But he has many lessons to 
 learn, one of which is, that self-contemplation, 
 even though it be the contemplation of self 
 through Christ, is never safe the moment it passes 
 the boundary of self-abasement." 
 
 We were silent for a few minutes, each I sup- 
 pose occupied with the same subject. Ellie's face 
 was the brightest present, and suddenly she said, — 
 
 " I should like Harry to be a missionary. Do 
 you think he will ? " 
 
 " There is a very evident leaning in that direc- 
 tion," I remarked. " The doubt is, whether 
 uncle Amory would ever consent. But Harry 
 seems so willing to give up all hope of worldly 
 advancement " 
 
 "And so exultingly conscious of that willing- 
 ness," muttered Francey. 
 
 " O Francey 1 " exclaimed Ellie, " he did not 
 boast."
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE, 159 
 
 " I never said he did, but — Mamma under- 
 stands." 
 
 " Mamma!" said Ellie appealingly; and Mother 
 smiled. 
 
 " I think, dear, that he feels himself altogether 
 on rather a height above the rest of us, and can't 
 help telling us so. That is all." 
 
 J' But if he is on a height, how can he help 
 knowing it?" I asked. "If faith and joy are 
 brighter than ever before, he can't be unconscious 
 of the change." 
 
 " It is a difficult question to settle in a few 
 words," said Mother, — " how not to fall short of 
 and yet not to exceed ' By the grace of God I am 
 what I am.' No doubt one maybe conscious of 
 advance, and rejoice in it, and yet be humble. 
 And being conscious of a thing is not quite the 
 same as talking a great deal about it. But I 
 never can forget hearing it once said in a sermon 
 that every step nearer Christ is a step down in 
 humility. Somehow it isn't always those who 
 feel themselves the highest, who look the highest 
 to those around." 
 
 " Rather the reverse," said Lennox briefly. 
 
 " I think you are both hard upon poor Harry," 
 I said. "It is Christ's power, not his own, which 
 he exalts." 
 
 " Perhaps we are. Better not say any more 
 about him," said Lennox. " Only it may be that 
 the witnessing in words to Christ's power, as
 
 l60 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 evidenced in self, has too often a tendency to glide 
 into witnessing for self, and not for Christ. 
 Jeannie, that self, self, is a terribly insidious foe. 
 It creeps in at every corner," 
 
 Did I not know the truth of this already ? 
 
 And then I do not think we talked any more 
 about Harry Pleydell. Maggie's name came in, 
 and once upon that subject we could not quit it 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A THREATENING FOE. 
 
 We saw a good deal of Harry during the next 
 ten days. What might have been the immediate 
 consequences to him and Elhe, if he had continued 
 much longer thus to come in and out, I know not, 
 but we had our conjectures at the time. Suddenly, 
 however, there was a break in our pleasant inter- 
 course, and the brief Christmas brightness died 
 out. 
 
 It was an unhealthy season. A short spell 
 of cold weather abruptly ended on Christmas 
 Eve, and was succeeded by oppressive mild- 
 ness. I remember hearing it remarked that 
 several cases of fever, both scarlet and typhoid, 
 were appearing in our neighbourhood, but I do 
 not think I took alarm. Somehow it scarcely 
 seemed within the bounds of possibility that our 
 once desolated household should be stricken 
 again. My chief anxiety was regarding Lennox, 
 for the heavy warmth of the atmosphere brought 
 back all the intense pain and languor from which 
 he had suffered in the autumn, and the burden of 
 
 iz
 
 l62 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 each clay's work seemed almost more than he 
 could endure. 
 
 Harry's last visit stands out clearly in my 
 memory. He had dropped in unexpectedly to 
 tea, and as usual remained chatting for an hour 
 or two afterwards. Ellie was not so bright as 
 usual. She had complained very much all day 
 of feeling tired-out with the heat, and while we 
 were talking she sat silently with her head on 
 Mother's lap. I almost thought Harry must have 
 said something to vex her, she appeared to care 
 so little for his presence. The twins seemed to 
 have changed places, for Francey was just as 
 excited as Ellie was dull. She made odd cynical 
 remarks which set us off laughing, and contra- 
 dicted Harry flatly several times in a fraction sway 
 which perplexed me. He took it very patiently, 
 and presently dropped the subject of which his 
 mind was full — his growing desire to become a 
 missionary. But whatever came up it was just 
 the same. Francey agreed with nothing that was 
 said. And all at once she startled us consider- 
 ably by bursting into a violent flood of tears, 
 without the slightest apparent cause. 
 
 We gathered round her and tried to discover 
 what was the matter, but in vain. She clung to 
 me, sobbing passionately, and declaring she did 
 not know — she only felt miserable ; she wished 
 Jeannie would take her up to bed. Ellie was 
 looking agitated and almost ready to follow her 
 
 1
 
 A THREATENING FOE. 163 
 
 example ; so I grasped at the suggestion and 
 hurried her away. It was a good while, how- 
 ever, before I could soothe her sufficiently to make 
 undressing a possibility. As a little child she 
 had been rather addicted to fits of crying about 
 nothing, and I could only suppose that she was 
 nervous and overwrought from having attempted 
 too much copying of late. I said something of 
 the kind, and she shook her head vehemently. 
 
 " But, Francey, if it is not that, what is it ? " 
 
 " Everything," she said, with a gasp. " Jeannie, 
 don't things ever look so to you ? " 
 
 "How, darling?" 
 
 " Black" she said, with a great effort and a 
 fresh burst of sobs. 
 
 " I know what it is, but I fancy the reason is 
 that you are not quite well." 
 
 " It isn't tliat,'" she said petulantly. 
 
 " Well, then, it's a little bit of the muggy 
 atmosphere worked into your brain," I said, 
 thinking it best to smile. 
 
 Francey sighed. 
 
 " Suppose you get into bed quickly, and go to 
 sleep, and let it work out again." 
 
 " I know I can't sleep. I'm tired, and I ache 
 all over." 
 
 " That explains the gloomy view of things, 
 Francey." 
 
 " No, it cfoesn't. Things are miserable. We're 
 
 12 *
 
 164 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 just getting from bad to worse — and Lennox is 
 going to be ill — and Harry will marry Ellie, and 
 take her off to Africa — and I shall die of a broken 
 heart, for I couldn't bear to lose her; and — O 
 Jeannie — Jeannie, I dare not die " 
 
 She was past reasoning altogether. I had never 
 seen her in such an agony of distress. I kissed 
 her and told her she was a " silly child " with 
 reference to the first part of what she said ; and 
 then I spoke a word about the trust which could 
 lighten even the last dark valley. She stopped 
 crying then, and said her head ached, and she 
 wanted to go to sleep. I helped her quickly into 
 bed, and read two or three verses aloud; but before 
 I had done, and contrary to my expectations, she 
 was in a heavy slumber. Poor Francey!* I kissed 
 her hot cheek, put out the light, and went down- 
 stairs, feeling not quite easy about her. Harry 
 was just taking leave. I went into the passage to 
 see him off, for the boys were absent, and nobody 
 else seemed inclined to move. He said to me in 
 rather a perplexed tone, — 
 
 " What has come over you all to-night ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think anything has 
 come over me," I said. " Lennox and Francey are 
 feeling this close weather very much." 
 
 "I haven't heard Lennox make two remarks 
 the whole evening, and I never saw him look so 
 depressed. And Ellie — surely she is not well." 
 
 " She has seemed tired all day. Come again
 
 A THREATENING FOE. 165 
 
 soon, Harry, and we will try to give you a brighter 
 welcome." 
 
 " Thank you. I was almost afraid Ellie was 
 teased to hear me talk so much about my future. 
 But you know, it is an anxious time," he said 
 earnestly. "And if I feel myself called upon to 
 go out as a missionary, and my father holds me 
 back " 
 
 " Then you can only wait until God removes the 
 barrier," I said. 
 
 "Ah! that would be " 
 
 I think he was going to say " hard," but he 
 stopped. 
 
 "Yes; you are right, Jeannie. There could be 
 no blessing on my work, if it were undertaken 
 against my father's will. I must be content to 
 wait till my way is made plain. I am content. 
 I only want to be sure which is the right course." 
 
 And then we shook hands, and he went away, 
 I little thinking how long it would be before we 
 should see him enter that door again. 
 
 When I went back into the drawing-room 
 Lennox said wearily, " I thought he was never 
 going." 
 
 This seemed to me rather hard upon poor Harry, 
 but I said nothing. He left the easy-chair where 
 he had been sitting for some time, and crossing 
 the rug he bent down to lay his hand against 
 Elbe's chetk. I had seen him do the same thing 
 twice before in the course of the evening. In a
 
 l66 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 quiet careless way he managed also to let his 
 fingers lie upon her wrist. 
 
 " Little woman, it is time for you to go to bed," 
 he said. 
 
 *' She is quite tired, poor child," added Mother 
 tenderly. " Don't sit up any longer, Ellie, Francey 
 will be glad to have you. Come — shall I go with 
 you ? " 
 
 Mother's tone was solicitous but not worried. 
 I could not understand the expression of Lennox' 
 face. He waited a moment ; and then, as Ellie 
 seemed disinclined to move, he said, " Get up, 
 darling." 
 
 She obeyed at once, but leant against the table, 
 looking white and dizzy, as if she hardly knew 
 what she was about. Mother put her arm round 
 her waist, and they went out of the room together, 
 but I thought I noticed a slight stagger in EUie's 
 gait. Lennox watched her intensely. 
 
 That was the moment when fear first entered 
 my heart. What did it all portend ? 
 
 I was afraid to speak. Lennox sat down and 
 rested his bowed face upon his hands. I could see 
 that his breathing was hard and short, with phy- 
 sical or mental pain, and the veins in his forehead 
 stood out, purple and visibly throbbing. 
 
 Five minutes may have passed away. It seemed 
 longer, but perhaps it was less. I could not break 
 that silence. Lennox at length said suddenly, — 
 
 "What do you advise ? "
 
 A THREATENING FOE. 1 67 
 
 "How?" I asked. 
 
 " Shall I call in Mr. Ramsay at once, or wait 
 till the morning ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Why, Lennox, you don't really 
 think " 
 
 " I think it would be wisest. But Mother has 
 no fear yet — not a suspicion. I' don't know how 
 to tell her," he said, in a low heart-wrung tone. 
 
 " Tell her what ? I don't understand. I think 
 you must be ill yourself to-night," I said despe- 
 rately. "Ellie has often been a little poorly before, 
 and Francey fretful." 
 
 " Not like this." 
 
 " Yes ; I am almost sure " 
 
 " No ; I have been watching them closely. I 
 did not want to tell j^ou before it was needful, but 
 typhoid fever of a very severe type has broken 
 out next door." 
 
 I believe I breathed freely at the first moment. 
 Scarlet fever, not typhoid, was my dread. And 
 then I remembered the constitutional susceptibility 
 to fever of all kinds displayed from infancy by our 
 darlings. It had gone hardly with them last time. 
 Lilias and Minna had died. Francey and Ellie 
 had barely pulled through. 
 
 " But typhoid is not catching," I said. 
 
 " Some say not. I suppose it is not considered 
 infectious in the same sense as scarlet fever. But, 
 after all, the question is a doubtful one. The 
 infection may be conveyed in a different way."
 
 i6S 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 He spoke in a low oppressed voice, without 
 removing his hands from his brow. 
 
 " But, Lennox," I said, " after all, what reason 
 have we for being afraid ? Both would not begin 
 together." 
 
 " Lilias and Minna began on the same day — 
 and — it was they who died." 
 
 I felt that it would never do to view the matter 
 in this light. Neither he nor I could bear it. 
 
 " I never knew you to be superstitious before," 
 I said steadily. "The only excuse for you is the 
 state your head is in to-night." 
 
 "It is not aching much. I am simply stupe- 
 fied," he said, sitting up, with a forced smile. "I 
 think I had better summon Mr. Ramsay. After 
 all, it is useless to attempt concealment. My 
 Mother must know." 
 
 "I wonder I never heard of it before," I remarked. 
 
 "Stranger things happen in London. I trusted 
 to our city ignorance of our neighbours, and told 
 Kitty to keep her own counsel. Besides, it has 
 not been there long." 
 
 Mother came down in a few minutes and made 
 things easy for us. Ellie was in bed, but could 
 not sleep, she said, and both seemed poorly, 
 Francey especially being very hot and restless. 
 Did Lennox think it might be best to ask Mr. 
 Ramsay to step in and see them ? She knew 
 there were low feverish attacks about, and such 
 things were best taken in time.
 
 A THREATENING FOE. 169 
 
 " I will go and speak to him at once," Lennox 
 said, rising. Mother stood gazing into the fire 
 after he was gone, a little pale, but calm. I 
 wondered whether she were more anxious than 
 appeared on the surface. 
 
 " It is a good thing Esma is not here," she said 
 at length. " One of them may have to be moved 
 into 3^our room." 
 
 " Mamma," I said, and paused. 
 
 Mother laid her hand on mine, and it was just 
 like ice. 
 
 "We must not look forward beyond to-morrow," 
 she said steadily. "Just to-morrow — no m.ore. 
 You and I will have to rest by turns in my room, 
 as we can be spared. It is a good thing you have 
 not the Phillimore constitution." 
 
 " Mamma, it may be nothing," I said. 
 
 She shook her head quietly. 
 
 " I know the signs too well." 
 
 " Not scarlet fever," I said. " It is not that." 
 
 " 1 think so. Your father had it three times in 
 his life, always badly. Some symptoms are want- 
 ing, but " 
 
 "Not scarlet fever," I repeated. "There is 
 typhoid next door, and it may be a touch " 
 
 " Is there ? " 
 
 " Lennox did not tell me till this evening. 
 It may be that, Mamma — not the other. You 
 said just no\^ there were cases of low fever 
 about."
 
 170 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 "Yes; but I did not think of typhoid. It may 
 be. I must go back to them now." 
 
 And she went, steadily and without any hurry. 
 She was bracing herself up for what might be 
 coming. I waited alone in the drawing-room, 
 listening to the ticking of the clock, and watching 
 the movement of the flames as they crept over 
 the coals and rose upwards. Eye and ear needed 
 occupation, for I could not think — I could only 
 feel. 
 
 And Mr. Ramsay came at last. He did not 
 say much, but the little was enough. Ellie was 
 wrapped up warmly, and carried across the pas- 
 sage into my room. She seem^ed more comfortable 
 there than Vv^hen troubled by Francey's unceasing 
 restlessness. 
 
 The enemy had overtaken our household, not 
 advancing by slow steps, but breaking upon us in 
 full strength. On the morrow we knew it well.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. 
 
 The days went by somehow, one after another ; 
 how, I knew not then, and know not now. Harry 
 was strictly forbidden to approach our house, in 
 consideration for his mother and sisters. Kathie 
 was no less strongly prohibited by uncle Claire. 
 We thought the caution natural and right, aware 
 that we ourselves should have acted thus in their 
 place; but I began to realise the meaning of 
 solitude in London. Only Mr. Auriol came in 
 and out. 
 
 The fever took a different course with the two 
 girls. Francey was incessantly delirious ; and the 
 wild outpourings of excited fancies, to which I 
 listened hour after hour, let me more into the 
 secrets of her nature than perhaps any amount 
 of confidence on her part could have done, Ellie 
 was heavier, weaker, more drowsy, and talked far 
 less. She was always asking for Lennox, but 
 rarely recognised him ; and neither Mr. Auriol's 
 name nor Harry's was ever on her lips. Old- 
 nursery rhymes and baby hymns were what
 
 172 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 seemed to haunt her most ; while Francey, on 
 the contrary, talked eagerly about every indi- 
 vidual of our acquaintance, and laid bare many 
 a fevered imagining of her heart as to what 
 others thought of herself. Poor sensitive fanciful 
 Francey ! 
 
 The boys sickened next — Edwy first, and then 
 Gordon, They had the fever more slightly, but 
 were ill enough to require considerable attention, 
 though happily not too ill to remain together. 
 Our hands by that time were full. I do not know 
 how we managed to get through all that had to 
 be done. Neither Francey nor Ellie could ever 
 be left for more than a few minutes. Mr. Whym- 
 ple very kindly made an arrangement whereby 
 Lennox could return home at midday to help in 
 the nursing. The night-work was the worst of 
 all ; yet we kept up cheerily, both Mother and I. 
 About Lennox there was a growing calm submis- 
 sion day by day, which sometimes looked to me 
 like hope and sometimes like hopelessness. He 
 used to bend over Ellie at first with a perfectly 
 heart-wrung look, but after the first few days 
 I saw it no more. Francey was a deeper care to 
 me. Day and night, I never could for one 
 moment shake off the remembrance of those 
 words she had spoken the evening she was taken 
 ill ; and the longing to have met them more 
 wisely and fully weighed upon me like lead. But 
 I could not bear to tell any one else of m}' trouble.
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. 1 73 
 
 Our good-tempered kind-hearted Kitty proved 
 invaluable in that sad time, showing an amount 
 of thoughtful efficiency which we could not have 
 expected in one so 3^oung. Mr. Ramsay, too, was 
 indefatigable, making his appearance twice or 
 three times each day. We grew to mark the 
 flight of time by these recurring visits rather than 
 by the succession of evening and morning. What 
 had he said last, and what would he say next, 
 formed the staple subject of the few brief and 
 broken scraps of conversation ever to be snatched 
 by us busy nurses. 
 
 So things continued for a little while. The 
 fever had not yet turned with any of the invalids, 
 when suddenly a heavier thunder-cloud, which 
 had long uncertainly threatened us, broke over 
 our heads. 
 
 One day, wdien Mr. Ramsay paid his second 
 visit, not far from tea-time, he did not come alone. 
 A gentle little grey-clad lady, with mittened — not 
 gloved — hands, stood by his side. Where had 
 I ever seen her before ? 
 
 " I have brought some one to help in the work," 
 he said briefly. " Miss Talbot is an old friend of 
 mine. Miss Phillimore, and loves to make herself 
 useful." 
 
 And then it flashed across me that she had been 
 at dinner when we went to uncle Amory's. A 
 few words of explanation let me into the fact 
 that she had felt interested in us, and hearing by
 
 174 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 accident of our trouble through the doctor, had 
 instantly proffered her aid. 
 
 I do not know what I said. The tirriely help 
 seemed so heaven-sent. I felt like kneeling down 
 there and then to return thanks ; yet perhaps they 
 thought my quiet reception cold. 
 
 " Miss Phillimore is getting done up," said the 
 doctor. " I don't know how Mrs. Phillimore bears 
 the fatigue as she does." 
 
 " And Lennox too," I added. 
 
 Mr. Ramsay looked strangely at me, I thought. 
 
 " Was your brother up all last night ? " 
 
 " Yes. I could not persuade him to rest." 
 
 " I have just sent him to lie down in his room. 
 I'll — I'll come and look at him before I go. He 
 wants a word with you, I believe." 
 
 " Lennox does? " I said, in surprise. 
 
 " Yes. Don't hurry yourself. Miss Talbot and 
 I will manage without you for half an hour." 
 
 There was a measure of authority in the tone. 
 I wondered, but went as directed to Lennox' 
 room. 
 
 The door was ajar, and my tap producing no 
 answer, I looked in, fancying he could not be 
 there ; and then I supposed he had fallen asleep, 
 and I went softly nearer, and stood looking at 
 him. 
 
 He was lying on the narrow iron bed, with 
 folded arms and closed eyes, and the same singu- 
 lar expression of deep repose over every feature
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. I75 
 
 which I had already noticed during the last two or 
 three days. He reminded me of the calm carved 
 figures of Crusaders on the tombstones in old 
 churches ; and then I thought of a warrior at rest 
 after the battle, or on the eve of another fight. 
 Which was it ? A sudden fear took possession of 
 me, and my heart beat so violently that I had 
 hardly breath to say, — 
 '• Lennox — Lennox ! " 
 
 He opened his eyes then, and looked at me, but 
 with such a strange unconscious expression that 
 my alarm was redoubled. 
 
 " Don't you know me ? " I asked huskily. 
 " Is Ellie gone ? " he muttered. " I thought- 
 no — what am I saying ? Did you want any- 
 thing?" 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay said you wished to speak with 
 me. 
 
 " I recollect " and his eyes grew steady. 
 
 " How are they both now ? " 
 
 " The same ; I wish we could see a change," 
 I said, beginning to recover from my fright. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay expects it in two or three days." 
 " Does he ? And I thought he seemed more 
 hopeful this morning. Lennox, is your head so 
 bad ? " 
 
 He lay without speaking for a minute, and his 
 half-wandering gaze again gave me a vague un- 
 easiness. 
 
 " I want to say something to you, Jeannie
 
 176 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 dear," were his next words very tenderly uttered. 
 " Can you bear it bravely ? " 
 
 I think my heart foretold what threatened. He 
 signed to me to come nearer, and laid his hand on 
 mine. I felt it burn with a dry consuming heat. 
 
 "Lennox — oh, no — not yott,?" was the cry 
 which escaped my lips. 
 
 " ' Thy will, not mine, be done,' " he said 
 softly. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no — oh, no! " I passionately an- 
 swered ; for this — if it came to the worst — would 
 indeed be the wreck of all. 
 
 " It must be, Jeannie." 
 
 " No, no — you are only tired " 
 
 jSIy voice failed, though no tears came. He 
 took my hand, and carried it to his forehead for 
 a moment. That was answer enough ; yet still 
 I struggled against my own conviction. 
 
 "O Lennox — if you were to ask Mr. Ram- 
 say " 
 
 " No need, dear Jeannie. I have seen him 
 already; but I knew it hours ago. Let me say a 
 few words to you while I can." 
 
 I turned my face towards him, crushing down 
 the rebellious risings in my heart, that I might 
 listen. Where was submission now ? Alas ! I 
 had not looked for tliis. 
 
 " Don't think I am nervous or an alarmist," he 
 said slowly, as if command of language were be- 
 coming already somewhat difficult. "All may go
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. I 77 
 
 well, and the attack be slight. Still I have very 
 little strength with which to pull through, and I 
 don't think my head will bear much. No use to 
 veil our eyes to the truth. Jeannie, if it should 
 be — as may happen " 
 
 He paused to allow me time for self-control. 
 
 " You know what I mean. If so, the support 
 of them all, under God, will rest upon you. I 
 have committed 3'ou all into His hands. I cannot 
 — do not — fear for 30U. But you will have to 
 work " 
 
 I made a gesture of assent, being past speech. 
 
 " It will not do to trust to authorship— neither 
 can you leave Mother. Maggie and John will 
 help — would, I mean, if needful— and I think Mr. 
 Pleydell also. It is Ellie I fear for most. If she 
 could but have cared for Austin— but there, poor 
 child " 
 
 The wandering look was coming back into his 
 eyes, and I begged him not to continue. 
 
 " I must — something I had to say," he muttered 
 confusedly. " What is it ? I can"t think." 
 
 " You must not say any more," I answered, 
 speaking in a steady clear tone, and laying my 
 hand across his forehead. " There is no need for 
 3-ou to be anxious. God will take care of us. 
 And in any case — whatever happens — I have quite 
 made up my mind, that when all in the house are 
 well, I will become a daily governess. I could 
 command a good salary, and I ought to have 
 
 13
 
 I7S THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 begun long ago, but you and Mother would not 
 consent." 
 
 " Not while I live and can work for you. Well, 
 it will be all right," he said calmly. 
 
 " You want rest, and less to do," I said. 
 
 " Rest ! " and he looked up dreamily towards 
 the ceiling. " Yes — in sleep. The burden and 
 heat of the day are past ; they don't come back at 
 eventide." 
 
 I thought he did not know what he was saying. 
 "Then goto sleep now," I answered soothingly. 
 
 " Not sleep here, Jeannie — in such pain as this 1 
 No rest till the battle is over." 
 
 And then Mr. Ramsa}' came in, and prohibited 
 any further conversation. When next Lennox 
 spoke he was delirious. 
 
 The foe came on with giant strides. I think 
 hope died in Mother's heart from the first. It did 
 not in mine, for I would not let myself believe that 
 so dire an evil could lie before us. Yet Mr. Ram- 
 say gave no encouragement whatever. He had 
 spoken all along of hope for Francey and Ellie, 
 but with Lennox he plainly said that it was a case 
 beyond medical skill. The fever seemed to lay 
 hold upon that weakened frame with an iron grasp. 
 Hour by hour and minute by minute Lennox 
 changed for the worse, going down and down with 
 a swift descent which knew no break nor varia- 
 tion. 
 
 Three days of ceaseless restless agony were 
 
 I
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOW. 179 
 
 appointed him, as if he were to be borne away in 
 a very chariot of fire. I used to stand beside him 
 in the passionate pain of helpless sympathy, won- 
 dering whether this were sent in mercy to us, that 
 we might learn to rejoice in his release. He 
 wandered much and knew none of us, though 
 never seemingly unconscious of suffering. But 
 the very wanderings were gentle, and full only of 
 such a longing for his Saviour's face, of such calm 
 and joyous realisation of the life to come, that I 
 felt as if it were selfish indeed to wish to keep him. 
 And yet how fervently I prayed that he might not 
 be taken ! 
 
 13 "
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 The third evening had come. I was left alone 
 with Lennox, sitting beside his bed, while Miss 
 Talbot kept watch over Francey, who had shown 
 signs of slight amendment, and was at length 
 asleep. Ellie hung still between life and death, 
 and the crisis of her illness had arrived. Mother 
 dared not quit her for one minute. 
 
 No sound save low unconscious moans broke the 
 stillness of the room where I sat. Delirium seemed 
 now passing into stupor, and no remedy which the 
 utmost skill of our kind physician could devise 
 took any effect upon the sufferer. But after sixty 
 hours of unbroken agony, it was rest to see him 
 lying thus quietly, even though it might be the 
 first faint shadow of death which was creeping 
 already over his face. 
 
 I remember my own stunned calmness of heart 
 and brain, which I thought was resignation. Per- 
 haps it was so in truth, for a while. 
 
 Waiting there silently, with nothing to do save 
 to keep a stedfast look-out for the slightest change,
 
 AT LAST. I Si 
 
 my chief and only distinct sensation was a feeling 
 of relief that I could say, " Thy will be done." It 
 seemed to me that I could say it in reality. I 
 had no power to look forward, or to understand that 
 which might be coming upon us, yet I knew what 
 threatened. And the prayer of Gethsemane passed 
 to and fro, clause by clause, in my head. It was 
 such a prayer for me just then. 
 " Father, if it be possible — 
 " Let this cup pass from me — 
 " All things are possible to Thee — 
 " Nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done." 
 And then in a kind of effortless way the thoughts 
 shaped themselves into verses in my mind. Poetic 
 merit was scarcely to be looked for at such a time, 
 but the languid occupation was soothing. I had a 
 pencil at hand, and I found myself softly inscribing 
 them on the fly-leaf of my pocket-book. I wrote 
 them down, and wondered a little after doing so 
 whether I really felt thus. 
 
 "THY WILL, NOT MINE." 
 
 Father, my Father, take this cup from me, 
 This bitter cup of sorrow and heart pain ; 
 
 Thy hand is lifting it toward my lips, — 
 Oh, take it back again. 
 
 If Thou be willing, let it pass aside — 
 Remove 11iy hand, dear Lord, that I may see 
 
 Tliy face with no such cloud between, — 
 All things are possible to Thee.
 
 l82 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 All things are possible ! It need not be 
 
 That I should drink this draught ; 
 It needeth not — Thy power is absolute — 
 
 Oh, stay — launch not the shaft. 
 
 All things are possible ! And yet — 
 
 My God, hast Thou the victory won 
 For me ? And shall I shrink for Thee ? 
 
 Thy will, not mine, be done. 
 
 Not mine ! not mine ! although it striveth sore ; 
 
 I come to lay my longings at Thy feet. 
 If Thou be willing, take this cup from me, — 
 
 If not — Thy will is sweet. 
 
 All things are possible to Thee, — 
 
 And yet — Thy will, not mine ! 
 I cannot, dare not, choose ! I only plead, 
 
 Bind Thou my will to Thine. 
 
 Let them be one henceforth ! so bitter pain 
 Shall cease, and I shall lean on Thee, 
 
 And rest upon Thine arm — pej'chance to drink 
 This cup Thou givest me. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Ramsay stood by my side. I 
 slipped pencil and book into my pocket, and rose. 
 
 " How is Ellie ? " I breathed. 
 
 " Better, thank God ! " 
 
 He was much moved — this kind friend of ours. 
 I had never seen him more so. Drops stood upon 
 his brow, and his lips trembled visibly. I suppose 
 it was hardly possible that he should have come in 
 and out perpetually, as he had done of late, with- 
 out gaining a strong personal feeling for us all. 
 I did not feel sure, however, whether his momentary
 
 AT LAST. 18 
 
 J 
 
 agitation was at the thought of sorrow escaped 
 or sorrow still threatening. 
 
 " Better ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Asleep, with her hand in your Mother's. Poor 
 Mrs. Phillimore ! " 
 
 He turned away his head for a moment. I 
 marvelled at my own apathy and want of thankful- 
 ness at the joyous tidings. 
 
 "Mother ought to rest," I said, 
 
 " Impossible. She dare not risk disturbing Ellie 
 by a movement; and she says she had two hours' 
 sleep this morning. When did you sleep last. 
 Miss Phillimore ? " 
 
 " Yesterday." 
 
 " From two till four ! Not since then ? I shall 
 have you down too, if I don't look out. Go and 
 get some sleep at once." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You must. I will stay here for two hours." 
 
 " What do you think of Itiui? " I whispered. 
 
 Mr. Ramsay made no answer. He bent a little 
 over the bed, and then stood up again. I heard 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Is this a good or bad sign — this strange stupor?" 
 
 "Not good." 
 
 " When will it pass ? " 
 
 Silence again. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay" — I spoke calmly and low,thougli 
 I heard a hollow sound in my own voice — " Mr. 
 Ramsay, is this death ? "
 
 i84 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " It ma)^ not be." 
 
 " I cannot go," I said ; " I must be here." 
 
 " You shall be called on the slightest appearance 
 of a change. Miss Phillimore, I entreat you— your 
 strength may be sorely needed." 
 
 And I went submissively, but not to rest. The 
 very thought of sleep was revolting to me ; yet it 
 was a relief to find myself alone. Those four short 
 words had torn roughly down my fence of apathy. 
 Now at last I realised the truth, and like a flood 
 the enemy rushed in upon my soul. 
 
 Lennox must not die ! He should not die ! It 
 was a sorrow too great to be endured. If prayer 
 had any power, why should not my prayers 
 save him even yet ? I thought of the words, 
 " According to your faith be it unto you." Had 
 I sufficient faith to save Lennox by prayer ? I 
 thought I had. I must do it. I would not doubt. 
 I did not doubt. So I told myself. I made myself 
 believe that he would certainly recover, and 
 crushed down every heart-suggestion to the con- 
 trary. These hours of rest should be given up to 
 prayer — prayer so intense, so strong in faith, that 
 it could n'ot possibly fail of its object. 
 
 For two long hours I knelt there, and never 
 once arose, despite my weariness. All thought 
 of submission to God's will had flown. Passion- 
 ately wrestling, wildly entreating, it seemed to me 
 that the answer I desired could not but arrive. I 
 was worked up to a pitch of fevered excitement,
 
 AT LAST. 1S5 
 
 and shivered from head to foot as I knelt. But 
 I was determined to have my desire. " My will, 
 not Thine, be done," was the language of that 
 pra5^er. 
 
 Well was it for Lennox, and well for me, that 
 my God did not take me at my word, and send 
 me the thing I wilfully sought, stripped of His 
 blessing. The fulness of love in the denial I can- 
 not gauge in this life. Now I trust — by-and-by I 
 shall behold. 
 
 The door opened, and I rose. Mother stood, 
 pale and calm, before me. 
 
 " Come, Jeannie darling," she said ; " we must 
 go to Lennox at once." 
 
 And we went. Mr. Ramsay was there, with his 
 hand upon Lennox' wrist counting the failing 
 beats. He looked up as we entered, and signed 
 to us to come nearer; but Lennox recognised no 
 one. 
 
 God took away from us the head of our house 
 that day. In one brief half-hour all was over. 
 W'e watched and waited silently, as the breaths 
 grew fainter and fainter. Words were not spoken ; 
 but what did it matter ? We needed not dying 
 testimony from one whose life had been a testi- 
 mony. The deep peace of that unconscious face 
 was the peace of a victor in the war ; and hardly 
 was the last sigh given, before a look of sublime 
 beauty settled down upon the wasted features. 
 
 Yes ; the burden and heat of the da\- were over
 
 i86 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 for him, and they came not back at his early even- 
 tide. He had entered into rest. But I — I felt 
 that the burden and heat of my day were only 
 
 )egmnmg. 
 
 How that evening and the next day passed I 
 hardly know. Mother appeared stunned and faint 
 at first, and soon we found that she too was sick- 
 ening, though with slight symptoms. I hardly 
 seemed to care, however, for I felt both ill in body 
 and stony in mind. There were hard and bitter 
 thoughts in my heart, and for a while I think I 
 strayed away from my Captain in the fight, and 
 fell into the enemy's hands. My prayers had been 
 useless, I said. My faith had failed to bring a re- 
 sponse. My heart's desire had been denied me. 
 I turned resentfully aside from the Hand which in 
 tender love had laid this sorrow upon us. 
 
 It did not last. He did not leave me thus to 
 perish, as I deserved. Sitting beside Ellie, I 
 dropped asleep, and dreamt that I was dying — 
 dying without hope ; and then I woke in fear, 
 with the consciousness of my sin upon me. I 
 knew it all in one flash — the stubbornness, the 
 wilful determination to have my own way, the 
 utter lack of resignation, the distrust of my Father's 
 love, the black ingratitude for all His mercies 
 past — I knew it all. It brought me to my Master's 
 feet, in deep humiliation. 
 
 There, beside the sleeping Ellie, I knelt to pray. 
 It seemed to me that pardon would not come yet
 
 AT LAST. 187 
 
 awhile. Something of delay must surely be my 
 chastening. But even as I poured out the broken 
 confession peace crept back into my heart, and I 
 knew that I was forgiven. 
 
 And then a hand was laid upon my shoulder. I 
 lifted my head, and found some one kneeling 
 beside me. 
 
 " Jeannie, Jeannie dearest." 
 
 " Esma ! " I said. 
 
 " Jeannie, this is terrible," her white lips 
 murmured. " Are you praying for us all ? " 
 
 I do not know what I answered. I remember 
 a feeling of dull surprise coming over me, to find 
 that I could not rise from my knees; and next that 
 I could not speak. Black specks fell round in 
 showers, and long vacancy followed. 
 
 After that I had but a dim consciousness, from 
 time to time, of shaded lights and flitting forms, 
 murmiuring voices and weary pain. The outer 
 world did not seem to have much in common with 
 me, or I with it. 
 
 For Mother and I too were down with the fever; 
 only a touch of it, our kind nurses hoped at first, 
 and jNIother was speedily up again. But I, though 
 never in danger, had a longer bout, and six weeks 
 passed before I could again leave the room where 
 I had been taken. 
 
 They were almost a blank to me, those six long 
 weeks, so far as thoughtandfeeling were concerned. 
 I neither looked back nor looked forward. It never
 
 i88 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 occurred to me to wonder how we managed to get 
 on at all, with no bread-winner, no means of sup- 
 port whatever. Everything needful was supplied 
 to me, and the whole household seemed to hinge 
 upon Esma. A year before I little dreamed how I 
 should one day lean upon that girl, and how, with 
 the strange fickleness of illness, I should cling to 
 her more than to any of those who were about 
 me.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE. 
 
 By the opening days of March I was pronounced 
 well enough to travel, and we all went for a three 
 weeks' change to the seaside. It was a necessary 
 absence, not alone on the score of health, for our 
 house needed to be thoroughly painted, papered, 
 and purified. Mother seemed to me to submit, 
 almost as passively and unquestionably as I did 
 myself, to whatever Esma decreed. Sometimes a 
 languid wonder crept over me as to how these 
 things were possible, and how our heavy expenses 
 were to be met. But Esma dexterously shirked 
 or openly forbade all discussions on that score. 
 "Time enough by-and-bye," she said. "Get 
 strong first, Jeannie, and then we will discuss 
 ways and means." And in my weakness I found 
 hers the stronger spirit of the two, and was fain 
 to submit. 
 
 The three weeks of sea-side breezes were 
 pleasant to us all. It may sound strange to 
 talk of pleasure so soon after our great trouble, 
 but there is a wonderful buoyancy in human
 
 igo THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 nature, inclining it to rise even after the heaviest 
 storm : and to me, if not to all of us, it seemed as 
 if December and January lay in a dim and far-off 
 distance. So, though the shadow was ever upon 
 us, yet we did enjoy the bright sands and waves 
 and the rare mildness of that early spring. It was 
 good to see some return of vigour to Francey's 
 spiritless movements and of bloom to Ellie's white 
 cheeks. The boys were in exuberant spirits, and 
 even Mother's gentle smile grew less sad, while 
 I began to feel the burden of returning life no 
 longer too heavy to be borne. And Esma went 
 about among us all, pale and quiet herself, yet 
 making things smooth, and pleasantly suiting her 
 own mood to the mood of each in turn, with mar- 
 vellous unselfishness. Was this the girl whom I 
 had once so disliked and despised? 
 
 But she would still allow no talk about business 
 affairs. Those three weeks must be kept clear, 
 she said. We were to have our minds at rest, 
 and gather all the strength we could. Work 
 should come after, but was not even to be thought 
 about then. I think Mother and I were glad to 
 put off the evil day ; and somehow we had by this 
 time gained sufficient trust in Esma to obey her 
 implicitly. She was seemingly carrying on a good 
 deal of correspondence herself with different 
 parties, and I had suspicion that some of the 
 letters bore reference to our future ; but if so, she 
 kept her own counsel, and we were none the wiser.
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE. IQI 
 
 How strange was the return, with restored 
 health, to a new and untried life in the old 
 familiar home ! How strange to feel that upon 
 my weak woman's hand rested the support of all 
 who were dearest to me ! I think I realised the 
 fact fully, and for the first time, immediately after 
 our arrival. I was standing alone in my room, 
 and the boys' voices sounded cheerily downstairs, 
 as they helped to haul in the luggage. But the 
 sense of a missing presence weighed upon me like 
 lead; and heavier than lead, heavier than a mill- 
 stone, came that crushing consciousness — all 
 resting upon me ! 
 
 What could I do ? I stood there in a maze of 
 utter helplessness, squeezing the handle of my 
 carriage-bag between my fingers. How had I 
 ever borne to wait all these weeks without plan- 
 ning something for the future ? I must rise now 
 with energy, and buckle to — must work, strive, 
 struggle, do my utmost ! But what would that 
 utmost be ? 
 
 For I had tried before and failed. What if 
 other openings should fail likewise ? Mother, 
 Francey, Ellie, and the boys — those five could 
 do nothing. Wliat could I do ? I, only I ! All 
 rested upon me. 
 
 Heavier and heavier weighed the load. I felt 
 almost inclined to sit down on the floor, like a 
 little child, to cry in hopeless misery. And 
 suddenly I bethought me, —
 
 192 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall 
 sustain thee." 
 
 " Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth 
 for you." 
 
 " Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, 
 for I am thy God."- 
 
 " Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it 
 be afraid." 
 
 I stood for a moment silently, as the sweet and 
 holy words breathed calmly through my heart. 
 And then I cast off my burden and my care upon 
 my Master, and prayed Him to " undertake for 
 me." Little mattered my helplessness beside His 
 glorious power. He could do for me, and for those 
 whom I loved, all that my weak hand could never 
 accomplish. 
 
 He was with me. He would sustain me. He 
 cared for me. No need had I to fear. The 
 pathway ahead might be cloudy ; but He could 
 roll away the clouds, or bear us safely through the 
 storm. No need to tremble. The load was too 
 heavy for my strength, but I had cast it off upon 
 Him now, and my walk might be light and free. 
 No need to doubt. The responsibility was no 
 longer mine, but His, and He in His faithfulness 
 would not fail me. 
 
 As I had stood in a maze of helpless fear, so now 
 I stood in a maze of joyous confidence. What 
 true and wondrous sympathy is that of our God, 
 who " comforteth those that are cast down!"
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE. I93 
 
 Needlessly cast down, distrustfully cast down, it 
 may be ; but none the less does He lovingly 
 comfort those who look to Him for help. For He 
 knoweth our frame ; He knoweth our ignorance 
 and the dimness of our sight. Even so, 1 think, 
 would an earthly father tenderly soothe and closely 
 caress the little one, who tremblingly doubted and 
 shrank in danger, if only — there is that if — if only 
 in her fear she clung to him still, and did not leave 
 his side. 
 
 Esma came suddenly in, and laid her hand on 
 my arm. 
 
 " We are going to have tea the first thing," she 
 said. " Will you come ? j\Ir. Auriol is down- 
 stairs, and that will be a help. Jeannie ? " 
 
 The last word was in a changed tone, uttered 
 questioningly. I kissed her without speaking. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she asked soberly. 
 
 "Nothing," I said at first, and then I added, — 
 
 " Only I know now that God will take care of 
 us." 
 
 "Yes," she said wistfully; " I suppose He will." 
 
 " I thought / had to do it all," I said. " But 
 God my Father will do it now. I have just put 
 the whole matter into His hands, and told Him 
 my difficulty. He will do it." 
 
 She gazed at me steadfastly, with a tearless 
 glitter in her eye;^. 
 
 " I can't bear to disturb your confidence," she 
 said. " But — Jeannie, He docs send sorrow."
 
 194 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Yes, He does," I said. " But He brings us 
 througli — in His own way — the best way. He 
 sent us great sorrow lately ; but our sorrow was 
 joy to Lennox. There are many kinds of happiness 
 which cannot possibly come to one without bring- 
 ing pain to others. And this care now about how 
 we are to get on I have cast off upon Him, and 
 He will undertake it for me. He has promised, 
 and I am going to trust to His promises." 
 
 " He may bring you through in His way," said 
 Esma, in a low voice. " But that may be just the 
 way you would most dread." 
 
 " It may be," I said. " If so. He will come 
 through it with me, and then I shall be able to 
 bear anything. But I do think, Esma, that very 
 often the hard and sorrowful way has to be, only 
 because we won't give up our own strivings and 
 put the whole thing unreservedly into His hands. 
 I think it must be so. I am going to trust Him 
 now to care for us." 
 
 She said no more, but only slipped her arm into 
 mine, and we went downstairs together. 
 
 I think all our party without exception was glad 
 of Mr. Auriol's presence. It was a comfort to have 
 one to fill the vacant chair, who seemed to have 
 some shadow of a right to sit there. He did not 
 press himself upon Ellie's notice, but was unob- 
 trusively watchful and attentive, and I certainly 
 marked a change in her manner to him. She 
 dropped her childish air, and was alike more
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE. Ig5 
 
 dignified and more cordial. I could excuse him 
 the brightness of renewed hope which showed in 
 his face as the meal went on ; but that same meal 
 — our first in the old room without Lennox — was 
 a hard trial to our fortitude. EUie fled away up- 
 stairs at its conclusion, followed by Francey, and 
 the boys disappeared elsewhere. Austin Auriol 
 by no means shared in my satisfaction at finding 
 ourselves alone in the drawing room — Mother, 
 Esma, he and I. But I was anxious to obtain 
 information on the subject of our prospects. 
 
 Just as I introduced it, uncle Amory Pleydell 
 was ushered in. I was sorry, and yet glad. He 
 would necessarily have a voice in the matter ; but 
 I should have preferred the first talk without 
 him. 
 
 " All well again, eh ?" he asked, in his comfort- 
 able robust tone. " Invalids quite recovered ? 
 Just what I expected to hear. Jeannie looks thin 
 still, but fairly strong; quite up to work, no doubt." 
 
 "Any amount of it," I said, though Austin 
 Auriol shook his head slightly. 
 
 " Ready to enter on your new duties next week, 
 eh? Really, Esma has been quite indefatigable." 
 
 " When I know what my new duties are," I 
 said. 
 
 " Jeannie has been told nothing yet," observed 
 Esma. " I thought it best to keep business out of 
 sight, till we came back." 
 
 " Very wise, very prudent on your part," said 
 
 14 *
 
 ig6 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 uncle Amory. " Shouldn't have expected to find 
 such a grey head on such green shoulders." 
 
 The said head — not grey, but golden — made an 
 impatient movement. 
 
 "But will some one tell me now, please?" I 
 asked. " Has anything been settled for me ?" 
 
 "I don't know whether you will mind," said 
 Esma; "but you spoke of it one day in passing, 
 so I thought I might act. We have found a 
 situation for you as daily governess, at a hundred 
 guineas a year." 
 
 I believe an exclamation escaped me. 
 
 "It is not much, as you will sleep out of the 
 house, and your only meal there will be your 
 dinner." 
 
 " It seems a good deal to me," I answered. 
 " How many children are there ? " 
 
 " Two girls," said Esma. " That is all you will 
 have charge of. Two girls, aged about fourteen 
 and sixteen, and you are to finish them off, with 
 the help of a music-master. That was the only 
 point where I could not answer for your ' finish- 
 ing ' capabilities." 
 
 " Have you seen them ?" I asked. 
 
 " No, Mr. Auriol kindly arranged all for me. 
 They are friends— acquaintances, I mean — of his." 
 
 " I think Miss Phillimore will find them kind 
 and pleasant people," said Mr. Auriol. " Not that 
 I know them well. They are out of my cure — 
 rather a long walk for you, I am afraid ; but
 
 BACK IN THE DAILY BATTLE. ig7 
 
 altogether we thought the advantages counter- 
 balanced the disadvantages." 
 
 " Jeannie is a good walker," said Esma. 
 
 " But there is another thing I want to ask," I 
 remarked suddenly. " How about the last few 
 weeks' expenses ? — months, I might say. Where 
 has the money come from ? Mother, do you know? 
 Esma assured me she was running up no long 
 bills." 
 
 " Everything has been paid down," said Esma 
 composedly. " It signifies very little how." 
 
 " I think it signifies very much," I said. 
 
 "All has been honest and straightforward, I 
 assure you. Aunt Jane trusts me — why not you 
 too ? " 
 
 "Yes, I trust you, my dear; but Jeannie and I 
 must beg for a little explanation," said Mother 
 gently. 
 
 Esma flushed up a bright pink, and was evidently 
 embarrassed. Uncle Amory thought this a good 
 opportunity to make his voice heard. 
 
 " I don't wonder you are a little perplexed, my 
 dear Jane, and Jeannie also. Positively I almost 
 concluded for a time that Esmeralda must have 
 discovered the philosopher's stone. And now that 
 I am better informed — not as to the philosopher's 
 stone, but as to the young lady's stones — ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! — I am an^yous to express my approbation of 
 her praiseworthy conduct. I should not have 
 expected it of her. No, I positively should not."
 
 igS 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I was utterly mystified, and looked from one to 
 the other. 
 
 " Stones ! " I repeated. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed uncle Amory, delighted 
 with his very tame little witticism and rubbing his 
 hands together. " Ha ! ha ! Not the philoso- 
 pher's stone, but the young lady's stones ! Very 
 good, isn't it ? Esmeralda knows how to transmute 
 stones into gold." 
 
 I saw Mother's eyes fill with tears, and her hand 
 steal into Esma's. Did she understand ? / felt 
 perfectly stupid. 
 
 " Esma, do please tell me what it really means," 
 I said. 
 
 And she answered, " It isn't worth such a fuss. 
 I had a diamond ring and a few trinkets, worth 
 something altogether ; but I didn't love them as 
 I love you — all."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 " Sold ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," said Esma, with composure. 
 
 " Sold ! not your diamond ring, and your ruby 
 bracelet ! " I reiterated, knowing something of 
 their intrinsic value, and yet more of their associa- 
 tion-worth in Esma's eyes. She gazed at me 
 hardily, with a smile, though her under-lip 
 quivered. 
 
 " I liked very much to do it, Jeannie." 
 
 " O no ! O how could you let her?" I said 
 eagerly to Mr. Auriol. " You don't know how 
 much she thought of those things." 
 
 " I assure you I had no voice in the matter," he 
 responded. " If I Jiad, I am not sure how far I 
 could have used it dissuasively. But the whole 
 thing was done long before any one suspected it." 
 
 " Nobody should have suspected it, if I could have 
 helped telling," said Esma, with some defiance. 
 " But uncle Amory took it into his head that I 
 was spending,,aunt Jane's money recklessly ; and 
 he confabulated with Mr. Auriol, and Mr. Auriol 
 came down upon me with a lecture upon rectitude
 
 200 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 and prudence, and I let the cat out of the bag in a 
 burst of self-defence. That was all. Can't we 
 talk of something more interesting ? " 
 
 Mr. Auriol looked deprecating at part of her 
 speech, and Mother said, — " But, my dear child, I 
 don't know what to say to our owing you this heavy 
 debt." 
 
 " Debt ! " Esma broke out almost angrily. " It 
 is no debt at all. It is your right. Aunt Jane, 
 fifty thousand pounds wouldn't repay all I owe to 
 you. It would not. You gave me a home, and a 
 mother's love, when I was perfectly alone in the 
 world. What are a row of rubies or of diamonds 
 to that ? Please don't say any more about them. I 
 would much rather you should not." 
 
 " Highly commendable," said uncle Amory, 
 with an air of approval. 
 
 This checked at once all expression of feeling, 
 and silence followed. Uncle Amory was the first 
 to break it. 
 
 " And now — since that matter has been satis- 
 factorily settled — now, my dear Jane, a word with 
 you. No doubt a hundred guineas sounds to these 
 young people a very large amount. Nevertheless, 
 the idea of your family being supported — clothed, 
 fed, and housed — upon that sum is simply chi- 
 merical." 
 
 Mother made a little movement of her head, and 
 I saw moisture glittering on her eyelashes. " But 
 we shall be very economical," I interposed.
 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT. 201 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt. Still the difficulty re- 
 mains unsolved. When you are a little older, my 
 dear niece — well, well, the desire for independence 
 
 i ^ very praiseworthy on your part. But " and 
 
 here uncle Amory made a long pause. No one 
 spoke, however, so he had to continue, — 
 
 " Now, I am a prudent man — a very prudent 
 man. Too prudent by half some would say. I 
 feel, however, that I owe a duty to myself — to my 
 wife and daughters, I should say — hem ! Never- 
 theless, all things considered, I think I shall not 
 be over reckless in offering you some assistance in 
 your difficulty, my dear Jane. A widowed sister 
 — pressing claims — touching to my feelings — words 
 of poor Lennox on his death-bed — showed a trust 
 
 in me — most gladly respond " 
 
 These and other confused sentences gradually 
 opened out uncle Amory's meaning. I felt sure 
 there had been some previous influence used on the 
 part of Esma and Mr. Auriol to bring him to this 
 pitch of generosity. He offered to take Gordon, 
 now close upon fourteen years old, into his 
 counting-house, and to pay for Edwy's expenses 
 at a boarding-school in preparation for his entering 
 the merchant navy. The former, indeed, would 
 not be any loss to him, for he had long had his eye 
 upon our eldest boy with some such intention ; 
 but the latter would involve no inconsiderable pull 
 upon his pocket. Gordon was to have no salary 
 at first, but if he worked well, and proved himself
 
 202 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 of value, he would begin to receive a small sum 
 after the first year, to be gradually increased. I 
 believe I was a little disappointed to find that the 
 merchant and not the royal navy was to be Edwy's 
 destination, for at the first moment I misunder- 
 stood uncle Amory to refer to the latter. However, 
 we could not reasonably look for more. 
 
 This double assistance would be a great relief to 
 ourselves. The education and settling of the two 
 boys in life had loomed before me as an almost 
 insurmountable difficulty. It was not, indeed, 
 what we should have chosen for them. Edwy 
 would, I knew, be wild with delight at the prospect 
 of going to sea, but the merchant navy and its 
 associations were anything but desirable for his 
 excitable and easily-led temperament. Also, I 
 somewhat dreaded the constant influence of uncle 
 Amory for Gordon at such an early age, and we 
 had wished for two more years of schooling for 
 him. We were, however, in no condition to choose 
 for ourselves or for them, and could only gratefully 
 accept the proffered aid. 
 
 Even so, how should we ever get on ? When 
 uncle Amory and Mr. Auriol had vanished, we 
 three sat talking over the fire, and looking our 
 difficulties in the face, till the light of confidence 
 in my heart grew dim for a while. The hundred 
 guineas seemed to shrink as I gazed upon them. 
 Our rent and taxes mounted, I knew, to over forty 
 pounds ; yet the expenses of a move to a smaller
 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT. 203 
 
 house would utterly swallow up any advantages 
 to be gained thereby. Gordon and I should indeed 
 dine away from home, but the very idea of our 
 food, clothing, and household expenses being 
 covered by sixty pounds a year seemed absurd. 
 
 "That need not be all," said Esma soberly, 
 when I spoke of this. 
 
 " You think Maggie and John will help. If they 
 can — yes." 
 
 " I do not mean the Drummonds. Aunt Jane, 
 you know Lennox once said — no, you did not hear 
 him ; but he said you counted me as your child. 
 Do you ? — may I be ? " 
 
 Mother held her hand for a few seconds 
 thoughtfully, and then said, — 
 
 " Yes, so far as my loving you is concerned." 
 
 "Thank you. I am going back to my good old 
 lady next week, you know ; and I could not pos- 
 sibly spend all I have from her on myself. So, as 
 I am your child " 
 
 "No, no, Esma," I said; and Mother inter- 
 posed, half-smiling 
 
 " My dear! Twenty-five pounds ! " 
 
 " A quarter of your income. Besides, it is 
 going to be thirty from the beginning of next half. 
 Twenty is all / should ever use — or fifteen." 
 
 " You must lay by," I said. 
 
 " x\t my age I Nonsense. That is all settled. 
 I have been thinking that Francey and Ellie might 
 carry on the copying," and her suppressed sigh
 
 204 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 received a double echo. '* They would make 
 something that way. And now for one little 
 matter more. I thought I would keep a sugar- 
 plum till the close. Jeannie, do you know I took 
 a great liberty with your belongings while you 
 were ill ? " 
 
 " Did you ? " I said ; and a shamed recollection 
 flashed across me of how I had once deemed 
 Esma a very liberty-taking young lady. 
 
 " Yes ; I rummaged out that story of yours 
 from your manuscript-box. It was very cool, but 
 Mr. Auriol and I had a talk one day, and he 
 seemed to think something might be done. He 
 carried it off, and read it through, and said he 
 liked it very much ; and this evening he asked 
 me to make his apologies to 3'ou. It's odd how 
 much afraid of vou he seems." 
 
 " No need," I said. " He was very welcome to 
 look at the poor old thing if he cared." 
 
 " Well, he has looked and acted to somiC pur- 
 pose. Here is a letter which he told me to hand 
 over to you, and I was to ask whether you would 
 accept the offer." 
 
 I read the letter through, and sat amazed. 
 It was a brief business epistle from a certain 
 well-known publishing firm, making proffer of 
 twenty-five guineas for the copyright of my tale, 
 on condition of certain alterations being made 
 therein. 
 
 " Well ! " said Esma softly. " It isn't so very
 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT. 205 
 
 much for all your trouble ; but still it is hardly to 
 be despised," 
 
 " Despised ! Mamma ! " I cried breathless!}-. 
 " Mamma, look here ! " 
 
 " What is it, dear ? " she asked, quite un- 
 suspecting. 
 
 " Mamma — my poor old story," I said eagerly. 
 " Only think — my poor old story — it is coming 
 out at last, and I am to have twenty-five guineas 
 for the copyright. O if only " 
 
 If only Lennox could have been at hand to 
 rejoice with us ! It was a selfish wish, but for a 
 moment my heart felt almost like breaking with 
 the rush of pain. Too late to save him ! Might 
 it — would it — have saved him ? Nay, what had I 
 to do with that ? God could have willed to send 
 just this and more a year sooner. But His will 
 had been to call Lennox " home." 
 
 Mother's hand stole tenderly into mine, for 
 a sudden silence had fallen upon us. " Dear 
 child, I know — I know," she said. " But he is 
 better off." 
 
 " Mamma, I am ungrateful," I said, hardly able 
 to speak. " Esma, it is a real comfort ; only " 
 
 She just looked up at me with a white quivering 
 face, and then went out of the room. Mother said 
 pityingly,— 
 
 " Poor childj Poor dear child ! " 
 
 " Mamma — Esma, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes; only don't ever say anything about it."
 
 206 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " About what ? " 
 
 " Her sorrow. Poor child, she has borne up 
 well. Maybe it has saved her from a more bitter 
 sorrow of another kind. I do not think he would 
 ever have cared for her." 
 
 " Who ? Do you mean ? " 
 
 " Our Lennox." 
 
 "Cared ior her ? " 
 
 " Yes. Did you never think she cared for him ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I did not think." 
 
 " I never doubted it; and one night, just when 
 you were getting better, she broke down, and I 
 found something of what she was suffering. Poor 
 Esma! She has not acute perceptions; and I 
 think she had been building on his kindness of 
 manner. I should have thought his indifference 
 was sufficiently manifested ; but no need now to 
 undeceive her. Don't ever speak of it to her, 
 Jeannie." 
 
 " No," I said, sighing. " Mamma, isn't it 
 strange to see how the cup is dealt out to all 
 around, each one having something of sorrow or 
 pain?" 
 
 " No cross, no crown ! " she said with a gentle 
 smile. " Only a moment's shadow before the 
 exceeding ' weight of glory,' my Jeannie. We 
 have ' need of patience ' now ; but when we have 
 received the promises, how all this will shrink 
 into nothing." 
 
 " If one could but realise it," I said.
 
 THE OLD MANUSCRIPT. 20/ 
 
 " I do, sometimes. Between whiles it is not so 
 hard to trust, as it once was." 
 
 " Mamma, does Esma care more for such things 
 than she did ? " 
 
 " Do you see no change ? " 
 
 "Yes; but she does not speak, so I could not 
 be sure." 
 
 " I think there is, and no mere outside change," 
 Mother said quietly. " But she is not a girl from 
 whom one can force confidence." 
 
 " No, indeed," I remarked; and then I took up 
 the publishers' letter again. How strange it 
 seemed thus to obtain the fulfilment of my long- 
 standing wish, and the answer to my prayers. 
 Yes, the answer had come at last, and the very 
 answer I had wanted ; only neither as nor when 
 I had wanted it. 
 
 Why — oh, why not sooner? What might not 
 that twenty-five pounds have done six months 
 earlier ? A few weeks of change or repose might 
 have fitted Lennox to battle through the illness ? 
 Why not — oh, why ? 
 
 So questioned one restless rebellious voice in my 
 heart. But another voice — whether my own or 
 no I cannot tell — made calm and sweet reply, 
 
 "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth 
 Him good." 
 
 Ay, let Him do it. Disturb not the calm pro- 
 gress of His loving will and action by passionate 
 wilful strivings. " Let Him do what seemeth
 
 208 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Him good." O rebel heart— restless spirit — be 
 still, and rest upon thy God. 
 
 And I think my heart and spirit did grow calm 
 that night ; and I was content to wait — just to 
 wait through this little moment of pain, till the 
 coming of the eternal weight of glory.
 
 '^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MONTAGUES. 
 
 The first day of entering upon my new duties — 
 how I had dreaded it, yet longed to have it over. 
 
 Mrs. Montague and I met once beforehand, and 
 I also began a slight acquaintance with my new 
 pupils. It was quite another thing, however, to 
 find myself seated in the schoolroom, just opposite 
 those two great feckless-looking girls, with their 
 mother hovering in my rear. Mrs. Montague was 
 a sallow restless little woman, and something of 
 habitual peevishness showed in her curved eye- 
 brows and high-pitched though not harsh tones. 
 I washed she would go away, but she said she 
 " wanted to see how we got on." She had a 
 singular but sincere belief that nothing ever went 
 on well unless she had a hand in it ; and it was 
 very evident that she meant to have a hand in 
 schoolroom affairs. 
 
 I sighed mentally at this introduction to my 
 work. The .t\>'0 girls w^ere aged respectively 
 sixteen and fourteen : and I did not quite know 
 yet what to make of them. Edgitha was a brown- 
 
 15
 
 210 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 eyed unformed maiden, not lacking in thoughtful 
 intelligence of expression, but intensely bashful. 
 Ella, clumsily made, large featured, fair-haired, 
 with a heavy forehead, and a spice of lurking 
 mischief in the corners of her light-grey eyes, was 
 oddly unlike her gentle namesake in my home. 
 
 " Will you let me see what books you have 
 been studying lately ? " I asked. 
 
 " Which ? " said Ella. 
 
 "Any you like. History — French — German, 
 if }'ou have begun it." 
 
 " Edgitha was to, but she never did." 
 
 " My dear, what an inelegant way of talking," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Montague. " Miss Phillimore 
 will be quite shocked." 
 
 Ella produced a few volumes slowly, one at 
 a time. Edgitha sat still, never offering to help, 
 and Mrs. Montague fidgeted up towards the table. 
 
 " I believe }'ou have not had much experience 
 in teaching, Miss Phillimore ? " 
 
 " Not beyond my own sisters." 
 
 "Sisters — ah, yes. How many? Only two! 
 I thought you had five. But I do not mean to 
 hinder you. Pray don't let my presence interfere 
 with the lessons ; I only want to learn what is 
 your method. Oh, by the bye, I particularly wish 
 to direct your attention to Edgitha's figure. It 
 slipped my memory the other day. She has a 
 most inveterate habit of stooping. Indeed her 
 manners altogether require close attention. She
 
 THE MONTAGUES. 211 
 
 wants ease, and is far too nervous and self-con- 
 scious. She takes after me, for I was fearfully 
 nervous at her age — I assure you I was, though 
 you might not think it now. It was perfect agony 
 to me to enter a room full of company. But that 
 excessive shyness is very awkward, and must be 
 overcome. I just wished to draw your attention 
 to it." 
 
 I promised to remember, and hoped she had 
 finished ; for the poor girl looked extremely un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 " Then as to lessons ? " and Mrs. Montague 
 
 paused questioningly. 
 
 " I was waiting until you had done with me," 
 I answered, with as much polite sang-froid as 
 I could assume. 
 
 " Oh, I see. Yes ; but pray don't let me be any 
 hindrance. I am very anxious that the girls 
 should work hard. I do not think they got on at 
 all with Miss Pearce ; but I am sure it will be 
 different now. Somehow she had not the knack 
 of interesting her pupils. She never seemed to 
 throw herself into her subject ; and I always do 
 believe that unless the teacher herself is ijnterested, 
 the pupils cannot possibly be interested either." 
 
 I assented, but began to fear Mrs. Montague was 
 not overmuch gifted with wisdom. Ella's eyes 
 were fixed on my face, with a certain twinkle in 
 the corners which made me feel how undesirable 
 was this style of conversation in her hearing. 
 
 15'^
 
 2I2 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Mr. Montague's great wish is that his girls 
 should grow up thoroughly practical and useful 
 women. Please discourage Edgitha's dreaminess 
 as much as possible. She wants rousing and 
 pushing on. Ella is far the cleverest of the two, 
 but Edgitha can do pretty well if she chooses. 
 Ella learns her lessons and says them off without 
 a grain of trouble. I doubt whether she ever looks 
 at them till five minutes before they have to be 
 repeated. Do you, my dear ? " 
 
 " Not often, mamma." 
 
 " That is hardly a good test of memory," I 
 observed. " How if I were to ask to hear those 
 same lessons a few hours later, Ella? " 
 
 She laughed and coloured. 
 
 " I shall do that sometimes. And every lesson 
 that you say to me must be prepared perfectly the 
 day before, and the book be never opened for a 
 glance on the morning when I hear it said." 
 
 " Ah ! I see Miss Phillimore means to work 
 a reformation," said Mrs. Montague. " Quite 
 time too. Well, I think I had better leave you 
 all for a little while now. You will be sure to 
 attend to Edgitha's carriage? " 
 
 " Quite sure." And she went to the door, but 
 lingered there. 
 
 " I assure you attention is needed. You see 
 what an awkward way she has of carrying her 
 head. Ella is awkward too ; but almost all girls 
 are so at her age. Besides, Ella is clever, and
 
 THE MONTAGUES. 213 
 
 people will put up with a little gauchcrie where 
 there is talent to make up for it. In fact, it no 
 doubt often passes for originality. But Edgitha 
 has a good figure, really, if she would make the 
 best of it. At her age she positively ought to 
 show more ease." 
 
 Three times did Mrs. Montague turn the handle 
 of the door, and three times did she pause to 
 deliver herself of some fresh injunctions. At 
 length she vanished, and I breathed freely. At 
 the same instant Ella's tongue was untied. 
 
 " Miss Phillimore, what are your sisters' 
 names ? " 
 
 I told her; and she exclaimed at the second, — 
 
 "My own ! How queer. I must see her some 
 day. How old is she ? Seventeen ! What a 
 bother 1 I should have liked her for my friend. 
 Is she like me ? " 
 
 I shook my head in some amusemient. 
 
 " Why ? You needn't laugh. Is she pretty ? " 
 
 " It is hardly fair to ask me, Ella. I think her 
 lovely; but perhaps a sister is no fair judge. 
 Now we must leave off talking, and attend to 
 our books." 
 
 More easily said than enforced. Ella's tongue 
 ran incessantly, though I had no reason to com- 
 plain of the work she accomplished at the same 
 time. Edgitha^ talked less, but wasted half her 
 time in fits of dreaming. I soon found that it 
 would be no easy task to keep them both up to
 
 214 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 the mark. After luncheon we had a walk, and 
 then lessons again till half-past five. By that 
 time mind and body had been on the stretch to 
 such a degree that I felt like a person strained 
 and bruised all over. I suppose I had hardly yet 
 shaken off the weakness resulting from my illness. 
 The two girls gave me an affectionate farewell, 
 and Mrs. Montague delayed her new governess for 
 half-an-hour's talk in the passage. She seemed 
 highly gratified with me and my doings ; and 
 certainly she had a right to an opinion in the 
 matter, since her visits to the schoolroom had 
 numbered nearly a dozen. 
 
 Then came the long walk home, wearying in 
 itself, though there was a certain relief in the 
 freedom from any necessity to speak or act. I 
 plodded on mechanically, feeling myself a very 
 wavworn wanderer through life ; and by the time 
 I reached our front door I thought I had done as 
 much as I could do that day. 
 
 "Tired, Jeannie ? " 
 
 Francey stood looking at me pitifully, as I 
 stumbled heavily in, and sat down on the old hall 
 chair. 
 
 " You'll never be able to go on with it. I knew 
 you wouldn't." 
 
 "Yes, I shall. Nonsense, Francey." 
 
 " You're just done up altogether." 
 
 " The first day is the most trying." 
 
 " Come straight into the dining-room. I'll
 
 THE MONTAGUES. 2I5 
 
 make tea this evening. No, not there," as I half- 
 turned towards the drawing-room. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 She lowered her voice to a whisper — " Mr. 
 Auriol and Ellie — hush-sh ! " 
 
 " Francey ! " 
 
 " Sh-sh ! " and she pulled me into the dining- 
 room, made me sit down, and took off my bonnet. 
 "An exclamation may spoil all. Mr. Auriol 
 begged me to befriend him ; and -wnen she came 
 in I slipped out for something and didn't go back. 
 Mamma and I have been on tenter-hooks, for they 
 have been closeted in there an indefinite length of 
 time." 
 
 " I wish Ellic could have him," I said slowly. 
 " For his sake." 
 
 " So do I now, though I hated it once. But 
 she would be happier; and I am trying not to be 
 selfish. Besides, I have you." 
 
 " As you always had, my dear Francey." 
 
 " Ah ! but having you now is a different thing."' 
 
 " You used to be such a child," I said. "And 
 we have passed through trouble enough to draw 
 us very closely together." 
 
 " Is it only that ? " she asked, looking dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " Is what ? " I was getting refreshed alresdy, 
 seated in our* cosy dining-room, with Frar.cey's 
 fingers clasping mine. 
 
 " The difterence in }"0u," she said quickly.
 
 2l6 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " I can't see myself from cutside, Francey. I 
 fed different." 
 
 " Only the difference of having- had trouble ?" 
 
 " No, indeed. The differenc: of knowing Christ 
 my Lord as I never knew Him before," I said 
 softly. " O France}', how I wish " 
 
 She made a quick movement. "■ DidnH you 
 know Him before ? " 
 
 "I thought I did. Yes— the knowledge was 
 dawning. But I am not sure if I did not deceive 
 myself in some measure, Francey, I wish " 
 
 " Yes, I know," she said, kneeling down by my 
 side, and looking up at me with her large shining 
 eyes, while her cheeks grew white. " I wish it 
 too, Jeannie. And sometimes I think I do love 
 Him just a little ; but how do I know it isn't all 
 self-deceiving ? " 
 
 " Tell Him your doubts, and pray David's 
 prayer that He may search and try you, and lead 
 you in the way everlasting. Even if you have 
 been deceiving yourself in the past, you need not 
 in the future. Francey, darling, if you long to be 
 saved. He longs still more to save you." 
 
 "Does He?" 
 
 She stood up suddenly, gave me a kiss, and 
 went away. Tea was evidently forgotten. I put 
 aside my shawl, rang for the urn, and did all that 
 was needful. Then I heard the drawing-room door 
 open, and I went into the passage. Mother and 
 Austin Auriol were talking earnestly in low tones.
 
 THE MOXTx\GUES. 21/ 
 
 with such bright faces. I slipped past them into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 Ellie was standing on the hearth-rug, her little 
 slender figure erect, her hands clasped nervously, 
 and her cheeks burning. She did no-t see me till 
 I was close to her side, and then, with a slight 
 exclamation, she turned and fiung herself into my 
 arms. I felt her whole frame heaving and quiver- 
 ing witli excitement, but she was silent. 
 
 " What is it, Ellie dear ? " I said at length. 
 
 " Mr. Auriol " she whispered. 
 
 '' Yes, — tell me, Ellie." 
 
 " I am going to — to — do what Lennox wished." 
 
 Was that her only reason? I tried to lift up 
 her face, but could obtain no more than a glimpse. 
 
 " Am I to say I am sorry or glad ? " I asked 
 softly. " What shall we do without our pet ? " 
 
 She gave a violent start. " O no ! O no ! It 
 won't be that yet — for a great while. I couldn't 
 leave you all. Only — onl}- — I've just — said — said 
 — ' Ye's.' " 
 
 " He was Lennox' greatest friend," I said 
 soothingly. 
 
 " Yes. Oh, I know ! and he's such a good 
 man' — and so kind " 
 
 I did not feel exactly satisfied. But before I 
 could say more Mother came up, and took Ellie 
 out of my arms into her own. 
 
 " Sweet one, is this true ? W"hy, it is the wish 
 of my heart; only there is bitter with the sweet." 
 
 " Mamma !— don't."
 
 2lS THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Little woman, I want to see your face. Do 
 you know I have been hoping this lately ? " 
 
 " O no ; I couldn't leave you." 
 
 Mother looked at me, rather perplexed. 
 
 " Not yet," I said ; " Ellie does not care to 
 think about that part of the matter yet. Better 
 to enjoy the present quietly." 
 
 " It was his wish," Mother murmured involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " Mamma, don't ! O Mamma, I wish he were 
 here ! O Lennox ! " 
 
 She broke into agitated sobs, crying passion- 
 ately for Lennox, and refusing comfort. Mother 
 took her off at last to bed, and I went to the tea- 
 table with Francey and Gordon. His boyish 
 appetite had been taxed almost beyond endurance, 
 and I set him to work at once. Francey looked 
 dreamily calm, with a repose I had rarely seen 
 upon her face. Gordon wanted to know what 
 Ellie was so miserable about. 
 
 " Not miserable at ail, only over-excited," I 
 said ; and I explained the state of affairs. 
 
 " Whew ! you girls are queer creatures," said 
 the boy contemptuously. " I don't know how 
 Mr. Auriol feels, but I know / shouldn't like the 
 girl I was going to marry to set to and cry like 
 that, just after saying she'd have me." 
 
 " Ellie always cries easily," said Francey. 
 Nevertheless, I think we all felt a little doubtful 
 concerning the whole affair, and were relieved to 
 see her look like herself in the morning. 
 
 i
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 kathie's battlings. 
 
 "I ALWAYS thought it would come to that in the 
 end," said Katherine de Salvernai, in a thoughtful 
 tone. 
 
 She had dropped in unexpectedly upon my first 
 half-holiday. Mother and the two girls were out, 
 so Kathie and I retired to my bedroom for a chat. 
 I had not seen her before since Christmas. After 
 some sadder talk, the subject of EUie's engagement 
 came up. 
 
 " Did you ? Ellie seemed so indifferent to him 
 till just lately." 
 
 " Well, it is a very happy arrangement. When 
 does the wedding take place ? " 
 
 " Ellie won't hear it mentioned." 
 
 " No ? But you say she is in good spirits ? " 
 
 " As good as she has ever been, since our trou- 
 bles — only variable." 
 
 " Poor little Ellie ! Jeannie, how natural it 
 seems for us Jo be sitting here together ! Can 
 you believe that it is months since we saw one 
 another ? "
 
 220 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " I could better believe it to be years." 
 
 "Ah, poor darling! you have gone through so 
 much. No wonder it has changed you. Have 
 I changed too ? " 
 
 I took a good look at her. She was rather 
 thin, but brighter than of old in her expression, 
 and less excited in manner. 
 
 " I have had no easy time in the battle-field," 
 she said. "Jeannie, do you remember that talk 
 of ours ? " 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 " When you spoke of the difference of fighting 
 alone and of fighting with your Captain by your 
 side ; and when you said you had proved His 
 power to conquer for you when you were help- 
 less." 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " W^ell, you taught me something that day, 
 though not the lesson you had been learning. 
 You made me miserable and self-dissatisfied — 
 sure that I wanted something more, and yet 
 hardly knowing what I did really want." 
 
 " How did it come to you ? " I asked, for I felt 
 certain " something more " had come. 
 
 " Do you like hearing * experiences ' ? " she 
 asked, with a little smile. 
 
 " Yours — yes." 
 
 " But haven't you a great horror of talking 
 about self?" 
 
 " Yes, especially for myself. You have not my
 
 KATHIE's BATTLINGS. 221 
 
 tendency to self-consciousness, and there are ex- 
 ceptions to every rule. David said he would 
 declare what the Lord had done for his soul." 
 
 " I'm sure those words would do for me," she 
 said softly. " And tlfen I have no possible cause 
 for self-satisfaction — and we are not in public — 
 and you and I are just like one." 
 
 " Tell me what you have been doing and feeling, 
 Kathie." 
 
 " Well," she said, with a long breath, " it began 
 just so. You made me long for something more — 
 something which I couldn't get at. But I think 
 I soon began to feel my way towards it. I am 
 sure I was being led. Just about that time I hap- 
 pened to be thrown with two or three different 
 people, who gave me more or less of help. 
 
 " Did you tell them your want ? " 
 
 " Not all of them — oh no. Only we talked 
 about how to live a more Christ-like life. And one 
 spoke a great deal about faith. He said every 
 failure came from a want of faith on our part. 
 He told me that every time I failed to conquer in 
 temptation, it was because I had not faith suf- 
 ficient to grasp Christ's strength to overcome for 
 me ; and that if only I had enough faith, I might 
 remove mountains of difficulty — everything would 
 go down before me. 
 
 " It was all -perfectly true, Jeannie, but perhaps 
 it wasn't quite all I wanted. He kept to that one 
 point and talked it threadbare, till I could think
 
 222 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 of nothing else. But I do think that to fill a per- 
 son's mind like that with one truth, leaving alto- 
 gether aside its companion truths, is rather like 
 filling one side of a ship with ballast, and leaving 
 the other side empty. 
 
 " At all events it had much the same sort of 
 effect upon me. I think there was real danger of 
 my little boat going right over and sinking, with 
 the weight of that unbalanced truth. Only, 
 Jeannie, One was on board; I can't doubt it, even 
 though He did seem for a while to be sleep- 
 
 ing 
 
 
 She paused for a few seconds, and I pressed her 
 hand. 
 
 " I began to see that the power of Christ Jesus 
 in daily life to save one from sin, is just the same 
 as His power to save the soul from death. But in- 
 stead of looking straight up to Him, and away 
 from self, that He might do all for me, I looked to 
 my own faith, and was perpetually testing and try- 
 ing it, to see if it were strong enough to bring the 
 blessings I wanted. I really think I was in 
 danger at last of looking upon it almost as a sort 
 of transaction — so much faith put forth, so much 
 blessing to be expected in return ! Jeannie, do 
 you see what I mean ? It was very dreadful of 
 me. I am sure j'o;^ never felt so." 
 
 Yes, I had. But not even to Kathie could I 
 detail aught of that sad evening when Lennox had 
 died.
 
 KATHIE S BATTLINGS. 223 
 
 *■' There is a spurious faith in prayer, as well as 
 a true faith," I said. " I think the truest and 
 highest must always say the most fully, ' Thy will, 
 not mine.' " 
 
 " Ah, you understand ! " she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Then, after a minute, she went on, — 
 " The next thing was, that your cousin, Mr. 
 Harry Pleydell, came to see us." 
 " Did he ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he seemed very much distressed 
 about all your troubles. No wonder. I used to cry 
 my eyes almost out. But we had a long talk about 
 these things, and he soon saw that I was in a 
 doubting inquiring state. He told me that the 
 thing I wanted was consecration of myself — whole- 
 hearted consecration. I don't say he actually 
 made too much of it, but I do think he put it a 
 little into the wrong place, though it was true 
 enough what he said. I can't remember a word 
 that wasn't true. I was to withhold nothing, he told 
 me. I was to give up everything. The least thing 
 reserved would be like the Babylonish garment in 
 the Israelitish camp, and would hide my Saviour's 
 
 face. Yes, it was all true, but 
 
 " I'm afraid to say whether he was worst as 
 teacher, or I as learner. But he certainly left me 
 with the idea tJiat I had as much to do as any 
 poor creature openly trying to work her way to 
 heaven. I felt that I must never look for peace
 
 224 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 until my consecration was absolutely perfect. So 
 I was always searching into this, and looking into 
 that, and testing my motives, and weighing my 
 actions, and sitting in judgment on myself, and 
 hunting out possibilities of disturbing elements in 
 my spiritual life, till there was very little time left 
 for looking at my Saviour. Do you see the danger, 
 Jeannie ? I used to sit and imagine all sorts of 
 dreadful troubles that might come, and wonder 
 whether the consecration of my will was so entire 
 that I could take them willingly from His hand. 
 And if my heart said ' No,' then I thought I must 
 not look yet for His smile. I wasn't looking to my 
 faith this time, but to my consecration, to bring 
 all I needed, Jeannie, what blundering childish 
 creatures we are. I was just turning deliberately 
 away from the beauty of Christ, to look at myself 
 and my poor little doings." 
 
 "And how were you helped? for I am sure you 
 were, Kathie." 
 
 " Ah ! I did pray all through to be guided aright. 
 The first thing was a little bit of conversation 
 with Mr. Auriol. He was so kind and wise. I 
 spoke about my wish to have my Saviour's pre- 
 sence always near me. And he said I mustn't 
 doubt it — that when clouds came, I must trust 
 through all. He reminded me of those verses, 
 ' My presence shall go with thee,' and ' Lo, I am 
 with you alway,' and told me to cling to them. 
 He said my doubts might bring about the very
 
 KATHIE S BATTLINGS. 225 
 
 thing I feared, and he warned me earnestly against 
 too much spiritual pulse-feeling and watching of 
 self. It was just the healthy bracing sort of advice 
 I needed." 
 
 " After which " 
 
 " After which I came one happy Sunday morn- 
 ing to hear him preach. Such a beautiful sermon 
 on the burnt-offering — the only perfect one ever 
 seen, in Jesus offering up of Himself for us — 
 and then our poor little imperfect offering up of 
 ourselves to Him. I began to see how it was only 
 by steadfast looking up to Him that I could ever 
 offer myself. 
 
 " That wasn't all, Jeannie. Father went to 
 sleep in the afternoon, and I had an hour alone. I 
 don't often get one, and it was delightful. I went 
 upstairs with my Bible, and began to think how 
 I still wanted and longed for something, I hardly 
 knew what. And then I knelt down and prayed 
 for it, whatever it might be — this blessing — and 
 waited. 
 
 "Jeannie, I do think the answer came. It 
 seemed to flash across me all at once with such 
 wonderful sweetness. What did I want ? Why, 
 I wanted Jesus ! I wanted Him in fulness. But 
 I had Him. He was mine already, mine for ever ! 
 I could think I heard a voice saying, down in my 
 heart, ' What iiwyc do you want ? All things 
 are 3 ours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is 
 God's.'" 
 
 16
 
 226 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 She could hardl}- speak for a while, and her eyes 
 were full. 
 
 " One thing after another seemed to open out. 
 I saw that it was no new thing I wanted, but 
 only a greater fulness of what I had already. And 
 I felt sure that would come, more and more of it. 
 But the greater things I had longed for were mine, 
 only I had realised and grasped them so faintly. 
 I was His already, consecrated to Him already; 
 but I had to realise this consecration more fully, 
 and to act upon it in daily life. And His power 
 in the battle was mine, but I had to grasp it more 
 fully by faith. I kept on thinking, ' What more ? 
 ■ — what more do I want ? Jesus is all, and He is 
 mine, so all things are mine.' And I saw that it 
 wasn't perpetual examination into self, but per- 
 petual looking up to Him, that would bring confi- 
 dence and victory." 
 
 " I am very glad, Kathie " 
 
 " I have had clouds since, but they don't last as 
 they did. It is peace now. And I think I have 
 the ' more ' I wanted, only it isn't anything new, 
 but just a deepening of the old. I do feel now 
 that the Lord Jesus is everything to me. And 
 every bit of my life-work is for Him, and that 
 makes it sweet. I don't mind now spending my 
 time over puddings for father, and having to darn 
 and mend, and waste hours in talk, because you 
 know it is just exactly the work which He has 
 given me to do; and those two words 'for 
 Him ' make everything beautiful.
 
 kathie's battlings. 227 
 
 " Jeannie," and she looked earnestly at me — "do 
 you think there can be anything of self-deceiving 
 in all this ? Can there be ? He is so dear to me 
 now." 
 
 " I have always thought Mother was very dear 
 to me," I remarked musingly. " Do you think 
 that I can be deceiving myself, and that I really 
 don't care for her ? " 
 
 Kathie's face lighted up brilliantly. 
 
 " I see ! Then I needn't be afraid, for I am as 
 sure of that love as I am of my love for my 
 father. And then He loves me. O Jeannie, only 
 to think of His love ! One can't doubt that for a 
 moment." 
 
 I had doubted it for awhile — when Lennox was 
 taken ; but I did not tell her so. I only let her 
 talk on. She did not say any more about herself, 
 having simply told me facts so far; but she had a 
 great deal to say about her Saviour and His 
 words. The Bible seemed so full of fresh beauty 
 to her, that I think she could have gone on 
 pouring out her happy realisations for hours. 
 
 Dear, loving, enthusiastic Kathie. How many 
 have eager warmth and bright enthusiasm to 
 spare for earthly interests, who grow calm and 
 reserved and languid when they touch upon 
 heavenly things ! Not so was it with Kathie. 
 She gave her ve*ry best of love and joy and praise 
 in the service she had chosen. 
 
 But I could not help thinking, after our con- 
 
 16*
 
 228 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 versation, how even the best intentioned and most 
 earnest-hearted teachers may sometimes mislead 
 their hearers, just from a little lack of heavenly 
 wisdom, in the putting forth of heavenly truths 
 without the wondrous divine balancing with which 
 they are given in God's Word.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ABOUT ELLA. 
 
 The summer months came softly rolling over 
 our heads, and brought many matters of care or 
 interest in their train. No unjoyous household 
 was ours, notwithstanding all the grief through 
 which we had passed. Our anxieties were greater 
 than of old, but Mother had never looked less 
 anxious. Her placid face was a perpetual un- 
 spoken song of thanksgiving. Just because she 
 and I felt ourselves so absolutely helpless, we had 
 the more cotnpletely rolled off our burden upon 
 One who was strong to bear. 
 
 And we made our way — ay, and paid it too, 
 though the wherewithal at times seemed hard to 
 find. I soon discovered that it was needful, not 
 only to teach all the day, but to write all the 
 evening. Simple children's stories were the 
 utmost I could accomplish after hours of toil 
 preceding ; but I loved the little task, and the 
 little opportunities of teaching little lessons about 
 my Saviour. ,It was all work "for Him" from 
 first to last. That was the " sweetener." 
 
 My other tale was passing slowly through the
 
 230 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 press, and the proof sheets took up valuable 
 time, without bringing in any more of the "needs 
 be " for our household. I found it necessary to 
 rise an hour earlier sometimes, to get through all 
 that had to be done. 
 
 Francey's clear voice was ever carolling over the 
 house that summer, as it had not been wont to do 
 in other days. After long seeking, doubting, and 
 thirsting, the peace she failed to find was suddenly 
 borne to her through the medium of those few 
 words of mine: "If you long to be saved, He 
 longs still more to save you." In the wondering 
 joyful reply, " Does He ?" she accepted the great 
 truth of her Saviour's pitying love, and believed 
 that His atoning blood had been shed for her; and 
 the barriers of unbelief were swept away. Strong 
 was the tie thenceforth between Francey and me ; 
 and very sweet it was to feel that I had been 
 used, in my weakness, to carry the message of 
 comfort to her. 
 
 Edgitha and Ella Montague were a great and 
 growing source of interest to me. To Edgitha 
 I soon became really attached, and she returned 
 my love with intense devotion. I was almost 
 afraid for awhile that Mrs. Montague might grow 
 jealous of my unbounded influence over the elder 
 girl. But I soon found that she did not in the 
 least appreciate the depth of Edgitha's love, and 
 merely looked upon it as " just a fancy, — she hoped 
 not a passing one."
 
 ABOUT ELLA. 23 I 
 
 Something of an acquaintance gradually sprang 
 up between our two families. Mrs. Montague 
 called very kindly upon Mother one day, and 
 nearly overwhelmed her with a prolonged gush 
 of small-talk. Ella Montague was extremely 
 anxious to see my sisters, but I did not care to 
 take the initiative in the matter, even though 
 Mrs. Montague showed no unwillingness for the 
 gratification of Ella's desire. However, I was 
 one day walking with the girls in the direction of 
 my home, when there came on suddenly a heavy 
 hailstorm, and we were thankful to take refuge 
 there as speedily as might be. Mother's occu- 
 pation happened to be mending, and Francey's 
 copying, when we entered. Ella used to spend 
 a good deal of her time in dreamy idling, which 
 was perhaps in a measure excusable — if only I 
 could have felt sure that her musings were 
 all happy ones. She stood at the window just 
 then, in an unconsciously graceful attitude, gazing 
 pensively out upon the rain ; and we had time to 
 make observations, for she remained perfectly 
 unconscious of our presence till we had all ad- 
 vanced across the room. I saw the other Ella 
 give her own peculiar little nod of sagacious 
 admiration before Ellie woke up and came to 
 meet us, with a start and a pretty blush of em- 
 barrassment. * 
 
 We went into the kitchen and dried ourselves, 
 and then sat and talked till the storm was over.
 
 232 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I could not be sorry that Mother should have an 
 opportunity of seeing my two great overgrown 
 pupils. She liked the gentle Edgitha, and won 
 her out of her shyness into easy conversation, 
 while Ella's clumsy movements and odd remarks 
 amused her not a little. But when we three 
 ventured to quit the house and return homewards, 
 I had to endure a perfect volley of questions. 
 
 " You needn't have been afraid to praise your 
 sister's beauty, Miss Phillimore. She's a dear!" 
 said Ella. 
 
 " I liked the other best," put in Edgitha softly. 
 '* Do you mind, Miss Phillimore ?" 
 
 '* What, do you think you are bound to prefer 
 Ellie?" 
 
 '' No ; but " 
 
 " / love them alike," I said. " But so far as 
 attractions go, Francey has the most mind, and 
 Ellie the prettiest face." 
 
 *' Mind is worth more than looks, of course," 
 said Ella sententiously. " Still — I should like 
 that Miss Ella Phillimore for my friend." 
 
 " She is too old," said Edgitha. " It would be 
 enough, I think, to sit and look at— the other." 
 
 That was Edgitha all over, and I could not 
 help smiling. " My dear, I wish you a better 
 occupation," I said, " and friends nearer your 
 own standing." 
 
 " Now, Miss Phillimore — you'll make yourself 
 out decrepit next," said Ella. " Edgitha, I've
 
 ABOUT ELLA. 233 
 
 a splendid scheme in my head — only don't tell 
 mamma," 
 
 " Then don't tell me," I said decidedly. 
 
 " No, now, indeed — it isn't any mischief — only 
 just an idea. I was only thinking — suppose, 
 when Trevor comes homes, he were to see your 
 sister and fall in love with her. The pretty one, 
 I mean. I should like her for a sister-in-law." 
 
 " A quite impossible and ridiculous fancy on 
 your part, Ellie," I said gravely. " You are too 
 much of a child yet, to think about such things ; 
 and this could never come to pass, so no more 
 about it, dear." 
 
 But checking speech was not necessarily 
 checking thought ; and I felt sure Ella indulged 
 herself therein to an unlimited extent. 
 
 The two girls had only one brother, named 
 Trevor, then finishing his last term at college. 
 He was shortly to return home for several months, 
 and as the day drew near, Ella became a victim 
 to wild excitement. 
 
 On the very last day of lessons he arrived. I 
 was just arranging about certain tasks to be 
 accomplished for me in the holidays, when there 
 was a sounding rap at the front door, and Ella 
 rushed away into the passage, crying, — 
 
 "Trevor; oh, it's Trevor's knock." 
 
 Edgitha did "not move. I thought she was 
 sorrowfully feeling for me, knowing of the brother 
 I had lost. Then it occurred to me that she
 
 234 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 might be only dutifully awaiting my leave to 
 move ; and I was about to bestow it, when all 
 at once the door was flung open, and Ella gallop- 
 aded in like a young elephant. I heard Mrs. 
 Montague whisper outside, — 
 
 " Yes, do come ; they won't be satisfied till you 
 have seen their paragon governess." And the 
 lower but equally clear answer reached me like- 
 wise, — " Nonsense 1 What on earth shall I say to 
 her ? " 
 
 I do not know why I had expected Trevor 
 Montague to resemble his father. Certainly the 
 picture in my hand had been of a stout, light- 
 coloured, ordinary individual ; and I had counted 
 the sister's raptures to be nothing more than 
 sisterly. 
 
 My preconceived notions proved false. A dark- 
 skinned gentlemanly person, of particularly cool 
 demeanour, stood before me. He looked as if he 
 had self-confidence sufficient to face all the world. 
 Ella hung upon one of his arms in ponderous 
 devotion ; but he drew it from her and bowed to 
 me across the table. 
 
 " Ella, that will do ! " he muttered, as she 
 seized upon him again. 
 
 " Ella ! " I said, under my breath, seeing him 
 look annoyed ; and with her newly acquired instinct 
 of obedience she released him at once, and stood 
 meekly apart. He gave one quick glance of sur- 
 prise from governess to pupil and back again.
 
 ABOUT ELLA. 235 
 
 " I am afraid you find this sister of mine a wild 
 colt to manage, Miss Phillimore." 
 
 " I am getting her into harness," I said. 
 
 " What are you all studying together ? Geo- 
 graphy ? Come, I'll examine you both." 
 
 The atlas fell open in his hands at the map of 
 Asia, and he began a rapid string of dodging 
 questions, without casting a glance at it himself. 
 I was a little afraid for Edgitha, but she seemed to 
 have no nervousness with him ; and Ella's memory 
 rarely failed her on an emergency. Both answered 
 quickly and creditably, and he speedily fell to 
 giving them information, in place of calling out 
 what they possessed. Getting into Indian history 
 somewhat beyond their depth, he appealed to me, 
 and we had a most lively discussion upon the days 
 of Clive, passing thence to Warren Hastings. I 
 liked his fair and dispassionate view of both men, 
 and was amused at the girls' interested faces. 
 
 However, the dinner-bell interrupted us, and I 
 awoke to the consciousness of having very much 
 outstayed my time. Good-byes were speedily said, 
 the girls openly lamenting the coming long break 
 in our daily intercourse. I gave them a general 
 invitation to pay me a visit whenever they would, 
 and took my departure, expecting to find consider- 
 able wonder at home concerning my prolonged 
 absence. * 
 
 It had to be prolonged yet further. A drizzling 
 rain was beginning to fall by the time I reached
 
 236 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 our street, and I was about to hasten on, when 
 Austin Auriol suddenly confronted me. 
 
 " Let me shelter you," he said, putting up his 
 umbrella. " You are late back this evening." 
 
 " Yes, I was hindered." 
 
 " I have been waiting about for half an hour, 
 wanting a word with you." 
 
 " What word ? " I said, as he offered his arm. 
 
 " Must you hurry in this moment ? " 
 
 " No," I said, " not till you have done with 
 me." 
 
 And then we went a good many paces in silence. 
 I thought he looked pale and somewhat troubled. 
 
 " How to say it, Jeannie, I hardly know. But 
 you will act the part of a true friend to me and to 
 • — her. It is only for her sake that I can force 
 myself to speak." 
 
 I looked at him wonderingly. What did he 
 mean ? 
 
 " I want you to answer me one plain question," 
 he said. " Do you, or do you not, think Ella 
 happy ? " 
 
 My past misgivings rushed in a tide of tenfold 
 force over me. What could I say ? 
 
 " You will answer me frankly. I know I can 
 depend upon you as upon no one else. Tell me 
 the plain truth, please. Better I should know it 
 now than by-and-by." 
 
 " You seem to think you know it already," I 
 found myself saying involuntarily.
 
 ABOUT ELLA. 23/ 
 
 His face grew suddenly ashen. 
 
 "And you confirm my fear! You cannot un- 
 deceive me ! " 
 
 " Stay. Let me think. No, you must not mis- 
 understand me," I said hastily. " Ellie has not 
 been very bright lately, but then she never has 
 been so since Lennox' death." 
 
 " Do you think it is that alone which keeps her 
 down ? Is it likely — is it natural — with her tem- 
 perament — at her age ? " 
 
 Again strong secret misgivings stilled aught of 
 response. We took another turn upon the wet 
 pavement. 
 
 " I want you to understand me," he said at 
 length, in a voice which would not entirely submit 
 to control. " For my own sake I would never 
 utter a word — would have it go on at any risks. 
 But I cannot for hers. I love her too well. If 
 she has been drawn into it hastily — if she did not 
 really know her own mind — I will not have her 
 life blighted. Let her rather be free at once. I — 
 I — could bear " 
 
 " Don't, Austin ! " I said anxiously. 
 
 " I did not know I could be so easily unmanned," 
 he said, in a low tone. " There, we won't talk any 
 more about it. Will you seek out for me the true 
 state of the case ? " 
 
 " What am I to do ? " I asked, in some fear. 
 
 "Anything. 'Your womanly tact will dictate 
 better than my wisdom. Watch her— speak to
 
 238 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 her — whichever you think best. If I am mistaken, 
 better no such idea should be suggested. But I 
 leave it to you — only don't lengthen my suspense 
 needlessly." 
 
 And he hurried away, and I went in with a 
 heavy burden on my shoulders. O Ellie, if you had 
 but known your own mind sooner ! I felt indignant 
 at her weakness, dearly as I loved her. And yet, 
 when she came hurrying to meet me — with her 
 sweet rosebud childlike face and loving kiss — 
 how could I have a harsh thought concerning her ? 
 She was Lennox' pet and darling.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WE THREE GIRLS. 
 
 Kathie, Francey, and I made a busy sewing trio 
 one afternoon in the following week. Kathie 
 appeared again unexpectedly, and finding us two 
 at work, she insisted on lending her aid. Mother 
 was out walking with Gordon, and Austin and 
 Ella were closeted in the drauing-room, ostensibly 
 for "just half an hour." As yet I had found no 
 opportunity for seeking into the true state of Ella's 
 mind, and indeed a more perplexing task had never 
 in my life been set before me. 
 
 " So your cousin Harry Pleydell iscominghome,"' 
 said Kathie, her deft brown fingers occupied over 
 an old stocking. We had been listening repose- 
 fully to Francey's low-toned happ}- singing, which 
 suddenly ceased under the attentions required by 
 a certain patch. 
 
 "No, not yet," I said. " The plan is for him to 
 join all the home-party by-and-by at the sea." 
 
 " The plan is given up then. I met aunt Jane 
 and Gordon jusf now, walking with your cousin, 
 Miss Pleydell — the eldest, I think. Your aunt is
 
 240 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 not very well, and your uncle has failed in some 
 speculation or other " 
 
 Francey and I exclaimed. 
 
 " Nothing of any great importance ; so don't 
 be anxious," said Kathie. " But the seaside busi- 
 ness is put off, and your cousin is coming home 
 immediately." 
 
 I thought of Ellie, and almost wished Harry 
 Pleydell could have kept out of our way just then. 
 It was a sort of nervous feeling, hardly to be reasoned 
 for or against. 
 
 " Aunt Eleanor not well, did you say, Kathie ? " 
 
 " Not very — worried, Miss Pleydell said. Look 
 here; will this do? I'm putting my very best 
 darning into it." 
 
 " I wish I could equal you," I said rather 
 absently. 
 
 And we worked on awhile without saying any 
 more. 
 
 " Francey — sing." 
 
 Francey glanced up with a smile. " Why don't 
 you, Kathie ? " 
 
 " I want cheering up to-day. I'm down." 
 
 "What about?" she asked, her face full of 
 sympathy. 
 
 We three were growing to be very open with 
 one another. Kathie did not mind the question. 
 
 " I'm disheartened," che said. " There are 
 some enemies whom I took to be slain, and 
 they have suddenly risen up again in full armour, 
 stronger than ever."
 
 WE THREE GIRLS. 24I 
 
 Francey looked at me. "Well," I said slowly; 
 " I have found the same, Kathie, before now." 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 " First, what you are doing. I went through a 
 hopeless stage — almost looked upon myself as 
 beaten. And then, the ring of victory came to 
 me in the very midst of the conflict. There are 
 always weapons to be had from the armoury of 
 God's Word." 
 
 " Not always ready to one's hand, are they ? " 
 
 " I think so, only we don't always put out our 
 hands to grasp them." 
 
 " Pass on yours to me," said Kathie softly. 
 
 *' ' The Lord mighty in battle,' — that is one," 
 I said, making little pauses. " ' Mighty to save ' 
 — that is another. ' Strengthened with all might 
 according to his glorious power' — that is another. 
 'The Lord himself is thy keeper' — that is an- 
 other." 
 
 She drew a deep breath, and said, "They ought 
 to be enough. * The Lord Himself — mighty in 
 battle — mighty to save — Jehovah Himself.' " 
 
 " Yes ; I always love that last word in the 
 Prayer-Book version," I said. " It seems to give 
 such force and personality ; like the words spoken 
 on the lake : * Be of good cheer ; it is I ; be not 
 afraid.'" 
 
 " I find myself sometimes at my old mistake, 
 watching and gauging my own faith, instead of 
 looking straight to Him," said Kathie. " Isn't it 
 
 17
 
 242 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 wonderful how we see a thing to be all wrong, 
 and think we are quite safe never to do it again, 
 and then suddenly find that we are in the very 
 midst of the same old failure." 
 
 "Like children, learning and forgetting," said 
 Francey. " Jeannie — Kathie — I want you to 
 answer me a question. Is it right or wrong to 
 be always wishing for more work than God gives 
 me to do ? " 
 
 " Well, Kathie ? " I said. 
 
 " That's one of the enemies I fancied slain," 
 said Kathie. " He has risen up again like a 
 giant." 
 
 " What name, and under what guise ? " I asked. 
 
 " Discontent — under the guise of seeking God's 
 
 glory. But, Francey, don't mistake me. There 
 
 is a longing which is the longing of pure love to 
 
 Jesus, and which I don't think can be wrong." 
 
 Francey looked wistful. 
 
 " Only rd make sure that I was doing all that 
 God had given me to do," said Kathie. 
 
 " My time is so taken up," said Francey. 
 "There does not seem any possibility of my 
 going more among the poor. It would not be 
 right to leave mending on Mother's hands. Don't 
 you both long for more direct work ? " 
 
 " Sometimes I do," said Kathie. " But I am 
 cut off from it distinctly. So I look on this as 
 my preparation time. Maybe I'm in training for 
 a hospital-nurse."
 
 WE THREE GIRLS. 243 
 
 " Jeannie is best off," said Francey. " Teach- 
 ing, and writing, and influencing others." 
 
 "Very secular teaching, the greater part," I 
 answered. " As for being best or worst off. I 
 don't think you or I can judge. Did you e\er 
 loolv at Newton's writings ? and do you remember 
 what he says in his description of what a sup- 
 posed angel's life would be upon this earth, if one 
 came to live here for a while ? " 
 
 No; they had not seen it. I put down my 
 work, and fetched the " Cardiphonia." 
 
 "Just these few words, and then I must go on 
 working. 
 
 " ' In the first place, I take it for granted this 
 angel would think himself a stranger and pilgrim 
 upon earth. . . . Surely he would look upon all 
 the bustle of human hie (further than the design 
 of his mission might connect him with it) with 
 more indifference than we look upon the sports of 
 children or the amusements of idiots and lunatics, 
 which give us an uneasmess rather than excite a 
 desire of joining in them. He would judge of 
 everything around hmi by the reference and 
 tendency it had to promote the will of Him that 
 sent him ; and the most specious or splendid 
 appearances, considered in any other view, w^ould 
 make no impression upon him. Consequently, 
 as to his own concernment, all his aim and desire 
 would be to fulfll the will of God. All situations 
 would be alike to him ; whether he was com- 
 
 17*
 
 244 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 manded, as in the case of Sennacherib, to destroy 
 a mighty army with a stroke ; or, as in the case 
 of Hagar, to attend upon a woman, a servant, a 
 slave ; both services v^ould be to him equally 
 honourable and important, because he was in 
 both equally pleasing his Lord, which would be 
 his element and his joy, — whetherhe was appointed 
 to guide the reins of empire or to sweep the 
 streets.'" 
 
 '^ That's grand," said Kathie, as I paused. "I'll 
 tell you what, Jeannie, it brings down the highest 
 service to two very simple words : Loving obe- 
 dience." 
 
 " But still, — still," broke in Francey earnestly, 
 "we can't be meant to think all kinds of service 
 alike. It must be higher work to win lost souls 
 than to — to do what we are doing now. And 
 surely the longing for more direct service isn't 
 wrong," 
 
 " I see that Newton supposes his angel to have, 
 certainly in the chief place, the success and 
 spread of the glorious Gospel at heart," I said. 
 
 " Yes ; but look here," interposed Kathie 
 eagerly, with clasped hands and neglected work. 
 "That may be in a sense the highest work of all 
 — must be, it seems to us. But God doesn't 
 give the highest work to all His servants alike ; 
 and wishing for it against His will seems to me 
 like rebellion. I don't think Francey is right to 
 talk of ' more direct service.' There can't be more
 
 WE THREE GIRLS. 243- 
 
 direct service than doing God's will. And if it 
 is God's will that one should preach the Gospel, 
 and another should look after the home-comforts 
 of that same preacher, who dares to say the first is 
 more direct service — though higher, no doubt — than 
 the second, if only both are done alike for Christ's 
 sake?" 
 
 " ' I cam^e down from heaven not to do niine 
 own will, but the will of him that sent me," " I 
 quoted slowly. " There's our example. ' Even 
 Christ pleased not himself.' " 
 
 "And I have always one great comfort," went 
 on Kathie. "■ There's no knowing how much one 
 may be doing to win souls, without that which 
 Francey calls ' direct service.' Just the mere 
 letting of our lamp shine brightly ma}^ light some 
 lost one on his way, all unknown to ourselves. 
 Jeannie,what an illumination the world would have, 
 if only every Christian shone steadily and clearly, 
 instead of flickering and hiding away his light." 
 
 I gave her an assenting smile, but only said, 
 ^' Weil, Ellie ? " as the door opened. 
 
 She came in and stood by my chair, looking 
 troubled and dreamy. 
 
 " Has Austin gone ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he went just now." 
 
 " Here, Ellie ; did ever you see such a darn 
 as this in yo^ur life ? " exclaimed Kathie exult- 
 ingly, with easy transition from soft gravit}- to 
 soft gaiety. " I'm proud of my workmanship."
 
 246 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Ellie gazed at it abstractedly. 
 
 " Ellie, do you know Harry Pleydell is coming 
 home ? " I said, smoothing down my long seam. 
 
 What made me say the words, I don't know. 
 I was just thinking it would be best not to 
 mention him at that moment, when suddenly 
 they slipped out. 
 
 '^ Harry " 
 
 She gave a visible start, but I do not think 
 either of the others remarked it. 
 
 "Yes; uncle Amory has had something of a 
 loss, and aunt Eleanor is not very well," I said, 
 trying to speak in my most matter-of-fact tone. 
 But I think my secret anxiety was too great to be 
 absolutely controlled. I glanced up and met her 
 eyes, and in one moment I knew she had read 
 something of my feelings. 
 
 I would have given anything to have recalled 
 that moment's indiscretion, or to have seen any 
 sign of resentment on her part. But she only 
 stood perfectly still, watching me as if fascinated, 
 with a livid look coming round her lips. 
 
 " Ellie, are you faint ? " exclaimed Francey. 
 
 " N-o ; what makes you think so?" asked 
 Ellie nervously. 
 
 " My dear child, you look as if you were," I 
 said, glad of the excuse to rise and pat her cheek 
 carelessly. " You white-faced little woman. I 
 shall tell Austin he ought to scold you for not 
 taking longer walks. Has Mother come in yet? "
 
 WE THREE GIRLS. 247 
 
 " No, I don't think so," said Ellie, looking 
 relieved at my natural tone, as if she had ex- 
 pected something different. " Can't I help you 
 with your work ? " 
 
 I hoped that the affair had blown over, and that 
 my momentary want of self-control would work 
 no ill consequences. We sat together a while 
 longer, and then Mother came home, and Kathie 
 went away. Mother mentioned what we had 
 already heard, and said she was sure Harry 
 would be a comfort to aunt Eleanor. Beyond 
 that no remarks were made, and Ellie seemed 
 to pay no attention to the matter. 
 
 But late at night, as I sat reading in my room 
 by candlelight, there came a little tap at the 
 door, and Ellie glided in. She was in her dressing- 
 gown, with her long brown hair falling all unbound 
 over her shoulders, and her blue eyes looked dis- 
 tressful. 
 
 " Ellie ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " May I come in ? I want a talk with you, and 
 Francey is asleep." 
 
 " Come, darling." 
 
 She knelt down by my side, and I felt her 
 quivering like a little aspen-leaf. 
 
 " What is it, Ellie ? " I asked. 
 
 " Jeannie, what — what — did you mean to-day?" 
 
 She could hardly get out the words, and grew 
 whiter still with the effort, though her eyes were 
 lifted to meet mine resolutely.
 
 248 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Fanciful as ever, Ellie ? " I said, smiling. 
 
 " Am I fanciful ? I thought Francey was more 
 inclined to that. Jeannie, I don't know what to 
 do. I'm not happy. O do help me ! " 
 
 It was coming now. I shrank a little for poor 
 Austin Auriol's sake.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 BREAKING OFF. 
 
 " I can't help you, unless you tell me exactly 
 what is wrong, Ellie." 
 
 " I can't. I don't know it myself. Jeannie, 
 don't speak in that cold way — don't hate me. I 
 can't help it. Do put your arms round me." 
 
 " Ellie, dearest, I am not cold," I said, drawing 
 her nearer to me. " But you must speak plainly. 
 I dare not guess for fear of guessing wrong," 
 
 " Austin — " she whispered. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I— I'm afraid— I— don't feel as I ought " 
 
 "You should have known this before," I could 
 not help saying. 
 
 " I thought it would come — indeed I did. He 
 is so good and kind. And he was Lennox' friend — 
 and Lennox wanted it to be ; and — and I thought 
 it would help Mamma by-and-by ; but " 
 
 " What has opened your eyes, Ellie ? " 
 
 " I've been miserable for weeks. I can't make 
 myself feel differently. And to-day he — wanted 
 me — to fix— to fix a time. O but I couldn't ; I
 
 250 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 told him I couldn't. And he said he was afraid 
 I didn't know anything of his feeling of impa- 
 tience; and I could not say I did, so I said nothing. 
 And then he got up and went away. And when 
 I heard from you " 
 
 She broke off, and lifted her face to look at mine 
 again. 
 
 " Please don't mistake me, Jeannie. You were 
 mistaken this afternoon. I know you were ; only 
 don't talk about it. I want you to understand the 
 real truth. I don't feel what I ought for Austin ; 
 and I don't feel in that way for anybody in the 
 world. I don't think I ever shall, or I imist have 
 learned to do it for Lennox' friend. I love Mother 
 and Francey and you better than everybody. 
 And Lennox — I shall never know any one like 
 him. I couldn't love any one so much," she 
 said with a deep sigh. " And Harry is as much 
 my brother as ever — next after you three to me. 
 He always will be. Jeannie, do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "You are a very child still," I said thoughtfully. 
 " I wish Austin had had the sense not to speak to 
 you till you were a woman." 
 
 " I wish he- hadn't. I wish I could be a child 
 again. Tell me what to do," she said helplessly. 
 " I can't speak to hhn. I can't bear to see him 
 troubled." 
 
 "Why not?" I said involuntarily, thinking she 
 had not shown much regard for his feelings.
 
 BREAKING OFF. 25I 
 
 "0 1 can't bear it. He is so good. And it is 
 all my fault ; and I have been so silly. What 
 shall I do, Jeannie ? Ought I to let it go on? " 
 
 " No," I answered. " If you are sure you do 
 not and cannot love Austin Auriol, it would be 
 cruel to bind j^ourself to him ; and unprincipled 
 to promise that which it is not in your power to 
 perform." 
 
 She looked half-frightened at my grave tone. 
 
 " Was I so wrong? But I thought it would all 
 come right. Lennox wished it — and Austin is so 
 good " 
 
 "Ellie, are you perfectly certain that you know 
 your own mind now ? " I asked earnestly. 
 
 Ellie gazed at me with some wonder, and in- 
 quired, " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Are you perfectly certain that you do not care 
 for Austin more than you imagine ? " 
 
 " I like him," she said dubiously. " I like him 
 very much. But I do get tired of seeing him so 
 often ; and I think I am glad when he says good- 
 bye. I would rather have a good talk with Mother, 
 or Francey, or you, or Harry." 
 
 I believe I sighed. It certainly did seem 
 hopeless. 
 
 "So what shall I do?" she asked again, evi- 
 dently much relieved to have handed over her 
 perplexity to roe, and showing a curious childlike 
 faith in my power to make things straight. She 
 did not seem yet in the least to realise the extent 
 of the wrong she had done to Austin.
 
 253 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " I think you had better let me speak to iVustin 
 to-morrow," I said slowly. 
 
 " Will you ? O thank you, Jeannie. I would 
 so much rather you should than I." 
 
 " I think you will have to do so too; but I will 
 open the way. Austin has been fearing something 
 of this sort, I think " 
 
 Doubting whether or no to tell her of what he 
 had said, I began thus hesitatingly. 
 
 " Then he will not be so taken by surprise," she 
 said. " I am glad of that. And, oh, I am so glad 
 I have spoken to you. It has been horrid lately — 
 like a sort of nightmare feeling." 
 
 She clung to me gratefully, but I found it diffi- 
 cult to be quite so tender as she expected. Had 
 we indeed spoilt our winning pet with over-con- 
 sideration of her feelings ? Tears came into her 
 eyes, and she said, " There ! I know you are 
 angry with me, Jeannie." 
 
 " No ; not angry, only grieved that you did not 
 know your own mind sooner, and very sorry for 
 poor Austin," I answered gravely. " Good-night, 
 Ellie, darling ; I must not let you stay up longer." 
 
 She cried a little, and then went away ; more 
 evidentlydistressedat myslight restraint of manner 
 than at anything to do with Austin Auriol directly. 
 I wondered how much she slept that night. I lay 
 and counted every stroke of the clock till morning 
 light ; while Ellie wore no signs whatever of rest- 
 lessness past, when we met at breakfast-time.
 
 BREAKING OFF. 253 
 
 The dread of the coming interview rested heavily 
 upon me for hours. Mother and I talked the 
 matter over, and she left it entirely in my 
 hands. Austin had shown confidence towards 
 me, she said, and I was the right person to 
 speak. 
 
 He came at last — and not Ellie but I went to 
 him in the drawing-room. He shook hands, looked 
 me steadily in the face, and then did what I had 
 never known Austin Auriol do before — deliberately 
 turned his back upon me, and walked to the 
 window. 
 
 How long he remained there I could not tell. 
 I simply sat and waited. After a while he came 
 back, and stood with one hand on the mantel- 
 piece, looking down at me. 
 
 " I understand, Jeannie." 
 
 " Then there is no need for me to say more," 
 I answered sorrowfully. 
 
 " Yes, there is. Tell me how it came about." 
 
 " You and I did the business between us," I 
 said. ''Austin, she is the veriest child still, despite 
 her eighteen years. She is my own sister ; but 
 don't think I excuse her — only she does not know, 
 does not understand." 
 
 I wanted to tell no needless particulars ; but he 
 would spare neither himself nor me, and he wrung 
 from me bit by bit, every detail of the last night's 
 conversation. 
 
 " Thank you. Now / understand, if she does
 
 254 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 not," he said with bitter calmness. " Yes, it is 
 childishness ; but are you sure it is not heartless- 
 ness as well? I do not want to be hard upon her, 
 however, though she has treated me hardly. Tell 
 her she is absolutely free — and tell her I forgive 
 her. The thing is at an end." 
 
 " You do not want to see her once more ? " I 
 faltered. 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 I believe I had some faint hopes that an inter- 
 view might bring about a different conclusion; but 
 I had no reason for saying so to him. 
 
 " It would be useless pain for myself and a 
 needless trouble to her. It is pain to me to say 
 good-bye to you, Jeannie ; but good-bye it must 
 be. If any here are ill and need my ministrations, 
 send for me ; otherwise our connection is for the 
 present broken off. I dare not trust myself among 
 you all." 
 
 His cold fingers clasped mine for a moment, and 
 then he passed into the passage. Mother stood 
 there, having just left the dining-room. Tears 
 streamed down her face as she met him ; for he 
 was Lennox' friend, and all connected with Lennox 
 was dear to her. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mrs. Phillimore," he said huskily. 
 
 "0 Austin; to think that a child of mine " 
 
 " She is a child — only a child," he said in a 
 low voice. " Good-bye, Mrs. Phillimore. You 
 will remember me kindly, I know."
 
 BREAKING OFF. 255 
 
 And then he was gone. Mother just said, " Go 
 to Ellie," and motioned me upstairs. I passed 
 straight on to her room, and found her gazing out 
 of the window, with a half terror-struck face. 
 
 " Ellie," I said. 
 
 She turned and fixed her dilated eyes on mine. 
 " Has he gone? Didn't he want to see me?" 
 
 '' No. Why should he, Ellie ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Jeannie •" 
 
 Her hand grasped my arm, and she still looked 
 at me half-fearfully. 
 
 " Jeannie ! is it all over ? I thought I should 
 be so glad." 
 
 " You could hardly be glad to put a good man 
 to pain and sorrow," I said. 
 
 "No; that is it. But I didn't mean— I thought 
 — I thought it would all come right. Jeannie, 
 don't look so grave. Will every one look grave 
 at me ? " 
 
 "Ellie, don't be such a child," I said, almost 
 out of patience. " You have your wish now, and 
 you are perfectly free. And Austin told me to say 
 that he forgives you." 
 
 " Forgives ! Then he was angry." 
 
 " He had good reason to be displeased, but I 
 thought he took the matter beautifully." 
 
 " Ah ! you admire him so. If he had but fallen 
 in love with yoic ! " she said. " But do you think 
 he will seem displeased with me when I see him 
 next time ? "
 
 256 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " You are not likely to see him again," I said 
 coldly, feeling more of the risings of my old 
 temper at her first words than I had done for a 
 long while past. 
 
 "Not see him! " 
 
 " Of course not. What should he come to the 
 house for? Ellie, do have a little common- 
 sense." 
 
 " But he did before — when I refused him." 
 
 " He had Lennox then to come and see," I 
 answered sorrowfully. 
 
 "O Jeannie, don't. And Mother loves him so 
 for Lennox' sake. And I have driven him away." 
 
 Regret of a certain kind had found entrance, if 
 not actual remorse for the wrong she had done. 
 Ellie nut her head down on her bed, and cried till 
 she was exhausted.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OTHERS IN THE BATTLE. 
 
 Two days later Harry Pleydell made his appear- 
 ance. I was out walking with EUie at the time, 
 and a very trying walk it was, for I had never 
 known our sweet-tempered pet so fractious and 
 difficult to please. She was perpetually arguing 
 out the subject of her broken engagement, going 
 over and over the same ground with me, thoroughly 
 self-dissatisfied, yet meekly and persistently self- 
 defensive. If I blamed her, she tried to prove 
 that she had been in the right ; and if I did not 
 blame her, she sorrowfully talked of how she had 
 been in the wrong ; yet the moment I agreed there- 
 with, she turned round again upon the defensive. 
 I found reasoning of little a\-ail, and had to take 
 refuge in half-chiding, half-soothing, as with a 
 fretful child. 
 
 " Mr. Harry Pleydell is here, Miss," was Kitty's 
 information as we entered the front door ; and 
 EUie, instead of being pleased, made an impatient 
 movement as if almost annoyed. I took no notice, 
 but went into the drawing-room, where I found 
 
 iS
 
 258 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 him deep in conversation with Francey— the two 
 faces both looking very serious and very happy. 
 
 " Jeannie ! O how do you do ? " 
 
 He sprang up, and gave me his warm-hearted 
 greeting. Ellie yielded only the tips of some 
 limp fingers to his grasp, and I saw him scan 
 her quickly with evident perplexity, ere turning 
 again to me. 
 
 " Congratulate me, Jeannie ! I have just been 
 telling my good news to Francey." 
 
 " And I have been saying how I could envy 
 him," said Francey eagerly. "Jeannie, you will 
 be so glad." 
 
 " What news ? " I inquired. " Is aunt Eleanor 
 better?" 
 
 " I don't think there is much the matter with 
 her. She has been rather worried at this loss of 
 my father's ; but after all, what are a few thou- 
 sands ! Their loss is a very windfall of joy to 
 me." 
 
 " How ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " My father has consented to my going out as 
 a missionary." 
 
 I did congratulate hirn then. It was the very 
 wish of his heart, and his blue ey§s fairly shone 
 with delight. 
 
 " I can't believe it yet ; but it is true. We had 
 a long talk yesterday evening. The change in his 
 determination is a mystery to me, humanly con- 
 sidered. Only we know that nothing is too hard
 
 OTHERS IN THE BATTLE. 259 
 
 to be brought about — and I have so hoped and 
 prayed." 
 
 " It is just what we have wished for you," said 
 Francey, clasping her hands. " Isn't it, Ellie ? 
 To think of the joy of such a hfe before you, 
 Harry — such a service." 
 
 " Harry might have found plenty of work to do 
 in England after all," said Ellie, playing with her 
 hat, which she had pulled off. " And those blacks 
 are dreadfully uninteresting." 
 
 I saw that the perverse mood had not yet passed 
 off. Harry had never heard her speak so before, 
 and glanced from her to me without a word. 
 
 "I don't think any human beings are uninterest- 
 ing," said Francey. " And the farther they are 
 from us, and the lower they have sunk, the more 
 they need raising and teaching. It seems to me 
 that missionary work is the very highest and 
 noblest of all." 
 
 " Why, Ellie, I felt sure oiyottr sympathy," said 
 Harry gently. 
 
 " Francey's will do as well, I suppose," said 
 Ellie with some shortness. And then a sort of 
 flush passed over her eyes, showing me that tears 
 were not far distant; and she suddenly quitted the 
 room. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Harry. "Did 
 I say anything to annoy her ? I never knew 
 before that Ellie could be annoyed." 
 
 "Nothing — never mind," I said. "Ellie is not 
 
 18*
 
 26o THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 very bright just at present. The truth is, her 
 engagement has come to an end " 
 
 "Has it?'' 
 
 " Yes ; and we are all very sorry, but it was by 
 her own wish. She is rather unsettled and irri- 
 table now, and I suppose it will take her a short 
 time to recover her balance. But about your 
 plans " 
 
 Harry looked a little as if he had received a 
 dash of cold water, and it took him some minutes 
 to recover his spirits. A good deal more soberly 
 than he had first begun, he explained how the 
 change had come about — not exactly as the direct 
 result of his father's losses, yet seeming to have 
 some connection therewith. He had found his 
 father more thoughtful and more disposed to 
 depression than he had ever known him ; and 
 seizing on a happy moment, had earnestly brought 
 forward and pressed his desire for missionary 
 work. Whether uncle Amory had been pre- 
 viously wavering, or whether in his somewhat 
 subdued mood Harry's eloquence fairly took him 
 by storm, I know not, but certain it is that then 
 and there he gave full consent to the project. 
 
 Full consent — I do not say gracious consent. 
 I rather fancy he bestowed some sharp hits, 
 implying strongly that Harry's " Methodism" had 
 rendered him worthless in any other walk of life, 
 and that he looked upon him thenceforward as a 
 good lawyer thrown away, Harry was not one
 
 OTHERS IN THE BATTLE. 26r 
 
 to flinch at a few hard words, and he said very 
 little about them ; though he did tell us with real 
 joy that his father had shown symptoms of soften- 
 ing towards the close of their conversation, and 
 had even gone so far as to say, " Well, well, I don't 
 know much about these things, but I'm not sure 
 that I shouldn't be better off if I did. You have 
 been a good fellow, Harry, after all, and I wish 
 your sisters were more like you." 
 
 " Isn't it conceited of me to tell you this ? " 
 said Harry half-bashfully. " But it did make me 
 glad, Jeannie, to know that at least I had not 
 brought dishonour on religion in my home. 
 Looking forward is a different matter. How shall 
 I ever honour that profession as I ought ? " 
 
 "The missionary's? As you would have 
 honoured that of a Christian lawyer, if needful," 
 I said. " By remembering that it is your Master 
 Himself that you have to honour — not a mere dry 
 profession, however high — and all in and through 
 and by Himself." 
 
 "Ah! I know that well," he said low and 
 happily. But he did not speak with quite the old 
 self-confidence — which he had deemed to be other 
 than s^//-confidence, though to us it had worn so 
 doubtful an aspect. I found later, in conversation 
 with him, that his battlings during many months 
 past had not been crowned with quite the unbroken 
 song of victory for which he had joyously looked. 
 He had known somewhat of the valleys, foretold
 
 262 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 for him by Lennox ; and the enemy had been 
 subtle and strong, and Harry's faith had some- 
 times waxed and waned hke the faith of other 
 Christian men ; and Harry had learnt some dark 
 and bitter and salutary lessons concerning his in- 
 ner self, which he once knew not ; and had obtained 
 some new and strange glimpses into unknown un- 
 suspected regions of his own nature, alike humbling 
 and startling — side by side with new and strange 
 glimpses into the wondrous love and beauty and 
 boundless power of his Lord. 
 
 It seemed to me that the sharp angles of the 
 young Christian life were rounding, and the unripe 
 though most promising fruit was growing more 
 mellow. There was not quite the same readiness 
 to pour out to anybody and everybody his spiritual 
 experiences that there had been, though he had 
 not sprung back to the other and common error of 
 over-reserve. I noted more of willingness to learn 
 as well as to teach. He no longer talked down 
 to us all as from a superior pedestal of knowledge 
 and attainments ; yet were there plain marks of 
 spiritual advance, whether the same advance had 
 been chiefly up over sunny hill-tops, or down 
 through shady valleys. Harry Pleydell had 
 had a taste of each, I trow, and was none the 
 worse for either. I think it is one thing to be led 
 down into a valley by the guiding hand of the 
 Master Himself, and quite another to descend by 
 ourselves, of our own wilfulness and unbelief. 
 
 I
 
 OTHERS IN THE BATTLE. 263 
 
 I had been rather anxious about one little 
 matter since hearing of uncle Amory's sudden 
 loss, and that was concerning Edwy's future 
 plans. However, my mind was soon set at rest ; for 
 before I had even communicated my ideas to 
 Mother, uncle Amory himself came in, and made 
 known his intention of carrying on what he had 
 begun. It was announced pompously, as usual, 
 and he took good care that we should look upon 
 his action as no small piece of self-denial ; yet the 
 kindness was so real and unexpected, that I felt self- 
 reproachful for the many hard thoughts in which 
 I had once indulged respecting uncle Amory. 
 
 We saw a great deal of Harry during the next 
 three weeks. EUie preserved persistently the cold 
 and indifferent manner with which she had re- 
 ceived him. He seemed slightly pained at first, 
 but was very willing to ascribe it to over-excite- 
 ment and general irritability on her part. I could 
 not quite make her out, for there seemed to me no 
 necessity for any such manner in return for his 
 frank brotherly ease. 
 
 I do not know how events might have come to 
 pass if Ellie had taken up any other line of 
 conduct, or had chosen in any wise to resume the 
 old influence which she had undoubtedly once 
 possessed over him. As it was, she deliberately 
 put it aside, ^nd sent Harry, who was a most 
 sympathetic being, to find the interest he craved 
 in another quarter.
 
 264 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Some people might have guessed what was 
 coming, on the day of his arrival. I did not. The 
 truth flashed suddenly across me one evening, 
 when Harry remarked with rather a dreamy and 
 abstracted air, — " It's curious, Jeannie ; isn't it ? 
 I used to think Ellie so 7nuch the prettiest of the 
 two. But I fancy she must have gone off lately. 
 Her face will not do to compare with Francey's." 
 
 "Ah, you know how to draw our shy Francey 
 out," I said soberly, though in that very moment 
 I saw ahead with daylight clearness. " What is 
 it that you talk about so much to her ?" 
 
 " O missionary work in Africa," he said with 
 quick enthusiasm ; no mistake about tliat. " You 
 don't know how interested she is." 
 
 Yes ; so she was, and so was he. I doubt if 
 anything lay nearer the hearts of either. But that 
 very companionship in interest caused a closeness 
 of mutual sympathy, out of which something else 
 might most naturally spring. 
 
 As it did. I was not mistaken, and others also 
 saw it coming. Mother was not taken by surprise 
 when, at the end of three weeks, Harry humbly 
 yet passionately pleaded for the gift of our dar- 
 ling, — if only Francey were willing. And Mother 
 did not refuse. 
 
 There was no hesitation on Francey's part. 
 I had hardly known before that her reserved 
 sensitive nature was capable of such free and 
 radiant happiness. Mother and I grew fairly
 
 OTHERS IN TH^ BATTLE. 265 
 
 joyous in our Francey's abounding joy. The two 
 seemed just made for one another — so happy in 
 their loving trust, and in their perfect unity of 
 devotion to the great cause they had at heart, that 
 it seemed difficult to believe any shadow could ever 
 again come athwart their sunny sky. And yet I 
 knew that partings lay in the future which must 
 bring such clouds to our tender-spirited Francey. 
 
 But upon poor little Ellie the news came with a 
 shock indeed. She was utterly unprepared — had 
 dreamed of no such thing — had never deemed it 
 even possible. The face of distress with which she 
 first listened to me, made me plead for self-control 
 for Francey's sake. She promised, and kept her 
 promise with a degree of resolution which I had 
 not ventured to expect. But I shall not soon 
 forget the low cry of woe with which she flung 
 herself upon me late that night, when we found 
 ourselves alone together. 
 
 "Ellie, cannot you rejoice for her?'' I whis- 
 pered. " Darling, we must be willing to give 
 her up ; for this does indeed look like the Master's 
 call to work which He wills her to do." 
 
 " Jeannie, Jeannie ! it seems as if everything 
 were going," she cried with a wild sort of bitter- 
 ness. " Jeannie, there will soon be nothing left. 
 If I had Lennox I would not mind. Jeannie, it 
 is so hard to bear." 
 
 And no words of mine had any power to comfort 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XXV, 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 
 Between two and three years passed quietly by. 
 They do not seem long to look back upon now, 
 though many a day and week lagged heavily 
 in its actual passage. Sometimes I wonder 
 whether the whole of life will thus shrink into 
 comparative nothingness, when I stand and look 
 back from its outermost verge. So many a hill 
 which assumed a mountain form in advance, and 
 lowered upon me with direful aspect, has sunk 
 to a very hillock in the landscape behind ; and 
 I marvel how it could ever thus have taxed my 
 faith and courage. 
 
 Francey was the sunbeam of our home those 
 years. Harry's preparatory studies at the mis- 
 sionary college kept him much absent, but she 
 never fretted as some girls would have done. Her 
 one aim seemed to be to lighten others' burdens, 
 and, I might almost add, to make us miss her as 
 sorely as possible when she should leave us. At 
 least, if such were not her aim, she attained it 
 unconsciously.
 
 A WEDDING. 267 
 
 Of Austin Auriol we saw almost nothing. 
 The link between him and our family seemed 
 to be absolutely broken. He did not exchange 
 into another living, as I had at one time 
 fancied he might do ; but he never came near 
 us. We rarely met even in the streets. I 
 suspect that his short-sighted eyes contrived to 
 see and avoid us from a considerable distance. 
 Once or twice, when I happened to be alone, he 
 came up and shook hands, and we talked plea- 
 santly of the weather, but that was all ; and, 
 indeed, what more could there be ? We attended 
 his church still, and heard him preach Sunday 
 after Sunday — heart-stirring and beautiful sermons 
 often. But our pew was in a dark far-off corner, 
 close to a side-door, and EUie invariably sat where 
 a glimpse of his face was an impossibility. He 
 looked to me older and more serious, and perhaps 
 a little more abrupt in manner than he had been ; 
 also a few silver hairs had stolen into his brown 
 locks, and some rather careworn lines showed 
 about his mouth. Otherwise he was unchanged. 
 
 Ellie never mentioned his name. Sometimes 
 I questioned to myself whether she were really 
 so perfectly indifferent to him as she had believed 
 herself to be ; but I had no means whatever of 
 judging, neither could I tell in the least how 
 far his affectiojp for her might have survived the 
 shock it had received. 
 
 The irritability and unreasonableness which she
 
 268 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 displayed immediately after the rupture of the 
 engagement did not last any great length of time. 
 Still there was a marked alteration in Ellie, and 
 Mother and I became only the more aware of this 
 as months passed on. The sweet brightness and 
 unselfishness of her childhood had given place to 
 a pensive and dreamy self-absorption, too often 
 amounting to positive gloom. She grew thin, and 
 a slightly sallow tint crept into her complexion, 
 detracting greatly from her beauty. A large 
 portion of her day was generally wasted in the 
 most desultory pretence at reading or working ; 
 but remonstrances were useless. Though always 
 gentle and affectionate, she opposed a most in- 
 vincible front of resolute inertia, and we could do 
 nothing with her. It was alike singular and sad 
 to compare her languid aimless life with the 
 bright vigour of our once semi-invalid Francey. 
 Yet Francey was delicate still, and Ellie decidedly 
 the stronger of the two. 
 
 My work in the Montague family went steadily 
 on during those two years and a half, and the 
 acquaintance between them and my home circle 
 deepened into something very like friendship. 
 Then there came a sudden break in the frequent 
 intercourse. Mrs. Montague dropped her cordial 
 tone, and grew stiff, and my younger pupil let 
 slip confidential and mysterious whispers about 
 " Trevor " having shovyn a decided liking for my 
 sister Ellie, and " Papa" being much displeased.
 
 A WEDDING. 269 
 
 Happily I knew that Ellie's sensations towards 
 the said Trevor were of such absolute indifference 
 as almost to amount to dislike. I made light 
 of the whole concern to Ella Montague, but 
 managed quietl}^ to let her know the truth ; and 
 of course my words were at once passed on, for 
 Mrs. Montague grew thenceforth more pleasant in 
 manner, only the girls were no longer encouraged 
 to visit at our home. 
 
 Still there was evidently no idea of parting with 
 me. My salary had now risen to a hundred and 
 twenty guineas, and any change of the kind would 
 have been a serious matter to us ; but I believe 
 Mrs. Montague was too well satisfied to think of 
 such a thing. Edgitha gave promise of expanding 
 into a more attractive womanhood than her anxious 
 mother had ventured to hope, and Ella's uncouth 
 ways were greatly softened. Certainly no governess 
 could ever desire more devoted outpouring of affec- 
 tion than I received from both my pupils, but 
 especially from the eldest. Very strong and very 
 sweet was the tie between Edgitha and me. 
 I doubt if there can be any stronger and sweeter 
 tie in this life than that between teacher and 
 learner — no matter what the position and capacity 
 of each — when the one has been the leader, and the 
 other has been the led, unto the feet of Jesus. I 
 had found many an opportunity of sowing the 
 good seed in th-e young minds placed in my charge 
 for earthly training; and with Edgitha it had 
 taken deep and steady root.
 
 270 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 I think Mrs. Montague was pleased on the 
 whole. She was one of those people who have a 
 good deal of religion up to a certain point, and 
 she was possessed of a certain desire that her 
 girls should have the same. She liked " moderate 
 views," she averred, and had a great objection to 
 anybody saying that anybody else's opinion was 
 wrong. Had she been called upon herself for 
 anything of theological definition, I am afraid her 
 ideas would have been found to partake of the 
 general confusion of her mind. Still she made 
 no objections to the use I made of my influence 
 over Edgitha, and for this I was thankful. 
 
 The use / made ! Nay, rather should I say, the 
 use made of me, as of a most weak instrument, in 
 the Master's skilful hand ! 
 
 Our daily dependence was not upon my teach- 
 ing alone. Edwy had gone to sea, and Gordon 
 was earning a small salary long before the close 
 of the time of which I write. Esma regularly 
 sent us a portion of her earnings, and now and 
 then a generous gift found its way home to us 
 from the dear sister in Africa. Also there was 
 my pen. I knew my standing at length, and 
 while able to smile over the brilliant and un- 
 realised dreams of early youth, I valued greatly 
 the small scribbling-povver which I did actually 
 possess. 
 
 My first book fell somewhat flat, and the pub- 
 lishers were consequently shy about taking another.
 
 A WEDDING. 271 
 
 My first, I ought to say, not counting the tiny 
 child's tale published earlier. But gradually I 
 found other openings, and from time to time a 
 simple little story would steal into print, most 
 unpretentious in style, and making no noise at 
 all in the world, but bringing in a few welcome 
 golden coins for the payment of dressmakers' 
 bills. I had learnt at length to aspire no higher. 
 
 One day towards the end of the two years, 
 Francey blushingly showed me a spirited little 
 article which she had written, and asked if there 
 would be " any harm " in offering it to a magazine. 
 I advised her by all means to try. It was im- 
 mediately accepted and inserted, with liberal 
 remuneration and a request for more. 
 
 " Esma was right," I said, smiling. " You are 
 the genius, Francey." 
 
 " I always thought I might write a little some 
 day, perhaps," she said humbly. " It isn't genius, 
 though. And Harry and I have another sort of 
 life before us now. I wouldn't exchange, Jeannie." 
 
 I knew well that she would not. Even inde- 
 pendently of Harry, she was not one to put her 
 hand to the plough and give a single backward 
 look. 
 
 '* But, Jeannie, you used to wish for fame." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "almost more than I cared for 
 life. I do not now." 
 
 "Not at all?" 
 
 " T think not," I said. " If it came, I would lay
 
 272 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 it at my Saviour's feet. If not, it is best so for 
 me. Francey, I never forgot one text upon which 
 I stumbled one day, unwittingly." 
 
 " Which ? " she asked. " It will do for me too, 
 perhaps." 
 
 And I told her, — 
 
 " ' Seekest thou great things for thyself ? Seek 
 THEM NOT ! ' " 
 
 She stood thoughtfully, with a bright illumina- 
 tion of her face. 
 
 " No, I won't, Jeannie. If I ever do write — 
 and I may be able, you know, a little, sometimes 
 — it shall be all for my Master, not for myself." 
 
 " If—" I said. 
 
 " Yes, if He will make me able. But He will, 
 if I pray Him to keep the matter in His charge. 
 It isn't presumption to feel sure, because of all 
 the promises. He is my Keeper — He Himself. 
 Jeannie, you and I know that all things are 
 possible to Him." 
 
 "And He will transform the 'great things,' for 
 self into ' great things' for Him, that He may pour 
 back upon you gifts ten thousand times greater," 
 I said reverently. 
 
 "As it has been transformed with you ? " she 
 asked lovingly. 
 
 " I cannot say, darling. I dare not be confident, 
 and the old temptation may come back. Bjt I 
 do not think I icant these things now, unless they 
 are truly His will." 
 
 i
 
 A WEDDING. 273 
 
 And then I remember she gave me a kiss, and 
 said, — 
 
 "Well, anyhow, Jeannie, don't go and overdo 
 yourself, for I do not like to see you looking ill, 
 as you have done lately. You are thinner than 
 Mother herself." 
 
 I did not tell her or anybody that I felt ill, but 
 it was true. Some new and unaccustomed sensa- 
 tions had of late been creeping over me ; and my 
 long daily walks and hard toil were getting to be 
 too much for my strength, I used to wonder 
 quietly sometimes whether I should fail and die 
 as Lennox had done. It did not seem to me a 
 bitter prospect, so bright was the shining from the 
 other side of the river; only I could not think 
 what Mother and Ellie would do without me. 
 
 But in the absorbing interest of preparing for 
 Francey's wedding and departure I had little time 
 to think about myself, and others had small leisure 
 to notice me. I was always laughingly said to be 
 "muscular and wir}^" though thin, and nobody 
 looked for much colour in my face, so the differ- 
 ence was not so observable in me as it would have 
 been in some. Kathie alone watched me now and 
 then solicitously, and remarked that she really 
 thought it would be a good thing when the bustle 
 was over and Francey gone. 
 
 We could not feel it a good thing, however. 
 The day came at last, and a bright day it was, for 
 our darling herself was all sunshine and happiness, 
 
 19
 
 274 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 almost up to the moment of her departure. The 
 old painful self-consciousness seemed entirely to 
 have forsaken her. But it was hard to yield her 
 without a murmur — to yield her thus for life. 
 
 She was gone at last, and we four remained 
 alone in the house — Gordon and EUie, Mother 
 and I. It was not the final good-bye. We should 
 have another glimpse of our darling; and the dis- 
 missal of our missionary-brother, Harry, with his 
 bride, before starting for their new sphere of life- 
 work, was yet to come. But our home-bird had 
 taken flight. Francey was ours, specially ours, no 
 longer. 
 
 Ellie was the only one who sat and cried that 
 evening. Mother gave herself up to comforting 
 us all — the dear unselfish pale-faced Mother who 
 felt our loss more deeply than any one. But she 
 always thought of others before herself. She had 
 come out like fine gold from the refining fires of 
 the past few years. 
 
 That day's parting was the worst. The 
 dismissal service and the final leave-takings, 
 a month later, had something very sweet and 
 solemn about them. Ellie was inconsolable ; but 
 Mother and I felt that it was indeed well to give 
 up willingly so precious a gift unto our Master's 
 service. And it was with hearts full of joyous 
 hope and fervent zeal that Harry and Francey set 
 sail for far-off Africa.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 LOOKING AHEAD. 
 
 How heavily the days came and went during the 
 few weeks following Francey's departure. It was 
 a dull cloudy sort of winter, and I felt as if I had 
 sunk down into an atmosphere of mist out of all 
 reach of sunshine. Mother thought I was griev- 
 ing for Francey, but I do not remember any active 
 sorrow, only a tired-out longing to have done with 
 this life. The other life looked bright enough — 
 the radiant life to come. I am not sure that the 
 impatience of " desire to depart " did not at times 
 amount to actual sin. I think there must have 
 been some spirit of repining mingled with it. But 
 at the time I only recognised the feeling as strong 
 realisation of that glory upon which so many dear 
 ones had already entered. 
 
 One day I happened to meet our good friend 
 Mr. Ramsay out-of-doors, and he asked a question 
 or two as to Mother's health and mine. " I shall 
 look in soon and see you — only a friendly call," he 
 said carelessly," on parting. I did not think any 
 more about it ; but contrary to my expectations 
 
 19*
 
 276 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 he came speedily — on the following Saturday 
 afternoon. 
 
 It was my holiday, so I was at home, and being 
 too tired to accompany the others on a necessary 
 shopping expedition, I was also alone. The abso- 
 lute quiet was pleasant, and I had been dreamily 
 tracing some lines on a piece of paper — only un- 
 polished verses, not poetry. I knew by that time 
 that I was no poet, and if I wrote lines for my 
 Own pleasure, I never showed them to anybody. 
 But now and then I found the occupation sooth- 
 ing. They were somewhat sorrowful verses that 
 afternoon. 
 
 " Only a little valley to-day, 
 
 And a little hill ahead. 
 But 1 wonder how many more there be, 
 
 Ere the journey Home be sped. 
 For the light is dim — the air is close — 
 
 And I weary for that land, 
 And I could not go another step, 
 
 But for my Father's Hand. 
 
 " Only a little valley to-day, 
 
 But it seems so deep to me. 
 And I wonder how I'll ever climb 
 
 The next hill that I see : 
 Though maybe on the summit, 
 
 'Midst many an earthly beam, 
 From far-off sweet Jerusalem 
 
 I'll catch a glory-gleam. 
 
 " My feet are aching wearily, 
 
 Sharp stones obstruct my way, 
 And breath is short, and strength is faint, 
 And light is dim to-day.
 
 LOOKING AHEAD. 277 
 
 I'm tired of climbing up and down, 
 
 For the hills are sorely steep ; 
 And in my lonely valley here, 
 
 I'd fain sit down and weep. 
 
 " Oh, sweet sweet fair Jerusalem, 
 
 I long to reach thy shore, 
 To have done with lonely valleys 
 
 And steep hills evermore. 
 For now, as still I mount each height, 
 
 Fresh valleys lie in view — 
 My pathway leadeth down through each, 
 
 And up to hill-tops new. 
 
 " to have reached the golden gates, 
 
 The land of endless joy ; — 
 O to have passed the clouds and rain. 
 
 Earth's sorrowful alloy ; — 
 O to have gained the sunshine 
 
 Of the Master's presence sweet ; — 
 
 to have found the sapphire throne, 
 Round which His children meet ! 
 
 " But I know the Master will not fail. 
 And the time will surely come : 
 Lord, quell this impatient longing, 
 Give me grace to wait for home. 
 
 1 want the ' patience of Jesus,' 
 
 O grant me grace to rise, 
 Full of fervour in Thy service, 
 Till Thou callest from the skies." 
 
 And I had not long finished, and was sitting 
 meditating thereupon, when Mr. Ramsay was 
 announced. 
 
 He stayed a considerable time talking, and 
 seeming much interested in all I had to tell him
 
 278 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 about Francey. Somehow a long while had 
 passed since we had met Mr. Ramsay, and many 
 things had happened of which he knew not. But 
 he soon brought round the conversation to myself, 
 and I found I was in for a regular medical visit, 
 under guise of a friendly call. 
 
 I let him do and ask what he liked, taking note 
 of the changes in his very expressive face. I think 
 I had a suspicion of what was in his mind long 
 before I had an opportunity to say quietly, — 
 
 " Then this is more serious than I had 
 imagined ? " 
 
 He bent his head slightly in assent. I knew 
 by the movement of his lips how much his feel- 
 ings were stirred. 
 
 " I must know the fulh truth," I said. " Have 
 you the slightest hope that I can recover ? " 
 
 Unwilling as he was to answer, I drew the 
 truth from him. There was just a gleam of hope 
 and no more. He had known recovery from such 
 a case. He made the best of that gleam, in words ; 
 but I saw deeper, and knew it to be faint. How 
 long might my time be, I inquired ; and he spoke 
 vaguely of a few months. I had neglected myself 
 far too long, though it might have made no dif- 
 ference. Work must stop at once. I showed 
 no dismay, but said, " I cannot tell Mother, Mr. 
 Ramsay. It must go on for a while." 
 
 " No," he answered. " I will see Mrs. Mon- 
 tague, and arrange with her. If I prescribe a
 
 LOOKING AHEAD. 279 
 
 holiday, she will grant it. You are too valuable 
 to her not to be taken care of." 
 
 *'But if I can never teach there again, I will 
 have no pretence at a short holiday," I said. 
 
 " You are difficult to manage, Miss Phillimore," 
 he answered a little sadly. " And we must not 
 talk of never. But I will explain matters to Mrs. 
 Montague, and take care that she writes such a 
 letter to your mother as shall create no suspicion. 
 No need, as you say, to alarm her yet." 
 
 A little later he went away, speaking cheering 
 words as he said good-bye, and promising to call 
 again soon. Nothing much could be done for me 
 immediately, however. 
 
 He went away, and I was left alone with my 
 own thoughts. 
 
 It is one thing to dream calmly of heaven, and 
 to write verses of vague longing for its repose. 
 It is another thing to stand face to face with the 
 king of terrors, and to believe surely that in a 
 little space of time will come the last fierce grap- 
 pling with that deadly foe. 
 
 Face to face 1 It seemed to me that verily so I 
 stood that hour. There was a sense of solemn 
 awe upon me, and a deep consciousness of the 
 weight of things unseen ; yet my heart did not 
 quail. The awe was unmixed with trembling 
 fear, and the silent consciousness grew slowly into 
 strange and calm rejoicing. For I knew that the 
 king of terrors had been trampled down beneath
 
 280 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 the feet of the King of glory ; that the foe in all 
 his might was but a vanquished foe ; and that I in 
 Christ should likewise find myself " more than 
 conqueror." "O death, where is thy sting?" 
 Though in sight of the valley of the shadow of 
 death — ay, though, as it seemed to me, with the 
 dim shade creeping already over my sky — I did not 
 fear, for I knew that my Lord was with me. 
 
 The joy was no light and careless gladness, 
 however. I could not see the dark river, but I 
 knew it might be flowing near ; and Eternity 
 loomed beyond with a dim mysterious awfulness 
 and power which made this life shrink to a mere 
 point in comparison. Earthly sorrows and plea- 
 sures, earthly desires and disappointments, earthly 
 hopes and fears — what mattered one or all of them 
 to me, in comparison with that grand and bound- 
 less "for ever" upon which I might so soon 
 be entering, and of which I knew so little ? 
 
 So little, and yet so much ! For Christ my 
 Lord was there. "With Him" in death meant 
 safety. " With Him " in eternity meant a weight 
 of glory past human understanding. With Him, 
 and made like unto Him ; seeing Him as He is ; 
 dwelling in the mansion He hath lovingly pre- 
 pared for me ; wearing the crown laid up in His 
 keeping ; abiding in His presence for evermore ; 
 loving, serving, praising Him, in sinless, spotless 
 purity. So much I knew. 
 
 So much, and yet so little ! Gazing on the dim
 
 LOOKING AHEAD. 281 
 
 future with poor veiled human eyes, I felt how 
 slight was my knowledge, how large the need for 
 trust. No language on earth could suffice to tell 
 the things of the life to come. What matter ? 
 If I knew not, there was One who knew. The 
 love divine and unchanging of my Lord would 
 overshadow me still. Though all the host of 
 heaven in glorious beauty should be strangers 
 unto me, yet One would know me, ay, and one 
 Face I should recognise, by the look of love, 
 learned down in the shadows of this earth, while 
 seeing Him who is yet unseen. 
 
 Beyond this confidence, what did I need ? The 
 when, the how, and the where of a future exist- 
 ence, the mysteries of the spirit-world, the manner 
 of heavenly life and service, the sublime realities of 
 things to come, all these I might calmly leave in 
 my Master's hands, till He should Himself reveal 
 them unto me. If Christ were verily mine, I could 
 afford to wait in quiet faith. I thought of Kathie's 
 text : "All things are yours : and ye are Christ's, 
 and Christ is God's." 
 
 All things on earth ! All things in heaven ! 
 All things in time ! All things in eternity ! 
 Nothing withheld, save that which would work us 
 ill. For the King of kings, in giving, gives with 
 a royal bounty and a kingly fulness ; and when 
 Jesus gave Himself, He gave all things to His 
 redeemed. 
 
 The " all things " may be briefly expressed.
 
 282 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 They narrow down to one bright streak of light, 
 now falling softly on many a heart, and by-and-by 
 to expand into a glory which shall fill eternity— 
 the love of Jesus Christ our Lord. 
 
 O death ! O grave ! O valley of shadow ! — 
 what need to fear in the light of the Master's 
 loving smile ?
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 UNEXPECTED. 
 
 " Well, Jeannie, dear, have you had a nice quiet 
 afternoon ? Did you think we were never coming 
 back?" 
 
 I roused myself as from a dream at the sound 
 of Mother's voice. 
 
 " Quite quiet, except that Mr. Ramsay has 
 been," I said. " How have you enjoyed your 
 walk ; and where is Gordon ? " 
 
 " Gone somewhere with a friend. What made 
 Mr. Ramsay come ? " 
 
 " He said he had not seen us for a longtime. I 
 met him, you know, a few days ago." 
 
 " And I suspect he thought Jeannie wanted 
 looking after," said Ellie, pulling off her hat. 
 
 " He gave me a prescription for some strengthen- 
 ing medicine," I said quietly. " And he said he 
 should look in again some day before long — ^just 
 for a friendly call." 
 
 " Just like ^r. Ramsay ! " said Mother. " He 
 does not forget the state of our finances. I never 
 shall forget all his kindness last year," and she
 
 284 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 sighed. " But I think you wanted something of 
 the kind, so I am glad he came." 
 
 " I suppose the parcel has not arrived yet from 
 the shop," remarked Ellie, who was looking 
 brighter than her wont. " I hope you'll like our 
 choice, Jeannie. The dress we have chosen for 
 you is a nice soft grey, very dark and pretty, and 
 not in the least expensive. I wanted to get the 
 same for myself, but Mother had a fancy that it was 
 a little too old-looking. What do you think ? " 
 
 What did I think? What did it matter? 
 Could I ever have felt interested in such a puny 
 trifle as the colour of a dress ? And yet — life is 
 largely made up of trifles. If death to-morrow 
 were an absolute certainty, I still must eat and 
 dress and be busy to-day. Only I did marvel that 
 afternoon that I could ever have bestowed upon 
 them aught but the barest needful attention, — could 
 have made them any matter of heart instead of 
 simple duty and necessity. 
 
 " I am sure I shall like whatever you have 
 chosen, dear," I said. " I hope you have not 
 spent too much on me." 
 
 " My purse would not admit of much," said 
 Mother, with a little smiling shake of her head. 
 " But come — suppose we have tea in this room 
 to-night, rather earlier than usual. Gordon seems 
 disposed to play truant." 
 
 She rang the bell, and after giving necessary 
 orders, went to remove her bonnet.
 
 UNEXPECTED. 285 
 
 Ellie drew nearer to me, and stood a little behind, 
 where I could not see her well. 
 
 " Jeannie, I saw Mr. Auriol to-day." 
 
 " Did you, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 And we were silent. 
 
 " Why don't you ask more about it ? " she asked, 
 in rather a petulant tone. " Don't you care to 
 hear?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, Ellie — anything that touches 
 your happiness." 
 
 I hardly know what made me say the words. 
 I think I was answering the thought in my own 
 heart— the " What matter ? What matter ? " 
 These things of time, how soon must they pass 
 away ? And yet they did matter. For the things 
 of time have their bearing one and all upon the 
 things of eternity, and nothing which concerns the 
 happiness of any human being is a matter of indif- 
 ference. How much more did the welfare — even 
 earthly — of my dear little sister closely concern me. 
 
 That was how the words escaped my lips. 
 Otherwise I should have been more cautious. 
 Her brilliant colour made me in a moment aware 
 of my inadvertence. 
 
 " Or anything that touches your interest, I 
 ought to say," I went on calmly after the slight 
 break needed for me to observe what I had done. 
 
 "Of course -I always like to see him," said 
 Ellie shortly ; looking, I fancied — strange to say —
 
 286 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 rather flat and disappointed at my after-speech. 
 Was it only fancy on my part ? 
 
 " I like it for the sake of — old days, you know. 
 You know what I mean. But he needn't have 
 bowed so stiffly." 
 
 " My dear Ellie, I do not think you can expect 
 anything else." 
 
 " A man should not bear malice so long," said 
 Ellie„ flushing again. " And I was such a child 
 then ; why, it is not much less than three years 
 ago." 
 
 " It is not bearing malice," I said. " But after 
 the way you acted he could not possibly put 
 himself in your way. How could you expect it 
 of him?" 
 
 " I don't see why he shouldn't be our friend 
 still. He might by this time. Mother and you 
 would like to talk to him ; and if he hates me so, 
 I could go and sit upstairs in my own room. / 
 don't want to see him, if he doesn't want to see 
 
 me. 
 
 " Ellie, I begin to think you never will leave off 
 being a child," I said gravely. "And yet you 
 have had enough in your life to make you a woman 
 ten times over." 
 
 She gave a little sudden sob. 
 
 " That's just it. Things are all changed — 
 and I don't know when they'll stop changing; 
 and I haven't anything to look forward to. 
 Jeannie "
 
 UNEXPECTED. 287 
 
 She came and suddenly knelt down beside me. 
 I thought it was for the purpose of having a good 
 cry, with which she was wont to relieve her feel- 
 ings when disturbed. But the inclination to tears 
 seemed suddenly to have left her. 
 
 " Jeannie, I saw somebody else." 
 
 " Who, Ellie ? " 
 
 " Mr. Trevor Montague." 
 
 " Do you mean that you spoke to him ? " 
 
 " Yes. Mother was choosing at one counter, 
 and I went to look at something on another. And 
 he came up." 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 " Why, what could I do ? We talked for a 
 minute or two. He seemed to wish so much that 
 he — they, I mean — could see more of me." 
 
 ''Did you tell Mother?" 
 
 " No. O I couldn't. I'd rather not. It isn't 
 anything." 
 
 " Then it is not worth hiding from her," I said 
 gently. 
 
 " Well, it wasn't my fault, at any rate ; and 
 besides, there was no harm. You know very well 
 I don't care one bit for Mr. Montague. Only he 
 is very handsome and gentlemanly, and so clever 
 too. He does amuse me so when he talks. It 
 was just after I had been speaking to him that I 
 saw Mr. Auriol, — directly we left the shop. But 
 I don't think he could have seen me talking to 
 Mr. Montague."
 
 288 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " It is a matter of little importance whether he 
 did or not," I said quietly, feeling it strange to be 
 pulled back so suddenly and forcibly to these petty 
 matters ; and somehow poor Ellie gave them a 
 double pettiness by her way of talking. " Mr. 
 Auriol has nothing whatever to do with any of 
 us now." 
 
 " O Jeannie ! " 
 
 There was a sound of hidden pain, it seemed to 
 me, in the slight involuntary exclamation. I 
 would not notice it. 
 
 " Nothing whatever, Ellie. But putting him 
 aside, we know Mrs. Montague's feeling very 
 well." 
 
 " If Mrs. Montague thinks me so far beneath 
 her that her son must not say a civil word to me, 
 she had better keep him out of London," said 
 Ellie rather pettishly again. And rising hastily 
 she left the room, so that our discussion was 
 broken off; for which I could not be sorry. 
 
 It must have seemed to Ellie a curious com- 
 mentary on her own words when a letter reached 
 me by post next morning from Mrs. Montague, 
 stating that her two daughters, with their brother, 
 were unexpectedly going into the country to visit 
 some relations, so that my attendance would not 
 be required for some weeks. I knew that the plan 
 had been under discussion ; and that the principal 
 doubt had been on the score of interrupted studies. 
 No doubt Mr. Ramsay, by explaining the abso-
 
 UNEXPECTED. 289 
 
 lute necessity for such a break, had decided Mrs. 
 Mcntague not to delay the projected visit. 
 
 It was most kindly done, however; the note 
 being couched in very pleasant terms. Neverthe- 
 less, Ellie flushed crimson over it, and, as I could 
 plainly see, suspected it to have some connection 
 with her interview of the day before. I did not 
 like her to attach so much importance to so small 
 a matter; but it was not possible — or I could not 
 resolve — to attempt to undeceive her. 
 
 For two or three weeks things went on quietly. 
 Mother was pleased that I should have the rest, 
 and we read together and talked a great deal, — 
 often, when Ellie was not present, wandering in 
 word as well as in thought to that fair country, 
 where so many of our circle were already safely 
 landed. Mother's habitual attitude of calm wait- 
 ing was a help to me, but I was not so calm 
 myself. I was filled often with an eager desire to 
 know all that might be learned of the other land ; 
 and the desire grew into deeper realisation, and 
 the realisation into deeper longing. The golden 
 gates of Jerusalem seemed very near at times, — 
 so near that I almost forgot to think of what lay 
 between. 
 
 Yet there were other days and hours, not few 
 in number, when the brightness of anticipation 
 seemed quenched in the pain of the threatened 
 parting. How could I leave Mother — Ellie — the 
 boys — and kind friends all ? How give up the 
 V 20
 
 290 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 hope of meeting Maggie and Francey again in 
 this world ? This earthly life which I had thought 
 I prized at so low a rate, I found suddenly to be 
 dearer to me than I had dreamed. The laying 
 aside of one thing after another with the belief 
 that it would be for ever, was full of keen pain. 
 And yet one clear glimpse of the shining ahead 
 was alone needed, and sorrow was lost afresh in 
 longing joy. 
 
 Again there were seasons of solemn self-search- 
 ing and questioning, lest by any means or in any 
 wise I should have fallen into self-deceiving or 
 vain confidence. But I always came back to the 
 old sweet consciousness of trust in Him who said, 
 " In me is thine help ! " Not self, but Christ. 
 Not self's attainments, but the blood of Jesus. 
 These were my dependence, and these could never 
 fail me. 
 
 So the days went by. Once Mr. Ramsay came 
 in. He did not see me alone, and he said little, 
 but I think a new fear found entrance into Mother's 
 heart from that hour. 
 
 And all at once, on a certain bright evening 
 in my recollection, an unexpected joy broke upon 
 us. 
 
 We were sitting together round the fire ; Mother 
 working, Ellie gazing idly into the flames, Gordon 
 fashioning a piece of wood into a boat with his 
 pocket-knife. The post had just brought me a 
 long letter from Esma, which I was reading aloud. 
 
 I
 
 UNEXPECTED. 29I 
 
 Mother remarked on the quiet contented spirit 
 which characterised it throughout. 
 
 "It is not like the Esma we first knew," I said. 
 *' How thoroughly she seems to have settled down 
 there." 
 
 " Fancy spending one's life in tending cats and 
 puppies," said Ellie. 
 
 " No ; not quite so bad as that, Ellie. In tend- 
 ing the old lady herself, if you like. Some of the 
 cats and puppies have been given away, you see, 
 and books fill a more important place than they 
 used to do in the house." 
 
 " Esma herself was never very fond of reading 
 when she lived here." 
 
 " She evidently prefers it now to any part of her 
 daily duties," I observed. 
 
 " People change so oddly," said Ellie in a dis- 
 satisfied tone. " I wish they would stay as they 
 are." 
 
 "The 'as they are ' ought to be a most satis- 
 factory condition, if you won't admit of any 
 improvement," said Gordon. "/ didn't like books 
 when I was six." 
 
 " Oh, — then, of course, — you were a child. But 
 I do hate changes in anybody and of any kind." 
 
 It was curious that she should have made the 
 remark just when so material a change awaited 
 us. All at once we heard a ring and a startling 
 visitor's knock at our front door. We exchans:ed 
 glances in surprise. 
 
 20* 
 
 &^
 
 292 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " Rousing the echoes at that rate ! " said Gordon. 
 " Who can it be ? An invitation to dine with the 
 Lord Mayor, at the very least ! " 
 
 He went to the window and peeped through the 
 shutter. 
 
 " Whew ! there's a carriage ! Travellers, seem- 
 ingly ! It's all a mistake, Mother. Some folks 
 come to the wrong door." 
 
 "Yes," said Mother. But I think she felt a 
 vague kind of expectation, for she left off work- 
 ing, and sat with folded hands. 
 
 And then the door opened, and we all four looked 
 round. Kitty had come to tell us of the mistake, 
 of course. 
 
 But it was not Kitty. A lady in mourning 
 entered first — slight and young and fair, with 
 brimming blue eyes and eagerly extended hands; 
 and close in her rear followed a substantial black- 
 bearded individual, carrying a small boy in his 
 arms ; while yet farther behind I caught a dim 
 suggestion of a baby in long clothes, borne by a 
 middle-aged woman, and flanked on either side by 
 a man loaded with articles of luggage. 
 
 Nothing was clear to my vision, however, except 
 the foremost figure. Almost dizzy with bewilder- 
 ment, I stood up. Mother did the same, and just 
 said in her gentlest tone, " Maggie /"
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 I DO not know how long Mother and Maggie 
 remained locked together, but I think they were 
 ashamed to show their faces for a while. Maggie's 
 was all wet and quivering when she lifted it up. 
 She crossed over the rug and gave me my turn, 
 — Ellie's following — and then came a burst of 
 questions on our part. 
 
 " We'll tell you all presently," she said brightly, 
 though not very steadily. " Here we are, and 
 that is the best part of my tale. O how home- 
 like it feels ! Jeannie, I should not have known 
 you, nor Ellie either. Mamma, I do so want to 
 show you my children. Isn't this a bonny boy ? " 
 
 John came forward with his sleeping four-years- 
 old burden — our Lennox' namesake. The child 
 had Maggie's hair and complexion, however, while 
 baby took after her father. 
 
 " You will all be devoted to my little Lennie 
 before a week is over, I expect. Where shall we 
 put him ? O no, Mamma, not on your knees — 
 he is far too heavy. Just curl him up in the arm-
 
 294 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 chair, John, and he will sleep soundly; and, Nurse, 
 you can give me baby." 
 
 She pulled off her bonnet, and sat down with the 
 wee dark infant in her arms. They made a pretty 
 contrast, for Maggie's own soft outline of feature 
 was unchanged ; and though her bright colouring 
 had nearly vanished, she really looked almost 
 younger, and decidedly fairer, than Ellie. I had 
 not known till then the extent to which our 
 youngest was altered. 
 
 " Maggie, it is about time to explain to Mother 
 how we come to be taking her by storm in this 
 fashion," remarked John, in his good-tempered 
 ponderous style. Yes, he certainly was always 
 a little ponderous, though at the same time a 
 thorough gentleman. 
 
 " So it is," she said, looking up. " Are you 
 wondering very much, all of you ?" 
 
 " Why did you not write, dear? " asked Mother. 
 
 " It all came in such a hurry. I really had no 
 time for anything, and I did not quite know how 
 to resist the temptation to take you by surprise. 
 We talked the matter over, and I did mean to 
 write — only somehow it wasn't done." 
 
 " Convenient forgetfulness, Maggie ? " I asked. 
 
 " Just so, Jeannie dear." 
 
 " And is it illness that has brought you home ? " 
 I asked doubtfully, for they looked very healthy 
 invalids. 
 
 " no. Adolphus is dead."
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 295 
 
 She spoke gravely rather than sadly. Adolphus 
 Drummond, her husband's elder brother, had been 
 personally little known to her; but the event 
 must have come with something of a shock upon 
 John. The brothers had been much attached, and 
 Adolphus was just such another healthy hearty 
 fellow as himself. 
 
 " How was it ? " Mother asked after a brief 
 pause. 
 
 " He caught a severe chill walking out in the 
 snow, and neglected to change his wet clothes. 
 The illness only lasted a week, and his death was 
 very sudden. Directly we heard of it John threw 
 up everything, and we started for home." 
 
 I looked up in surprise. " And your brother's 
 child?" 
 
 " Poor little Dolph ! " said Maggie pityingly. 
 *' He was actually dying at the very time when his 
 father was taken ill. Did I never mention in my 
 letters that we had heard of his illness ? It was a 
 rapid consumption. Surely I told you." 
 
 " And the poor widow ? " asked Mother. 
 
 " She has gone back to live with her parents. 
 O it is very sad for her ! " 
 
 I hardly heard the next few sentences, for I knew 
 what all this meant. John Drummond was no 
 longer the poor younger brother, working for his 
 livelihood, bi^t owner of the family property in 
 Devonshire. Maggie was now in a position to do 
 all that she had often longed to be able to do for
 
 296 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 US ; and whatever Maggie wished, her husband 
 was sure to wish likewise. I had been waiting 
 in trust, feeling sure that something must sooner 
 or later come to unravel the dark tangle which 
 seemed to lie ahead. And all at once the " some- 
 thing " for which I looked had verily come, — a 
 change so great and so unexpected that I felt 
 half giddy and unable to look it in the face. 
 Little had I dreamed of aught like this. I 
 thought pityingly of the poor young widow's 
 blighted life. But what selfish creatures we are ! 
 I soon came back to full rejoicing in our JNIaggie's 
 return. It seemed almost too good to be true. 
 
 " So I felt sure you would take us in for a few 
 days, Mamma," were the next words which reached 
 me. " I know you have more room now, with 
 Francey and Edwy away. Dear little Francey ! 
 How I wished she and Harry had come to our 
 part of Africa ; but missionary-work and money- 
 making work are such different things." 
 
 " If you made money, you used it for others' 
 happiness," said Mother quietly. " And there 
 was a great deal of real missionary-labour, I 
 suspect, mixed up with the money-making." 
 
 "John and I were always longing to do what 
 we could, but it was little enough. O I had just 
 begun to say something. John wants to run down 
 to The Beeches to see that everything is made 
 ready ; and meantime we can all pack up here and 
 prepare to start as soon as he sends us word. All
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 297 
 
 of US, Mamma. You won't mind giving up this 
 little old house, will you ? I dare say it will feel 
 a little strange just at first, but I will do my best 
 to make The Beeches like home to you. And we 
 shall be so happy all of us together." 
 
 Ellie's delighted " O Maggie ! " was the first 
 sound. Mother slightly shook her head. 
 
 " Do you care so particularly about this house ? 
 Because, if needful, we could keep it on, just for 
 you to spend a month in occasionally." 
 
 "My dear Maggie! It is not that, I assure 
 you. But I could never consent to your taking 
 such a burden on yourselves, — a young married 
 couple " 
 
 " An old married couple, if you please," protested 
 Maggie. " And it will be no burden, but simply 
 a delight." 
 
 " Maggie and I have quite settled all that, my 
 dear Mother," said John. " We used tD talk it over 
 on board." 
 
 " But I have not," she said. 
 
 " Mamma, if you refuse to come, John and I 
 won't go either," cried Maggie. " What do we 
 care for riches, while you are all pining away here 
 in poverty, and Jeannie working herself to skin 
 and bone, for no purpose whatever. You shall, 
 and must, and will come. Gordon is to board in 
 some nice comfortable house, and to spend his 
 holidays with us. What do you think John and 
 I and these two mites would do in that great house 
 all alone ? "
 
 2g8 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " It won't do," said Mother steadily. 
 
 " No, it won't Mamma; so you have to come 
 and look after us." 
 
 " My dear child, I mean that your plan will 
 not do." 
 
 " Only, you see, it is all settled," put in good 
 kind John determinately. 
 
 " Nay, John, — I have surely a voice in the 
 matter." 
 
 "A voice of assent — nothing more," said Maggie. 
 " I will not listen to anything else. And Jeannie's 
 face convinces me that she is on our side." 
 
 " Does it?" I said. "We must think the mat- 
 ter over. It is just like you and John to make 
 such a proposal." 
 
 " And just like Mother to refuse," said Maggie. 
 "She hasn't a notion how we want her. But yoic 
 know, Jeannie. Now that is all settled, and 
 here comes Nurse. Have you found a corner 
 Nurse, for the children to sleep in?" 
 
 Mother looked a little troubled, but Maggie 
 dexterously turned the conversation into the chan- 
 nel of household arrangements. Supper had to be 
 provided and beds prepared for our unexpect- 
 edly increased numbers. Maggie would let no 
 one treat her as a visitor, but stepped back with- 
 out hesitation into her old position of eldest 
 daughter, looking after everything herself, and 
 carrying about with her a general atmosphere o f 
 soft brightness. And yet she keenly felt the
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 299 
 
 changes in our home. Once I caught her stand- 
 ing sorrowfully and alone in the room that had 
 belonged to Lennox, lost in a muse of the past. 
 But the moment she heard my footstep, she as- 
 sumed a careless air and went singing down the 
 stairs. / had been thinking sadly of the joy with 
 which Lennox would have welcomed her home. 
 But what foolishness to grieve for him ! How 
 dim and poor would such joy look in the light of 
 the glory to which he had attained. I thought 
 wonderingly how soon I too might have learnt to 
 gauge these earthly matters at their rightful 
 value. 
 
 It was long since our little household had 
 worn so sunshiny an aspect. Maggie's light step 
 and sweet face seemed to carry music and cheer 
 wherever they went ; and the sound of children's 
 voices ringing through the quiet rooms was a 
 positive delight. Ellie's passive inert manner 
 became exchanged for almost her old brightness ; 
 though even this did not prevent Maggie from 
 saying to me, — 
 
 " I am disappointed in Ellie. I always fancied 
 she would grow up so much more attractive." 
 
 " That unfortunate affair has had much to do 
 with it," I said. 
 
 " x\ustin Auriol ! I'm curious to see him. But 
 the man's blunders put me out of all patience. 
 The idea of speaking to such an infant as she was 
 then!"
 
 300 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 ^ 
 
 " Ah, we wanted you to look after us all." 
 
 "As you do still. Jeannie, you imist lend your 
 influence on the right side," said Maggie earnestly. 
 " I see you have far more power over Mother now 
 than you used to have." 
 
 "About living with you?" I asked. "Dear 
 Maggie, I only want to be sure it is right." 
 
 " Of course it is. John and I have set our 
 hearts on it." 
 
 "People sometimes set their hearts upon things 
 undesirable." 
 
 " Not in this instance," she said. 
 
 " I only want to be sure it is right," I repeated. 
 " I think — perhaps — it may be." 
 
 " It is the most delightful plan that ever was," 
 she said brightly. " Mother shall sit in her arm- 
 chair and smile at us all ; and EUie shall help 
 with the little ones ; and you shall be my right 
 hand in the village, for I have all manner of 
 schemes for work amongst the poor. You will 
 like it now, will you not ? — though once upon a 
 time you would not have done so, Jeannie. I see 
 a change in you. But, dearest, we must nurse and 
 build you up first. What have you been doing to 
 bring yourself to this state ?" 
 
 She took both my hands and looked anxiously 
 at me. I hardly knew how to face her, and some- 
 thing of a change in those deep blue eyes of hers 
 told me that she was reading more than I intended 
 her to read. 
 
 f 
 
 I
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 3OI 
 
 ''Jeannie, you frighten me. What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "I did not intend to say anything in particu- 
 lar," I answered quietly. 
 
 "But you were thinking something. What 
 was it ? Something is wrong with you I am sure, 
 for I see it plainly, and I only wonder at the 
 others' blindness. Tell me all, dear ? " 
 
 She drew the truth from me, I scarcely knew 
 how. It was harder for her to hear than for me 
 to make it known, I felt her fingers tighten 
 round mine, and saw a rush of tears into her eyes, 
 though she struggled to keep them back. 
 
 "Mother need not know yet," I said. "And 
 the thing is not certain. There may come a 
 favourable change, or there may be the possibility 
 of something being done " 
 
 " Something ? " she faltered. 
 
 " In the way of an operation. Mr. Ramsay did 
 not deny that it might be so. I do not trouble 
 myself about that yet." 
 
 " You don't ! " 
 
 " Why should I ? It is all in my Father's 
 hands." 
 
 " Dear Jeannie ! O Jeannie ! " 
 
 She put her face down on the sofa-cushion, and 
 cried excessively for a minute, thoroughly over- 
 come. And |hen she resolutely fought her way 
 back to self-command. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay may be mistaken. You must 
 have other advice."
 
 302 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " I believe he is very clever. There is no need," 
 I said. " I don't think I should have mentioned 
 this yet, Maggie, only it does just alter my feeling 
 about the living with you. If I could work on, I 
 would not consent — but in any case, I suppose 
 a time of rest will be needful for me." 
 
 "Yes, yes, that is all settled," she said hurriedly. 
 " We must put an end to your engagement with 
 the Montagues. And I don't know whether it will 
 do for us to go to The Beeches quite so quickly 
 as we had intended. We are here, with the best 
 advice within our reach, and it may be needful to 
 delay a little." 
 
 " I can't have you upset all your plans on my 
 account," I said. 
 
 " Plans ! Nonsense. You must be put first in 
 our considerations. What sort of love do you 
 think I have for you ? " 
 
 " I don't know," I said. " If you loved me as 
 I used to treat you — in proportion I mean — it 
 would not be over much." 
 
 " It would. But I love you for what you are, 
 not only for what you were," she said. *' And 
 now, Jeannie, you are to be cheery, darling, and 
 not depressed. The very best that can be is going 
 to be done for you, and I do think, please God, 
 that you will be quite well again soon. Mr. 
 Ramsay never ought to have told you his fears. 
 But you will not give way to nervousness." 
 
 " I do not think I am nervous," I said. And
 
 ARRANGEMENTS. 303 
 
 then we were interrupted, and Maggie disappeared 
 to avoid questions about her tear-stained face, 
 while I went up to my room. 
 
 Did I wish he had not told me ? Was it ner- 
 vousness and depression to feel so sure that 
 recovery did not lie before me ? 
 
 Nay, it was rather strong desire and eager joy. 
 Not for worlds would I now have missed this past 
 rich and wonderful realisation of things unseen 
 and yet to come— this standing, as it were, for 
 weeks upon the borderland of life, gazing across 
 to the brightening light which shone from 
 beyond the hills of glory. Standing there only in 
 thought and imagination may be, but in thought 
 and imagination so intense, so yivid, so long-con- 
 tinued, that even yet I can look back upon it all 
 as upon reality. Why not reality ? True, I may 
 have dwelt upon the doctor's words till, by the 
 very force of my own desire, likelihood grew into 
 certainty. But none the less truly, though through 
 such a means, might I have been called apart, as 
 it were, for a while, thus to stand, and thus to 
 gaze, and thus to learn somewhat of the spirit- 
 world's deep mysteries, never afterwards to be 
 forgotten amid the entangling cares and toils of 
 this lower life.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 TURNED BACKWARDS. 
 
 Things did not take with me the precise course 
 which Mr. Ramsay had foretold ; and even if 
 Maggie had not already given up the thoughts of 
 a very speedy move to Devonshire, it would have 
 proved impracticable. The end of the second 
 week after their arrival found me a prisoner to 
 the sofa ; and there was a consultation between 
 our own doctor and a leading physician. 
 
 I have a keener remembrance of Mother's 
 anxiety than of my own. We had not told Ellie 
 the cause for fear; but it was impossible to keep 
 it from Mother. I remember her dear white 
 patient face all that day, going about the same as 
 usual, smiling on the children, and keeping watch 
 over me. And it seemed to me that she had 
 wondrously learnt the lesson of heart-submission. 
 I thought I too was at last somewhat of a victor 
 in that department of the battle. 
 
 The report of the doctors was such as to en- 
 courage Mother and Maggie, yet not such as to 
 disturb my own quiet anticipations. Mr. Ramsay 
 held to his first impression, slightly modified
 
 TURNED BACKWARDS. 305 
 
 while the other doctor considered the case less 
 hopeless, but believed the danger, such as it was, 
 to be more imminent. A day was coming speedily 
 wherein the question of life and death might be 
 there and then decided. 
 
 It broke upon me with something of a shock — 
 the latter fact. I had believed m3'self ready for 
 anything, yet for a while I shrank from this. But 
 I do not think those around saw anvthing of the 
 struggle. I soon found that this burden too was 
 light when borne for me by my loving Master. So 
 I laid it off upon Him, and ceased to be troubled, 
 and found it not hard to wait in trust. 
 
 I do not know how the news of my illness 
 reached Austin Auriol, but one day he suddenly 
 made his appearance. '" You know I promised to 
 come," he said gravely ; and if he showed some 
 shyness during the first five minutes, it soon 
 passed off. The visit was a great enjoyment. 
 He read and talked a little, and spoke with so 
 much feeling, yet so calmly, that it did us all 
 good. Ellie was out at the time ; and when he 
 retired, promising to call again soon, Maggie re- 
 marked, "Well, I am surprised at that silly child. 
 I never thought Austin Auriol would turn out like 
 this. She isn't worthy of him, I am afraid." 
 
 But it seemed to me that Austin had softened, and 
 that his spiritual life had deepened. -May-be the 
 discipline he had had to bear was just according 
 to his need. 
 
 21
 
 305 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Two or three days later he came again, and this 
 time Ellie was present. She turned scarlet when 
 he was announced, shook hands with him, and 
 walked straight out of the room. I was pained 
 for him ; but he only gave one steady glance after 
 her, and then bestowed all his attention upon me. 
 Next time she heard his knock and fled before he 
 entered. The fourth time she was caught again, 
 and again beat an abrupt retreat. We found that 
 an invariable consequence of a visit from Austin 
 was to have Ellie come to tea with red eyes. 
 Maggie and I wondered a little now and then, but 
 she was extremely reserved, and would say nothing 
 to either of us. 
 
 " The clue doesn't seem to me far out of reach," 
 Kathie remarked one day when paying me a call, 
 for I liked seeing my friends though unable to 
 go to them. " Depend upon it, the child made 
 a mistake, as many a girl has done before her, in 
 thinking she did not care for him." 
 
 " If so, why avoid him?" I asked. 
 
 " Dear Jeannie, you are innocent. She is 
 heartily ashamed of herself, no doubt. And be- 
 sides, it is quite an open question how far liis 
 feelings towards her are the same. Not many 
 men can stand being treated like that, with un- 
 shaken constancy." 
 
 I certainly could recall no indication on Austin 
 Auriol's part of any desire to renew the engage- 
 ment, and I said so.
 
 TURNED BACKWARDS, 307 
 
 "Just what I mean. He may be exercising 
 great self control, and he is likely to go on exer- 
 cising it, I am afraid. He will hardly risk another 
 rebuff; and her line of proceeding will make him 
 think she dislikes him more than ever. But I 
 don't see how else she could behave, nor do I be- 
 lieve he is quite unchanged towards her. She 
 has to reap the consequences of her own hasty 
 act." 
 
 " It did not seem hasty at the time, Kathie ; 
 she was very miserable." 
 
 " Well, regrets are useless now," said Kathie, 
 with something of a sigh. " But I can tell you 
 one thing, Jeannie, and that is that your illness is 
 a boon to Ellie. She is growing much less inert 
 and self-absorbed, poor little thing." 
 
 I had noticed the same myself; and as the 
 knowledge of my danger slowly broke upon her, 
 the change was yet more marked. She became 
 my most attentive nurse, giving up her whole 
 time and thoughts to me, and showing herself far 
 more like the sweet-tempered attractive Ellie of 
 old than we had seen her for years past. 
 
 John Drummond was obliged to pay rather a 
 long visit to The Beeches, making necessary 
 arrangements. Then he came back to wait until 
 we, or tlicy, as I said in my heart, could journey 
 thither. And qu the very day of his return Esme- 
 ralda travelled up to London for a brief holiday. 
 She could not often be spared, but somehow I had 
 
 21 '■'-
 
 30S THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 been longing for her presence in the house. A 
 very short time now would decide for me the ques- 
 tion of recovery or non-recovery. A sort of re- 
 membrance of my last illness and of her patient 
 nursing had come across me, and the wish only 
 had to find expression. Maggie wrote at once, 
 and Esma came. 
 
 Even then I believed that the intervening space 
 of uncertainty would be longer than it actually 
 proved. Mother and Maggie were hopeful, but 
 unable to control their fears. Esma was the only 
 calm and perfectly self-possessed individual in the 
 house. She attended to any little matters which 
 I wished arranged, in case — ^just in case — things 
 should go ill with me. I remember smiling as I 
 said the words. I felt so sure it would be thus, 
 and that the so-called " ill " would be only " well," 
 right well for me. But Esma quietly acquiesced, 
 and did all I wished ; whereas Maggie never could 
 have borne to do so. It was no want of feeling in 
 Esma, however; she was very loving and tender. 
 
 And the day came. Thanks to the merciful 
 discovery of chloroform I had no consciousness of 
 bodily pain to dread beforehand, and the excite- 
 ment buoyed me up, so that I felt less ill than I 
 had often done of late. But, oh, how strange the 
 knowledge that ere long — perchance before that 
 very evening — I might be welcomed Home ! What 
 untold glory in the thought ! But I think my 
 feelings were rather of calm trust than of exultant
 
 TURNED BACKWARDS. 309 
 
 joy. The intense though suppressed anxiety of 
 all around made me wonder if I had not been 
 selfish in my gladness. Poor Mother ! After all 
 she had gone through, how could I wish her to 
 have more sorrow ? 
 
 Then came the time of darkness, and utter weak- 
 ness following. Days of dim languor and semi- 
 unconsciousness lie faintly in my memory, till one 
 morning our kind friend Mr. Ramsay stood by my 
 side, and said feelingly, yet with a tone of hearty 
 cheer, — 
 
 '' Well, Miss Phillimore, this is indeed all we 
 could wish. Thank God for it! " 
 
 " I am stronger to-day," I said. " Do you think 
 it will last ? " 
 
 " Last ! yes ; I trust so indeed ! Nothing 
 is wanted now but rest and care, and a little 
 patience. You are on the high road to recovery. 
 It has been a wonderful success." 
 
 More words were said, and how my dear ones 
 were all rejoicing ! Did I rejoice with them ? 
 Was I thankful ? 
 
 I think I understood then what the poor Israel- 
 ites felt, when they were turned back and away 
 from the Promised Land into the wilderness, and 
 " their soul was much discouraged because of the 
 way." It seemed hard to me thus to turn back, 
 after so near^ a view of my Jerusalem-Home, — 
 harder than if I had been in the depths of the 
 wilderness all the while. The battle had seemed 
 so nearly over, yet now all the fighting had to
 
 310 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 be^in over again. Rest had appeared so near at 
 hand, yet now must I plunge once again into the 
 toils and tangles of life. 
 
 " Thy will, not mine." 
 
 I could not say it at first. I had grown into 
 such a certainty of just the other ending to my 
 illness., I had looked forward with such confidence 
 to the glory — not distant, but almost within my 
 grasp. Had I been wrong ? 
 
 Ay, verily ! conscience answered with stern 
 truthfulness — wrong if my own will had grown to 
 be dearer to me than the will of my God. Was 
 it for me to dare to fix the term of life or the time 
 of death ? Had my Lord and Master borne so 
 much for me, and could I not wait patiently a 
 little longer for Him ? The wilfulness and selfish- 
 ness which had mingled with purer and higher 
 longings rose strongly before my eyes. I could 
 but take them to my Saviour's feet, and pray for 
 His healing touch. '■' Thy will, not mine. Let 
 my life be one year more or fifty years, it matters 
 not ; only do all for me according to Thy will." 
 
 And with the yielding up of my desires came a 
 return of peace. I was willing once again to fight 
 on in the battle just so long as my ]\Iaster willed 
 that I should so do for His sake. 
 
 I thought of Newton's angel a good deal; for 
 he, though he must have been ever longing for 
 heaven, would yet surely have never indulged in 
 a wish to return thither one hour before the time 
 when God should summon him from earthly work. 
 
 J
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ELLIE AND I. 
 
 What strange creatures we are. Why was it 
 that in turning suddenly back from the great 
 change which had seemed so near, there was an 
 accompanying rebound from spiritual joy? The 
 other world, which I had thought so close, I now 
 felt to be incalculably far away. I found myself 
 all at once down on a grey cold level, with no 
 power to realise things unseen, but with a keen 
 and vivid return to earthly interests. 
 
 Was it sin, worldliness, and unbelief on my own 
 part ? Was it the necessary reaction — the valley 
 following the hill-top ? Was it discipline required 
 and sent — the testing of my faith and love ? 
 
 Hard questions these to answer at such a time. 
 But I think it may in truth have partaken in some 
 measure of the nature of all three. There are 
 certain laws of action and reaction in human 
 nature, not altogether set aside by the actings of 
 higher energies; and while "all things" in the 
 guiding hand of our Jehovah God are working 
 together for the good of His redeemed, we yet
 
 312 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 bring upon ourselves or needlessly deepen many a 
 shadow through our own faithlessness. 
 
 " Jeannie wants change of air," said Kathie 
 meditatively, as she sat alone with Esma and me 
 on the afternoon of the day preceding Esmeralda's 
 return to her work. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsay was saying to-day that he hopes 
 she will very soon be fit for the journey to Devon- 
 shire," said Esma ; " I am longing to have them 
 all so near to me." 
 
 " And so far from me. Well, I must not be 
 selfish," said Kathie cheerily. " Maggie declares 
 that father and I are to pay a long visit at The 
 Beeches some day ; and though I don't quite see 
 how he is ever to be moved, I have great faith in 
 Maggie's power of managing almost impossi- 
 bilities." 
 
 Why was it that Esma's words had conveyed to 
 me a certain little unpleasant shock? I could 
 not think how it was that I so regretted leaving 
 London, and cared so little to enter upon life in 
 our beautiful Devonshire home. But I decided 
 that the parting with Kathie had a good deal to 
 do with my reluctance, as well as the breaking off 
 from dear though sorrowful associations connected 
 with our little city dwelling. 
 
 " Kathie, I don't know what I shall do without 
 you to come in and out," I said. 
 
 " I shall feel quite lost without you. Don't 
 talk about it yet. I have to be brave, and not
 
 ELLIE AND I. 3X3 
 
 to murmur. Do you know I sometimes indulge 
 in a certain little dream of the future for us 
 three ? It comforts me when I feel a wee bit 
 down-hearted." 
 
 " What dream ? " we both asked, curious to 
 know how she meant to dispose of us. 
 
 " Why, that some day, by-and-by, ever so long 
 a time ahead, when you and Esma and I are 
 middle-aged single ladies, we'll take a small house, 
 and live together in the middle of London, and 
 work among the poor." 
 
 " It doesn't sound exactly romantic," said Esma 
 soberly. " Couldn't you manage to make one of 
 us a widow, Kathie ? And must the house be in 
 that very undesirable locality ? " 
 
 " Why, Esma — no other place wants workers 
 so sorely." 
 
 Kathie looked rather damped, for she had spoken 
 with the most single-hearted and transparent en- 
 thusiasm, and met with no response from either 
 of us. Esma seemed half-inclined to be sarcastic. 
 I was wondering again why the idea should have 
 conveyed to me a second unpleasant little shock, 
 and why my own will rose up very decidedly 
 against any such plan. 
 
 "Jeannie, you would like it," said Kathie, 
 wanting some sympathy. 
 
 " I foresee certain difficulties," I said. " Depend 
 upon it, Esma, Kathie herself will give the first 
 example of defection from the ' single ranks.' "
 
 314 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " No, indeed ! Jeannie, I thought you would 
 have been delighted with the idea." 
 
 " I do not see very much use in planning before- 
 hand," I said. " Such schemes seldom come to 
 pass. My present and most practical dream is 
 that I don't wish to be a burden on Maggie when 
 I am strong." 
 
 " And you shall not," said Maggie's own voice 
 by my side. " My dear Jeannie, nobody is going 
 to be a burden upon anybody; so don't talk 
 nonsense. Did you see Mr. Auriol pass the 
 window just now ? I suppose he will come in 
 presently." 
 
 For Austin Auriol still kept up his regular 
 visits, though I was advancing beyond that stage 
 of invalidism which would have seemed to require 
 them. 
 
 " Why, he only came two days ago," observed 
 Esma. 
 
 " He is very persevering," said Maggie. "Poor 
 man ! not that he gains much by it. Ellie treats 
 him by turns with the hauteur of a countess and 
 the pettishness of a spoilt child." 
 
 " And if I am not mistaken, Austin Auriol cares 
 very little for either," said Esmeralda. 
 
 " Wrong, Esma ; depend upon it he cares a 
 good deal more than you know, or perhaps than 
 he himself knows," said Kathie. " Otherwise, 
 why beset the house in this fashion ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't often advocate interfering in
 
 ELLIE AND I. 315 
 
 such matters," said Maggie lightly. " But I must 
 confess I do sometimes wonder, Jeannie, whether 
 it is not in your power, by the merest finger-touch, 
 to set that stone rolling again." 
 
 " How ?" I asked gravely. 
 
 " My dear, your own sense will dictate the 
 ' how ' far better than I can do. But I feel sure 
 that if I were in your place I would attempt 
 something." 
 
 Maggie's words set me off thinking. I soon 
 found myself considering deeply Ellie's possible 
 and probable future. Also I wondered greatly 
 what Austin Auriol really did feel in the matter. 
 Were his present sensations towards her precisely 
 the same that they had once been ? Was his in- 
 different manner merely the result of wounded 
 pride, and only kept up by her continued coldness? 
 
 I turned the subject over and over, regarding it 
 from every attainable point of view, and was just 
 as perplexed at the end as at the beginning. Then 
 I suddenly found myself leaving Ellie alone to 
 dive into some of the underground passages of my 
 own mind. And I came therein to a certain heavy 
 door which I had long kept locked and closely 
 barred, forbidding myself to enter. It was there, 
 and I knew it ; but I had not turned the lock for 
 so long — consciously at least. It surprised me 
 to find the dogr standing open, or at least ajai. 
 Had I been wandering in and out unknowingly 
 of late ?
 
 3l6 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Maggie's words had startled me a little. What! 
 was / to move in the matter — to shut-to that 
 heavy door, and to lock and double-lock it for 
 evermore ? Was it needful ? Might I not at least 
 leave events to take their own course ? 
 
 In the very midst of my cogitations Austin 
 Auriol was announced. I found myself a little 
 shy and reserved somehow, and I knew that he 
 instantly noted the change. He thought me 
 depressed, and set himself to wile me back again 
 to cheerfulness. It was not a regular pastoral 
 visit, but Austin never went anywhere without 
 carrying with him a certain grave gentle pastoral 
 atmosphere. We had some earnest and interest- 
 ing conversation, in which the others joined. 
 
 " He is a good man," Maggie said warmly 
 when he was gone. "Jeannie, you really must 
 do what you can for poor little Ellie. She has 
 been looking miserable of late." 
 
 Must I ? Yes ; I had noted Ellie's depression. 
 The temporary excitement of nursing me had 
 subsided, and she was sinking back into her old 
 inertia, only with more appearance of positive 
 mental pain about her than had once been the 
 case. She bestowed confidence on none, and 
 hardly ever mentioned Austin's name; but I think 
 we all felt pretty sure at last as to her real feelings. 
 
 I did not sleep much that night. I had too 
 much to occupy my thoughts. That " Must I ? " 
 was a question hard to answer.
 
 ELLIE AND I. 317 
 
 Why must I ? Why need I ? Let things at 
 least take their course. I would but remain quies- 
 cent. If matters came about thus, so let them 
 come, I would bend my head and submit. But 
 surely I might wait passively for their develop- 
 ment ? 
 
 What if any share in the said development 
 seemed to lie within my grasp ? — if by a motion 
 of my hand I might set rolling the stone once 
 stopped by Ellie herself? I knew not, but it might 
 be so. I believed Austin Auriol to be in a some- 
 what halting and uncertain condition of mind and 
 resolution. Without reasoning very closely upon 
 it, I had an impression that he stood rather in the 
 position of a man looking down two paths, hesi- 
 tating which to enter, and perhaps to be helped in 
 his decision by word or look or touch from another. 
 That was my fancy ; and I wronged him by it. 
 
 I wronged him, for there was no such un- 
 certainty whatever in his mind. But if not in his, 
 there was in mine. Maggie's words haunted me 
 the live-long night, and I tossed sleeplessly to and 
 fro, longing for yet dreading the morrow. What 
 should be my course of action ? Must I ? Ought 
 I ? — to do as Maggie advised. 
 
 If there was an " ought," there was also a 
 "must." Conscience whispered softly, but I tried 
 to reason away its voice. Why need I put Ellie's 
 happiness before my own — if I had any power in 
 the matter ? The answer was clear: " In honour
 
 o 
 
 18 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 preferring one another." " As ye would that men 
 should do to you, do ye even so to them." 
 
 But in this instance it seemed almost too much 
 to be expected of any one. 1 resisted the " ought " 
 and put aside the "must" for many hours, all 
 through that night and all through the following 
 day, till I was aware of a shadow creeping over 
 my soul. True, my spiritual life had appearjed to 
 me sluggish of late, and wanting in joy. But was 
 I prepared to find the cloud deepen ? Could I bear 
 to have my Master's Face altogether withdrawn ? 
 Not thus might the plain voice of conscience be 
 disregarded, with impunit}-. 
 
 I saw the matter in another light. For His 
 sake who had died for me, could I not do this 
 thing? It seemed right to me. Was I going to 
 hold back ? 
 
 All for His sake ! That broke me down. I flung 
 myself in utter weakness at my Master's feet, 
 praying Him to turn me in the direction whither 
 my strength sufficed not to carry me. And then 
 I rose, having received power to advance. 
 
 "Thy will be done" — once more. Hardest 
 lesson of all to learn — needing to be taught again 
 and \et again, in each fresh phase of the great life- 
 battle.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED. 
 
 Austin Auriol came in again, after two days. I 
 do not know whether I had most wished or feared 
 that he should speedily re-appear. No one was in 
 the room with me except Ellie, and as I happened 
 to have her hand in mine, I quietly retained 
 possession of it. She gave one hasty snatch, with 
 the intention of taking to flight as usual, and then, 
 after a surprised glance, sat quietly down by my 
 side. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Auriol ?" I said. " Most 
 of them are out — except this little prisoner of 
 mine ;" and I took care to let him see by whose 
 will she was detained. 
 
 Austin looked provokingly uninterested, instead 
 of showing the suppressed gratificatioij on which 
 I had counted ; while Ellie fairly hung her head, 
 and would say nothing. Somehow the cheery 
 conversation usual during his visits fell extremely 
 flat. Not one of us had any remarks to make 
 worth hearing." 
 
 " And you really are all going to Devonshire in
 
 320 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 a fortnight ? " said Austin Auriol, after a few fitful 
 observations from one side or the other. 
 
 " Really, I believe. Packing up has begun." 
 
 *■ Don't ask me to congratulate you all." 
 
 " No ; for I am quite in two minds about going," 
 I said. " London cannot but be a home to me. 
 But I don't think Ellie feels quite as I do." 
 
 I thought she would contradict me, as she had 
 done occasionally, and say how sorry she was to 
 leave the dear old house. Instead of which her 
 head went up, with a red spot on either cheek, and 
 her voice said decisively, — 
 
 " I nev2r want to see London again." 
 
 " Don't you ?" asked Mr. Auriol. 
 
 *' No ; nor anybody in it." 
 
 " Well, you will be at a good distance in 
 Devonshire, if that is a consolation," he said, in the 
 soothing tone which one would use to a fractious 
 child, yet half-sarcastically too. It either pained 
 or irritated her past bearing ; and, truth to tell, it 
 roused my own indignation somewhat. She pulled 
 her hand from mine, and walked straight out of 
 the room. He drew a quick breath, and said, — 
 
 " I am glad." 
 
 " I am not," I said. " How could you speak to 
 her like that ? I don't wonder she is vexed." 
 
 " Forgive me, Jeannie. It was wrong; but — I 
 never have a word alone with you, and almost any 
 manner of speech from me seems distasteful to 
 Ellie."
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED. 321 
 
 " no," I said. 
 
 " You don't know. You always put the kindest 
 construction on everything. I know well enough 
 that she barely tolerates me." 
 
 I opened my lips to contradict him, and shut 
 them again. If I had, as I imagined, guessed 
 Ellie's secret, I certainly had no right to betray 
 it to him. 
 
 " But never mind EUie just now. I have a word 
 to say to you — -if I may." 
 
 "About Ellie?" I asked rather stupidly, since 
 he had just put her aside. 
 
 "Ellie! No." 
 
 " I did not know — only — I have been wonder- 
 ing a little," I said hurriedly. " I thought — 
 perhaps — things might be different now between 
 you and her." 
 
 " They are different," he said emphatically, but 
 with a shadow on his face. " Not in the sense 
 though in which — I am afraid — you mean. Is it 
 possible that you do ? Jeannie — have you been 
 thinking that?" 
 
 His meaning was not very clearly expressed, bat 
 of course I understood. 
 
 " I don't knov/," was all I could force myself to 
 say. 
 
 " Different ! " he repeated. " Why, that fancy 
 of mine died long ago. How could it be otherwise ? 
 I am as constant a man as any, I do think ; but that 
 was only a fancy. I was infatuated by her pretty 
 
 22
 
 322 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 face, and dressed her up in imagination with those 
 qualities which I admired ; and it took some time 
 to break the spell. She did the work herself 
 effectually. Why, she was but a child, and a weak 
 child too, though so lovable. Don't think I have 
 a shadow of resentment against her. She could 
 not help it, poor little thing! Nay, now — for- 
 give me for speaking so, for she is your sister. 
 But I want you to understand how absolutely free 
 I have long been from that. Even if it were not so, 
 I could not seek her now. With all her sweetness 
 and attractiveness, there is a certain want in your 
 gentle Ellie. You know it, Jeannie. She is not 
 fitted to be a clergyman's wife. She would never 
 go heart and soul into parish work. And I must 
 think of my parish as well as myself. But there 
 is no self-denial in this case — none whatever. I 
 am afraid you despise me for changeableness. Do 
 you ? Tell me plainly." 
 
 " I have no right to do so," I answered. *' Ellie 
 has disappointed all of us, not you alone. But 
 I think we shall see her some day rise to more of 
 life and vigour." 
 
 " I trust so, assuredly. Nevertheless, as she so 
 plainly keeps up her old dislike for me, it is well 
 that I can look upon her with the most simple 
 brotherly and pastoral interest. It never can be 
 anything else." 
 
 Glancing up for a moment into his earnest face, 
 almost pale with excitement, I knew that it verily
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED. 323 
 
 was SO, and that I might say no more concerning 
 Ellie. I think too I knew that somewhat in 
 addition was still to come. 
 
 At all events, it came. Three minutes later I 
 was aware that the certain strong door in my 
 heart, which had long been locked and barred 
 upon a little grave of buried girlish dreams, might 
 now be flung open to the light of day. 
 
 Might be ! But I thought of Ellie. Had I done 
 for her all I could — all I ought ? 
 
 " I must think for one night, Austin,"' I 
 answered ; though in the first moment of surprise 
 he had drawn from me the acknowledgment that 
 I could return his love. 
 
 " Think ! But, dear Jeannie, will you keep me 
 in suspense, when you have already done away 
 with the only possible objection ? " 
 
 I felt that it was so ; yet I repeated steadily, 
 " I will give you my answer to-morrow." 
 
 After what I had said he could hardly feel much 
 fear. I found that Mother knew of his wish, but 
 had promised to mention it to no one ; and he had 
 only told /i^r twenty-four hours earlier. 
 
 The thought of poor little Ellie haunted me in 
 my joy. But Austin had a great deal more to say. 
 He began to speak about those old days when he 
 and I first met, and when he had exercised so 
 strong an influence over me. " Ay, and you over 
 me," he said. And, strange to say, he told me of 
 a resolution on liis oart, then formed, that if he 
 
 22 '^'^
 
 324 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 ever married, the fifteen-years-old maiden, Jane 
 Phillimore, should be his chosen wife. 
 
 He came to London with this resolution still in 
 his mind. But somehow when he first saw me — ■ 
 Austin hesitated here, but I waited for more, and 
 he brought it out — somehow he had been a little 
 disappointed, and Ellie, in her dawning girlish 
 beauty, had cast a glamour of fascination over him. 
 
 " There was no depth in it," he said. " But you 
 see how it was. I came to your house prepared to 
 fall in love, and — I hardly know how " 
 
 " I know how disagreeable I was in those days," 
 I said. 
 
 Of course he protested, but at the same time 
 admitted that — well, that, for instance, he had 
 heard me speak sharply to Francey the first even- 
 ing. He had also, of course, a great deal to say 
 regarding my present self as compared with my 
 past self. Everything he said naturally gave me 
 pleasure that afternoon, and I was not critical. 
 Nor was there need so to be. He had passed 
 through just such a phase of experience as many 
 good men, and many great men also, do pass 
 through. And I cannot but feel sure that Ellie 
 would have failed to make him happy, so I am 
 very thankful things turned out as they did. 
 
 But when at length he was gone, I went upstairs 
 to my own room. My first care was to kneel down, 
 with such joyous thankfulness for the brightness 
 which had broken out on m}' cloudy battle-field,
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED. 325 
 
 as I had not known for years. I did not seem to 
 have anything to ask, except that my God would 
 still watch over me, as in the past, and do every- 
 thing for me, just according to His holy will. But 
 how much of praise I had to offer up ! 
 
 That was about all the exertion to which my 
 bodily strength was as yet equal. I lay down on 
 the bed and waited, thinking Mother or Maggie 
 would come soon to me. Instead of that Ellie was 
 the first to appear. 
 
 Just as well so. I had no time for considering 
 how to break my news, therefore I uttered no 
 confusing speeches. 
 
 " Ellie, darling, I want a word with you. Please 
 shut the door." 
 
 She came and leant over my bed. 
 
 " Austin Auriol has just gone." 
 
 " Has he ? I'm glad I escaped." 
 
 Nevertheless she flushed slightly. 
 
 " Darling, I want to be the first to tell you 
 something. I hope it will not give you pain, for it 
 is a long time now since you refused him ; but " 
 
 "Is he going to marry somebody else?" she 
 cried, with unmistakable eagerness. 
 
 That cleared off all difficulties. " Ellie, he has 
 proposed to me," I said softly. 
 
 She kissed me in a perfect rapture. I could only 
 wait in bewilderment. 
 
 " I'm so glad — oh, so delighted. I always did 
 say he ought to like 3'ou. And he has done it at
 
 326 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 last. You are just made for one another. Jeannie, 
 this is good news !" 
 
 " I am glad you are pleased," I said slowly. 
 
 ''Of course I am. Jeannie, don't look so puzzled. 
 I did so wish for something of this kind. I never 
 could care for him myself, and yet I never could 
 forgive myself for the way I treated him. If you 
 did but know the weight it has been on me to 
 think I made Lennox' friend, and such a good 
 man, so unhappy. It was horrid of me. I knew 
 he must despise me — and — and " 
 
 She put her head down on the pillow by mine. 
 
 " And do you know, Jeannie, I have sometimes 
 felt as if I ought not to hope to be forgiven for the 
 wrong I did — for I know it was wrong — oh, very ; 
 and yet I could never ask him to forgive me, so 
 how could I pray about it ? Was I wrong to feel 
 so ? It has made me very miserable lately. But 
 now all will be right. I shall like him for a brother, 
 and you'll tell him how sorry I am for the way 
 I behaved to him. O you dear old Jeannie ! you 
 have made me so happy. And now I shall love 
 to be Maggie's right hand with the children, and 
 never to bother myself again with anything of 
 that sort. 1 do think I shall be a child all my 
 life long." 
 
 I almost thought so too, as I heard her talk. 
 But there was no mistake whatever about her 
 joyous satisfaction. 
 
 Mother's happiness was of a different and more
 
 SOMETHING SETTLED. 327 
 
 subdued kind. She did rejoice in my joy, with 
 unselfish rejoicing, however; and with greater 
 heartiness than she could have shown, perhaps, 
 but for our Maggie's return. 
 
 So I had no hesitation whatever regarding the 
 answer which I might return to Austin Auriol on 
 the morrow.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS. 
 
 '* Talk of the first defection from single ranks ! 
 The idea ! And you looking so innocent all the 
 while!" 
 
 "No; but Kathie " 
 
 " I'm not going to spare you one single blush. 
 No wonder my beautiful scheme didn't exactly 
 fascinate you. My dear Jeannie, how did the 
 notion first enter his head ? " 
 
 " You had better ask Austin for particulars, if 
 you are curious." 
 
 " I'm not curious. I am perfectly delighted. 
 You'll be half-way nearer to me than ever before. 
 I shall be able to run into the Vicarage in the 
 course of my hour's walk. What a pest you will 
 soon find me !" 
 
 "Of course," I answered; for Kathie's wild 
 spirits that day admitted of no more staid answer. 
 
 " Well, I can take a hint ; so if I give you too 
 much of myself, you'll only have to tell me so. 
 Do you know, Jeannie, I never was so delighted 
 in my life — positively never. And now I must 
 ask a question. When is it to be ? "
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS. 329 
 
 I did not answer directly. The question had 
 been under discussion only that morning. 
 
 "When will it? Do tell me." 
 
 " Austin is rather impatient," I replied. " He 
 says all this is a hindrance to his sermons — and 
 —that I ought not " 
 
 " Of course you ought not. Next w^eek, Jean- 
 nie?" 
 
 " Kathie, don't be mad ! " 
 
 " My dear, how can I be anything else ? I feel 
 all bubbling over — like father's favourite tea- 
 kettle. You haven't answered me yet." 
 
 " I think— in the end of next month," I said. 
 " We are going to The Beeches on Tuesday, and 
 I want to know if you will be my bridesmaid," 
 
 " Well, I don't think I'll have any particular 
 objection," said Kathie, with dancing eyes. " Who 
 else ? " 
 
 " Ellie and Esma and Edgitha. I don't mean 
 to have more than four. Austin has no sisters or 
 cousins, you know." 
 
 " Shall we wear pink or blue ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Kathie, don't pretend to care 
 so much about that part of it." 
 
 " My dear child, I never wore a bridesmaid's 
 dress in my life. I really shall enjoy the excite- 
 ment. Is it wrong ? Do you think I am growing 
 worldly ? " - 
 
 " I hope that isn't to be the character of my 
 wedding, at all events," I said, smiling. " Kathie !
 
 330 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 — as if I had any wish or right to judge you ! I 
 only wish my life came as near to self-abnegation 
 as yours does," 
 
 She shook her head rather soberly. 
 
 " And how is the little Ellie? " 
 
 " Very happy, and full of arrangements. We 
 are packing up vigorously — only they won't let 
 me do much. How Mother will enjoy the 
 country ! " 
 
 " Ah ! shouldn't I like a whiff of a country 
 breeze." 
 
 " You will have your wish next month." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Why, Kathie — what we have just been talking 
 about." 
 
 " Do you mean to say the wedding will be in 
 Devonshire ? How stupid of me not to understand. 
 Of course it must. But, Jeannie, I can never 
 leave father." 
 
 " Just for once ! O you must ! " 
 
 " I don't think he will consent." 
 
 Her face flushed, and her eyes filled with the 
 keenness of the disappointment, though her lips 
 smiled bravely. 
 
 " It won't do. I should make him ill by only 
 proposing such a thing. I must be content to 
 welcome you back to London, dear old Jeannie. 
 Father would never do without me for a whole 
 day and night. I was thinking it would only be 
 absence for a few hours."
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS. 33I 
 
 " But this is almost slavery," I objected. 
 
 She looked up at me with a light in her dark 
 eyes. 
 
 " No : only loving service," she said. " Don't 
 try to make me discontented, Jeannie. It is so 
 sweet to accept the whole from my Master's 
 hands, as just what He wills me to do, that I 
 don't want to feel inclined to murmur at the very 
 least little portion. I would love to be at your 
 wedding, but I can't make a fight for my own 
 way, and I should never get father's leave without 
 something of a struggle. And suppose, after all, 
 he were taken ill in my absence ! No, it won't 
 do at all." 
 
 There was nobody whose presence I had so set 
 my heart upon as Kathie de Salvernai's. But I 
 saw it was not to be, and her bright patience made 
 me ashamed of my own secret inclination to rebel. 
 I would have had her at least try for what we 
 both so thoroughly desired ; but she held firmly 
 to her first resolution, and would lift neither hand 
 nor voice in the matter. 
 
 After all, it was done for her. Maggie quietly 
 went one day and had a long talk with uncle 
 Claire, winning from him an unqualified assent. 
 She let him know something of the sweet spirit of 
 self-denial his child had shown; and uncle Claire's 
 eyes filled with 4ears as he said emphatically, 
 " She shall go : it is the first pleasure she has had 
 for many a day. There are not many in the
 
 332 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 world like my Kathie ; the most loving-hearted 
 daughter that ever was to her old father. Yes, 
 she shall go, if it were China, instead of Devon- 
 shire." 
 
 I can hardly suppose uncle Claire's resolution 
 would have held good if China really had been 
 our destination next week, which, happily for me, 
 it was not ; but he gave Kathie no choice what- 
 ever, told her decisively that the whole thing was 
 settled, and desired her to be absent for three 
 whole nights. 
 
 Maggie removed the two leading difficulties, by 
 promising to provide a temporary attendant for 
 him, and by making Kathie a present of the 
 bridesmaid's dress. After that our dear little 
 countess went about as if she were on air. I 
 never saw more hearty childlike enjoyment of a 
 pleasure, or of its anticipation, than was hers. 
 
 Then came our removal. It was a little hard 
 to leave the old home. I felt as if I had tendrils 
 twined in and about every nook and corner of the 
 house ; and somehow during those last few days, 
 in all my happiness, the thought of Lennox was 
 constantly present to my mind. 
 
 He had run the race. I was running it still. 
 He had entered early on his rest. I was entering 
 upon a new phase of life in this world. His sun 
 had gone down while it was yet day. I might 
 have yet to linger on till long years of work and 
 battling were over. 
 
 i
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS. 333 
 
 Was his the sadder history of the two, so far ? 
 
 I put the question earnestly to myself one night, 
 with another following. Had this world grown so 
 bright to me in the light of my new happiness, 
 that all longing after the life to come had faded 
 into nothingness ? 
 
 I could not answer the latter question as I 
 would fain from my heart have answered it. This 
 world was dearer to me than it had been. The 
 longings were fainter after heavenly joys. But the 
 change had come before — not after — the change in 
 my prospects. I was thankful at least for this. 
 And if I could not feel sure that there was no 
 falling back, I could at least pray from my very 
 heart one earnest prayer that, at any cost, my 
 God would keep me in the path of life. 
 
 Was Lennox' life-history sadder than my own ? 
 I could answer that question unhesitatingly — No. 
 Not, seen in the light of his early death ; for dying 
 to this world was but entering upon life eternal. 
 Not, seen in the light of his crucified will and frus- 
 trated life-purpose ; for if the work he did was the 
 work his Master gave him, it mattered little 
 whether or no it were that which he would himself 
 have chosen. He had hoped to serve his Lord in 
 the ministry, and this desire of his heart was denied 
 him ; yet, though cut off from such a post in the 
 battle, and set J:o contend with other foes, the 
 " Well done, good and faithful servant," would 
 surely be his meed.
 
 334 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 Might it but be so with me also. How earnestly 
 I prayed that I might be roused from my deadness 
 of heart. And I doubted not that the answer 
 would be sent, even though for awhile delayed. 
 One sweet promise came richly home to me, — 
 
 " Wait on the Lord ; be of good courage, and 
 He SHALL strengthen thine heart." 
 
 So I waited still, and knew that the Word could 
 not fail. 
 
 Next Tuesday we went to Devonshire. I felt 
 more like one paying a visit than like one going to 
 a new home ; but my greatest happiness in the 
 matter was to think of dear Mother being settled 
 in such a haven of rest. How she leant upon 
 Maggie, and how dearly she loved her little grand- 
 children ! I could almost have been jealous of 
 her absorbing devotion to them, only that I re- 
 sisted any such temptation. And Ellie was full of 
 schemes for work in the village and in the home. 
 She meant to be Maggie's governess, she said, 
 and to take the children under her special charge 
 as they grew older. Maggie smiled and acquiesced 
 in everything, but without, I think, any very con- 
 fident expectations as to EUie's capabilities. The 
 child was bright and sweet and happy once again, 
 and much like her old self. But the self-indulgence 
 of long years had left their traces in a character 
 which might have reached a higher type ; and 
 though I do think there was an earnest and con- 
 scientious desire in Ellie's heart to be something
 
 ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS. 335 
 
 more than a merely professing Christian, still she 
 had not lost her childishness, and it was hard to 
 say how much of depth lay beneath that change- 
 ful exterior. 
 
 " Never mind," said Mother gently, when I let 
 slip a little of my regret to her ; "Eilie will grow 
 old quite fast enough. Her real childhood was 
 cut short too soon, and now she is having a taste 
 of it again. I do think there are signs of grovv'ing 
 faith and love down below, Jeannie dear; and we 
 must not kill a feeble plant by pulling it up to 
 examine the roots." 
 
 Mother was right. But I often thought how 
 different was Francey's nature, and how quickly 
 its sanctified beauties had flashed into light, under 
 the constraining power of Heavenly love. The 
 growth of a higher life in Ellie was altogether 
 another affair; not unreal, I trusted, but sluggish 
 and intermittent. 
 
 Well, many a flax smokes long before it breaks 
 into a flame ; and if the Master has patience in 
 waiting and tending, what are we, to dare to look 
 on with feelings of impatience or restless unbelief ?
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 After all, Kathie was not at my wedding. 
 
 Was this the beginning of an answer to my 
 fervent prayer, at any cost to be kept from falling 
 back ? May be so. I think I needed somewhat 
 of the "discipline of disappointment." 
 
 Till then all had been going so smoothly, and 
 arrangements altogether had seemed so satisfac- 
 tory, that we were almost expecting a time of 
 absolutely unalloyed brightness. The alloy came, 
 however, just before my wedding-day, in the shape 
 of a hurried scrawl from Kathie, saying that uncle 
 Claire had been taken dangerously ill, and she 
 could not leave him on any account. 
 
 There was no help for it. I would sooner have 
 lacked the presence of any one of the guests than 
 that of my one and only chosen friend. But she 
 was bound hand and foot to her post. The letter 
 was brave and cheery, like herself, and she would 
 not sadden me by saying how she feared that 
 another week might find her fatherless. So I 
 only knew of our mutual disappointment, and did
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE. 337 
 
 not realise her deeper sorrow. Uncle Claire had 
 often been dangerously ill before, in a sense, and 
 I could not tell how much worse was this attack 
 than usual. 
 
 I remember being startled that day to find how 
 certain little unexpected blunders and " contre- 
 temps" irritated me and tried my patience. Was 
 the old " sensitive" temper, which had so long 
 lain dormant, suddenly to spring up in my happi- 
 ness with its former dominant power ? There was 
 nothing for me but to flee to the never-failing 
 source of strength, and I went apart from the many 
 calls on my attention, and cast myself in helpless- 
 ness at my Master's feet. And though I had often 
 known more loving warmth and joy in my own 
 heart, yet never came the answer more quickly than 
 to that earnest cry. The rest of the afternoon and 
 evening was calm, and I felt my tendency to vexa- 
 tion under control as if held down by a strong and 
 gentle hand — not my own. 
 
 My remembrance of the next day is of some 
 confusion, much quiet happiness, and certain sor- 
 rowful farewells. But I knew I was leaving 
 Mother and Ellie in a home of peaceful bright- 
 ness, such as they had not known for years ; and 
 how could I be sad with Austin by my side ? 
 
 The month following proved bright, as a honey- 
 moon should be, and the neatly mapped-out plan 
 which lay in a corner of my husband's pocket- 
 book was fulfilled almost to the letter. It was a 
 
 23
 
 33^ THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 delightful carrying out of my old girlish dreams of 
 foreign travel — my first tour, and likely to be my 
 last for a good while to come ; for the busy London 
 clergyman, with his very moderate stipend, was 
 not likely to cross the Channel soon again. 
 
 The weeks sped quickly away, yet not too quickly. 
 Pleasant as I found it to travel with Austin, I 
 found it pleasanter still to be in my own home 
 with him. My sensations at first were of a very 
 luxury of happiness. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was a shadow. I did not 
 always acknowledge it even to myself ; yet there 
 it was — a dim faint shadow over my soul, obscur- 
 ing the brightness of the spiritual joys and the 
 strength of the spiritual longings which once I 
 had known. I scarcely knew what was wrong ; — 
 I was only conscious of a vague dissatisfaction 
 and sense of something lacking, which prevented 
 perfect repose. 
 
 Not only was Kathie absent from our wedding, 
 but she could not even welcome me home, as she 
 had hoped to do. I found my way to uncle 
 Claire's next day, unable to rest without a sight 
 of her face ; and she came to meet me in the pas- 
 sage, with clinging hands and eager smile. 
 
 " You dear good Jeannie ! I did not think I could 
 expect you so soon. Father isn't well enough to 
 bear me out of the house yet for more than ten 
 minutes. But you are a bit of refreshment in 
 yourself, you dear creature."
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE. 339 
 
 "Kathie, how thin you are ! " I said anxiously. 
 
 " Ah, it has been a hard bout of nursing. I 
 didn't think he would ever have pulled through." 
 
 Her eyes filled and her cheeks flushed. 
 
 " But you never told me he was so bad." 
 
 " Why should I ? It would have been a thou- 
 sand pities to have spoilt your time abroad. 
 Haven't you found it charming? He was bad, 
 Jeannie. The doctor and I sat by him hour after 
 hour, watching for the last breath. I never knew 
 till then what it would be to lose him and be left 
 all alone in the world." 
 
 " Kathie, could you then say, ' Thy will be 
 done'?" I asked softly, as we stood alone to- 
 gether in the passage. 
 
 She looked up at me steadily, half-wonderingly, 
 for a minute. 
 
 " The trouble did not come," she said slowly. 
 " If it had, my Lord Christ would have given me 
 strength to say those words, Jeannie. I know He 
 would, for I asked Him, and I put the whole 
 thing into His hands, and prayed Him to do His 
 will. If it had not been His will, how could I 
 wish for it ? — father's getting well, I mean. But 
 I don't think I was looking into what I felt. I had 
 too much to do with nursing father, and I was 
 obliged to keep on looking up and up for strength 
 all the time, or I could not have got along at all." 
 " I am sure that was the best way," I answered ; 
 wishing I had myself more of Kathie's childlike
 
 340 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 simplicity. Yet she too had known somewhat of 
 the danger of morbid self-introspection. 
 
 Then we went together into the parlour, where 
 uncle Claire lay feebly on the couch. He seemed 
 to me more like a man dying than a man recover- 
 ing. And grieved though I was to find him thus, 
 and grieved to think of what Kathie's loss would 
 be, yet I did feel that this very blow which threat- 
 ened might prove in the end a happy release for 
 Kathie from her narrow fretting round of duties. 
 She seemed to me so formed for working widely 
 and successfully in the great Harvest-field, as to 
 be almost thrown away in the cramped sphere to 
 which she was confined. 
 
 But if such a path is ever to be Kathie's, it lies 
 yet future. I thought I knew what would be well 
 for her, but Kathie's Master knows better. Uncle 
 Claire still lives on—shattered, feeble, and help- 
 less ; somewhat exacting still, but far more gentle 
 than of old. And Kathie shines on still in her 
 little appointed nook with a light so bright and 
 stedfast that I cannot wish for any change. It 
 might be that elsewhere the shining would not 
 be so clear. 
 
 Sweet, brave, patient Kathie ! I know one sen- 
 tence of Holy Writ which seems just to describe 
 her inner and outer life : 
 
 " Strengthened with all might, according to his 
 glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering 
 with joyfulness."
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE. 34I 
 
 No lower power could thus have transformed 
 her. But Kathie herself cannot see the transfor- 
 mation. If she could she would not be so humble, 
 and then the transformation would be less marked. 
 It sometimes appears to me as if "self" in its 
 ugliness were altogether vanishing out of her life. 
 Would that it might in mine likewise ! 
 
 Three months had not elapsed from my wedding- 
 day before I was in a busy round of parish work 
 and ceaseless toil. Work, not for myself; toil, all 
 for my Master. So I thought — only, may-be, 
 some was for love of my husband, and some be- 
 cause it had to be done, and some because it was 
 expected of me. There was still a something 
 lacking on the inner pathway of life. I found 
 there an atmosphere calm and grey, and wanting 
 the old gleams of light which had been wont to 
 shoot across in golden radiance from beyond the 
 far-off hill-tops. 
 
 I sought and prayed to learn the truth ; and 
 like a flash it came to me at last. Reading my 
 Bible one night I was arrested by certain words 
 in the Book of Revelation : " I know thy works, 
 and thy labour, and thy patience, and how thou 
 canst not bear them which are evil : . . . and 
 hast borne, and hast patience, and for my name's 
 sake hast laboured, and hast not fainted. Never- 
 theless I have Somewhat against thee, because thou 
 
 HAST LEFT THY FIRST LOVE." 
 
 Deeper and deeper sank the solemn voice of
 
 342 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 warning into my soul. Looking back with earnest 
 searching, I knew that my Master had been dearer 
 to me once, that my heart's devotion had been 
 more unreservedly poured out upon Him, that the 
 things of earth had been as nothing in the light of 
 His countenance, that I had once cared for no joys 
 in life without the sense of His presence. 
 
 My "first love!" A love of warmth and fervour, 
 of whole-heartedness and devotion. A love which 
 would do anything, bear anything, give up any- 
 thing, for the Lord Jesus. That is the love here 
 meant. Too often there creeps in later a spirit of 
 expediency and worldly prudence. But if such a 
 love was ever mine, it came to me, I think, not as 
 to many, with the first call to my Saviour, but 
 rather with a later rousing and awakening from a 
 level of Christian life so low and dim and feeble, 
 that I scarcely dare to say, on looking back, how 
 far it was genuine life in Christ at all. 
 
 I knew now, however, what was wanting. But 
 I remembered with joy that this " first love," in 
 its glowing fervour, had been a gift from the hand 
 of my God, and I knew that I might plead at His 
 footstool for a renewal of His gift. I went back 
 to the old sweet promise, " Ask, and ye shall re- 
 ceive." And I asked, and I think I did receive ; 
 for the greyness and the blank passed soon away, 
 and the light from the other land grew clear to my 
 heart once more. 
 
 What more shall I add ? Still in the battle-
 
 THE CLOSE — BUT NOT OF THE BATTLE. 343 
 
 field of life ; still fighting day by day with foes old 
 and new, as each in turn arises to confront me ; 
 yet no longer am I, as of old, a stranger to the 
 song of victory. 
 
 We are all on the battle-field together : Mother 
 and Ellie away in quiet Devonshire ; Kathie be- 
 side her father's sick bed ; Harry and Francey at 
 their noble post of distant duty; Esma just enter- 
 ing upon a new and busy sphere as the wife of our 
 kind friend Mr. Ramsay ; Austin and I in our 
 ceaseless round of city work ; — ay, and even my 
 wee Kathie in her nursery. All are on the same 
 great battle-field, fighting, I trust, under the same 
 Captain, against the same enemies. 
 
 Day and night cease never the clang and clash 
 of the conflict, of well-tempered steel from the 
 armoury of God, as opposed to the dark weapons 
 of evil. But for the dulness of our senses, what 
 sights and sounds might we not see and hear! 
 There is One, however, who knoweth all; and the 
 weakest child-soldier, in the least important corner 
 of the field, has his Captain's eyes as steadily upon 
 him as the mightiest champion in the cause. 
 
 Day and night, year by year, the battle still 
 continues. But the end may even now be near. 
 One by one each soldier lays aside his sword to 
 receive the crown of victory; and a time will come 
 when, from one end to another of the field, the 
 song of triumph shall break forth and the sounds 
 of warfare cease for ever.
 
 344 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LIFE. 
 
 " More than conquerors through him who loved 
 us." But most of us have to " endure" a while 
 first of " hardness, as good soldiers of Jesus 
 Christ." How else might we show our love to 
 Him who bore the bitterness of anguish and the 
 utmost heat of the battle for our sake ? And 
 heaven will be the sweeter at the close. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 UN'WIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.
 
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