Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty One.After Christmas the boys went to school—to the great public school where their father and their elder brother had been educated, and a great quietness fell on the sisters after they went away. It was their first separation since the day their father had been, laid beside their mother on the hillside far away, and they missed them sadly for awhile. They all missed them, but Frederica especially felt lost without the constant sense of responsibility which had rested on her with regard to them since that day. It was well that they still lingered in beautiful Eastwood. Cecilia did not like to think of how dull the days would have been in London at this time. But every one in the large and happy household of Colonel Bentham strove more than ever to interest and amuse them, so as to beguile them from regretful thoughts; and when there came first one letter and then another from the little lads, showing that they were falling more easily and happily than could have been supposed into their right places, and taking the good of the pleasant things in school, even Frederica became content about them, and confessed that it was a relief to know that they were safe and well, and to let the sense of responsibility slip from her for a time.But a greater trial was before her than the parting from their brothers. By-and-by they returned to London, and she and Tessie were soon as earnestly engaged with lessons and masters as could be desired. It was partly from a sense of duty, and from a desire to make the most of the exceptional advantages afforded them, that they worked so well, but they also enjoyed their work. It was made pleasant to them, and they were not allowed to do too much. Walks and drives, visits and sight-seeing prevented their work from becoming monotonous, or from injuring them in any way, and the time to them passed quickly.But Selina drooped. She missed her brothers, and though she shared Frederica’s reading as far as was possible, and enjoyed the sight-seeing at second-hand, still she was not so bright and cheerful as usual; and strange to say, Frederica was not the first to see it Selina’s best time was when they were all together, so that this was not surprising; but Cecilia became anxious about her, and longed for the time when their brother Edgar should be at home again.He came at Easter, and in a day or two declared himself at liberty to do as he pleased for three months at least. After that he was to settle down to the practice of his profession in another part of London, and then there would be no more leisure days for him.“And you are going to make the most of these three months,” said Tessie, “and have a great deal of pleasure.”“I hope so,” said Edgar, but he looked more grave than people usually do who are anticipating three months of pleasure; and when Tessie went on to suggest, that instead of going away by himself, as he had proposed, he should take them all with him, he looked grave still, and said that would be impossible. He could not take them all at this time, but it was his intention to take Selina away for a little while. They all looked grave at that, and there came a look over Frederica’s face which neither he nor Cecilia had ever seen before, but which made Tessie think of the rule of Madame Ascot, and the days when Fred took her own way in spite of her. It would not be right, Edgar went on to say, to interrupt the studies of the others so happily and successfully commenced, for though their company might be agreeable to Selina, it was not necessary to her, as he would care for her, and Miss Agnace was to go with her.Frederica uttered an impatient exclamation. “Studies! In comparison with Selina’s happiness her studies and masters counted for nothing. Selina must come first always. They had never been separated since—since—” Fred could get no further. It was only by a great effort that she kept back her tears. And her brother said gently,—“But if it were to be for Selina’s good that she should go away for a little while, and that you should remain at home, surely you would be willing to deny yourself? At this time it is better for our sister to be in my care, and in the care of Miss Agnace.”“That is because you do not know,” broke in Frederica. “Ask Selina. Let her decide.”“No, we will not ask Selina this time. Of course it will be a trial for her to leave you both; but still it is best.”“And, Fred darling, you will not make the trial harder for her by objecting,” said Cecilia. “Believe me, dear, Edgar is right. You must trust him.”“Edgar does not know,” persisted Frederica. “Selina cannot go alone. It would break her heart. Selina alone! without me or mama—”Frederica was determined she would not cry, and she stopped suddenly. Edgar was very gentle with her, but he was very firm also, and when he forbade her or Tessie alluding to the subject in Selina’s presence till he should give them leave, Frederica rose and walked out of the room, carrying her head very highland with a look on her face that made Cecilia regard her brother anxiously as the door closed upon her. Edgar smiled reassuringly. He was surprised, but he was amused also, Tessie could see as she rose to follow her sister. He looked grave enough in a moment.The case stood thus. Selina was not looking well, and the change was necessary for her, but that was not all. It was of the utmost importance that she should be strong and cheerful just now, because the time had come when her brother hoped to get the opinion of a friend of his, a celebrated oculist who resided in a German city, as to the state of her eyes, and the possibility of something being done to restore to her some measure of sight. The prospect of success was not so assured as to make it wise to say anything about his plans and wishes to his sisters. The suspense would not be good for them, and the trial of remaining behind would be all the greater to Frederica, should she be made aware that her sister might have doubt and anxiety, and perhaps pain and disappointment, to undergo alone. Her being with her sister at such a time would not be good for either of them, he thought; and should his brotherly influence fail, her guardian’s authority must be exercised over Frederica.“But Colonel Bentham’s authority will not be needed. Fred will think better of it; and be reasonable.”But Cecilia was not so sure. “You give her no reasons,” said she. And then she went on to repeat some instances of Frederica’s wilfulness in the old days, of which their sister Caroline had told her, how she used to rule the household, and set Madame Ascot at defiance. Some of these it was not easy to believe, in view of Frederica’s almost uniform gentleness and sweetness since they had known her, but they were doubtless quite true; and remembering her face and air as she walked out of the room, some trouble with her seemed not impossible.“But all the same she must yield,” said her brother.But it was not the wilful little Fred of the old days that had walked out of the room with her head held high and haughtily. She was as angry and indignant as ever the Fred of those days could have been, so angry that she utterly forgot for the moment how dear was the love that had grown up during the last year between her and her brother, or how perfect the confidence she had had in his affection and wisdom until now. She was so angry that she would not let the tears come even when she was alone; and when Tessie ran in upon her, exclaiming indignantly about their brother’s unkindness, Frederica sat with a face that changed from red to white and from white to red every moment, but she did not utter a word. As she listened to her sister, she grew less angry and more unhappy, for there was an echo of triumph mingling with Tessie’s indignation, that smote painfully on Frederica’s heart.“I have been wondering for a long time when all this was to come to an end—your ‘docility and humility,’ your ‘sweet bright gentleness,’ as your friend Captain Clare calls it. Oh, yes, I have been expecting it. It is all very well within reasonable limits, obedience and submission, and all that; but Edgar has not a particle of authority over us, and you can wind Colonel Bentham round your finger, as you used to do with Mr St. Cyr. It is just as well to make a stand about Selina as anything. It must have come some time, and now we shall have the pleasant old days back again.” And so on. Yes, she grew very unhappy as she listened. Were the old times coming back again?—the times when she did not know where to turn to find a friend when anxiety for her little brothers and Tessie made her heart-sick. Obedience! submission! She had not been conscious of any such thing all this time. She had felt so safe, so comforted, so at home with her brother and sister. They had no authority certainly. But would it be a wise or happy thing to take even the smallest of these affairs out of their hands into her own?If only Edgar would be reasonable about Selina! No, she could not part from her. She could bear it for herself; but what could Selina do without her?“I cannot, cannot let her go.”Tessie’s voice startled her again. She was laughing merrily.“I declare, Fred, I could quite have fancied myself at home again. I had forgotten howgrandyou could be;” and she threw back her head with an air, and marched to the door as her sister had done. “You quite frightened Cecilia, I could see. As for Edgar, I think he was laughing a little. He cannot be harder to overcome than Madame Ascot. This ‘turning the other cheek’ is all very well to talk about; but Edgar has no real authority over us, and if you are firm now, Fred, we shall have it all our own way.”Did she want to have it all her own way? Had Edgar no authority over them? Would her father have said that? And without him what was to be done with the brothers or with Tessie, should she grow wilful, as she used to be? And as to “the other cheek”! Had Edgar smitten her on the one cheek? Was she right in resenting what he had planned and what he had said to her? And now here was Tessie laughing and delighted at her anger and her pride. Poor Fred! The very foundations seemed to be removing. The tears she had kept back with such difficulty flowed freely; but all this time she had never uttered a word.“I thought it was all over and at an end, my foolish anger and pride and disobedience, and now, at the very first word of opposition, I am as bad as ever. Oh! if it were anything else, I would give up, and not mind! Hush, Tessie,” she said aloud, “you do not understand. No, you are not to speak to Selina. I must think about it first. Edgar never was unkind before. Perhaps to-morrow he may change his plans.”To-morrow found Frederica not at all well; a restless night had given her a headache; and when she did not appear at breakfast, Edgar went up to see her, only half convinced that real illness was keeping her in her room. She was ill certainly, and very silent, but she was not angry any longer. Selina was with her, and Edgar knew in a moment that nothing had been said between them with regard to the coming separation. He was very gentle and kind, but Fred could not look up and meet his eye, because she had not fought out the battle with herself yet. She had got so far as to acknowledge that it was very ungrateful in her to act and speak as though Edgar had no right to interfere in their affairs, after all his kindness to them. Every hour she had felt more deeply how dearly she loved him, and how entirely she trusted him, and how terrible a thing it would be for them if their brother were to leave them to their own guidance, as she had yesterday wished him to do.But she had not been able during the wakeful night to persuade herself that he was right with regard to Selina. She had thought of many things that she would like to say to him about her to make him change his mind; but when she saw his face in the morning, so kind and yet so firm in its expression, she doubted whether her words would avail, and so she did not look up, and scarcely uttered a word. Tessie waited eagerly to hear what might be said, but she heard nothing, and their brother took her and Selina away with him, leaving Frederica to Miss Agnace’s care. So she had time to think over her trouble, and the longer she thought the more clearly she saw how foolish had been her anger, and how wrong her example to Tessie.Still she could not yield the point in question. Edgar could not know as well as she what was best for Selina. It would be like forsaking her sister, were she to consent to his plan. It would be breaking her promise to her mother, that Selina should always be considered before herself. She could not do it.And yet something made her feel sure that she must do as her brother wished, and feeling confidence in his love and in his wisdom, she thought if it had been anything else she would have yielded to him so gladly. But she lay and turned about restless and feverish, more unhappy than she had ever been since the days of her illness after her father went away. Miss Agnace came in and went out softly, saying little, but very gentle and kind.“Is it something that you cannot tell to your best friend?” she said at last, as she bathed her hot brow with cool water, and smoothed the hair that lay in confusion on the pillow.Frederica gave her a quick look. She longed to ask her about her brother’s plans, but it would not be right to do so. And besides, Miss Agnace might not know, and might not tell her if she did.“After all He has brought you through to these happy days, you are surely not forgetting to bring your trouble to Him, are you?”It was not just the way Miss Agnace was wont to speak; but even Miss Agnace was beginning to see things differently, in the new light that was shining on them, and for a minute Frederica forgot her own trouble, looking at her wistfully.“Are you glad to be here, Miss Agnace? Are you happy here?” said she. “Will you never go away from us any more?”“Oh! as to going away—no, while my young lady needs me,” said Miss Agnace.“Not even if Father Jerome said you must?”The name had not been mentioned for a long time between them. An odd look came over Miss Agnace’s face.“He will not say it,” said she.“Did he wish you to come? I am very glad you came; but was he not afraid to let you come? Was it for our sakes?” said Frederica, wishing to get away from her own troubled thoughts, and speaking very much at random.“My dear, Father Jerome loved you, though you doubted it, and he wished you well always, though perhaps he made mistakes,” said Miss Agnace; “but you are to rest, and not think of anything to vex you, and I will leave you for a little while.”But though Miss Agnace went, Frederica’s troubled thoughts stayed with her, and she said to herself she must find courage to write to Colonel Bentham, and ask him to interfere between her and her brother. Could she ask it? would it do? oh! how helpless and miserable she felt! Suddenly there came into her mind Miss Agnace’s question: “Is it then anything you cannot carry to your best Friend?—to Him who has brought you through all to such happy days?”Had she brought it to Him? Could she bring it? Not her anger, and her pride, and her determination to rebel—to have her own way; but her trouble—her fear for Selina being far away and unhappy. If Edgar did not know what would be best for her, surely Jesus did, and He would help them. But then it might not be in her way. They might have to be separated all the same. Frederica cried bitterly as she thought about it; but she did bring her trouble to her Friend, and the bitterness had all gone out of her tears, and out of her heart too, before she fell asleep. When she woke, her brother was looking down upon her with a very grave face. Frederica smiled, though her tears came again.“I am going to be good,” said she, and she took the hand that rested on hers, and Carried it to her lips.“My darling! my precious little sister!” said her brother, moved by her gentleness as her anger could not move him. “It grieves me sorely to have to grieve you; but trust me, Frederica, this once.”“Ah! must you grieve us? I do trust you: I could bear it, but Selina! I do not think I am vain, but I cannot think what she will do without me,” she pleaded. “No, I am not going to be naughty, and I do trust you—”Edgar soothed her with his touch and his voice. He was very gentle with her.“If I were sure—”“But, darling, if you were sure, there would be no need to trust me. And our Elder Brother—do you think He will forget Selina and you?”“Oh, no,” said Fred, but her tears fell fast. He was very tender with her, and firm too, telling her that he depended on her to make the parting easy to her sister, saying it would only be for a little while, and in the meantime she could not be very unhappy, having many and pleasant duties, and a willing mind. And then there was Tessie, who needed her more even then Selina. And Frederica’s conscience told her that Tessie had been none the better for her influence for the last two days at least.“I will try and be good,” she said, and her brother could not but wonder at her gentleness; and as he went out he said softly to himself, “‘Except ye become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.’”In one sense Frederica’s trouble was over now. Her anger was over, and her rebellion; and in trying to speak cheerfully of their separation, for Selina’s sake, she did much to strengthen herself for the trial. Selina was startled and grieved at the thought of going away from her sisters, but she was gentle and yielding, as she always had been, and never doubted that their brother was wise and right in the plans he had made for them.So she said “Good-bye,” cheerfully enough, and so did the others for that matter; but when she was gone, and Frederica found herself standing looking after the departing carriage, it seemed to her that the feeling of loss and loneliness was more than she could bear.“And now we shall have our drive in the Park,” said Colonel Bentham cheerfully, as though nothing particular had happened, and Selina’s going away was an event of every-day occurrence. But Frederica stood very white and still.“I am—tired—I think. If Tessie would go without me to-day,” said she with difficulty, but she walked very quietly by Captain Clare’s side till they came to the drawing-room door. “I think I must—rest for a little while. Will you excuse me to Colonel Bentham?”She spoke quietly; but when she looked up and met the kind eyes that were looking down on her, she gave a little cry, and ran upstairs into her room, not at all sure that she was not rebellious and angry still. Tessie came in soon, all ready for the drive, and found her sister crying on the bed. She was quite inclined to feel aggrieved at the delay. She went at her sister’s entreaty to carry her excuses to Colonel Bentham. Her guardian seemed quite to understand, and they went out without her.True to her determination to be good, Frederica did not long indulge her tears, and within the hour she came downstairs, and walking sedately into the drawing-room, found Captain Clare waiting for her. Her elaborate cheerfulness was quite as pathetic, he thought, as her grief had been, and so were her fears that her guardian might believe her to be ungrateful for his kindness. Captain Clare laughed at her a little.“You speak as though you were a child to be punished for being naughty by being put in a corner,” said he. “Shall we go and walk? we may meet the carriage, and you can still have your drive.”Frederica hesitated, but only a moment.“You were reading,” said she.“I was waiting for you, and now we must hasten, for the best of the afternoon is passing.”They did not meet the carriage, though they went a long way round, hoping to do so. Frederica was not sorry: she never forgot that walk home in the twilight. As it grew dark she put her hand into that of her friend, as simply as a little child might have done, and for a while she had most of the talk to herself. She told him more than she had ever told any one before about their mother, and their old home and their way of life; and sometimes he smiled, and sometimes he was deeply touched, as she dwelt with quite unconscious pathos on some of the incidents of those days. Her face clouded as they drew near the house.“I am almost afraid to go in,” said she.“Lest you should be naughty again? No, you will not,” said her friend. “See, I will give you something to prevent it: ‘Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.’”“Thank you,” said Frederica, without looking up. “A month is a long time, two months perhaps.”“But it will soon pass, and summer will soon be here, and who knows what summer may bring?”“And this afternoon has not been so bad,” said Frederica.No time after that was so very bad. Frederica kept herself conscientiously busy for one thing, and she kept Tessie busy also. Their friends made pleasures for them. They had walks with Captain Clare which were always delightful, and drives with their sister Cecilia, and one day they went with them to visit their brothers, whose school was not so very far away, and this they enjoyed wonderfully. Frederica, who had had few letters in the course of her life, took great delight in those of her brother Edgar. Besides bringing good news of her sister’s health and happiness, they were full of interest for other reasons, and they never failed to contain just a word or two to remind the sisters at home that all were alike safe in the best keeping.And better than all other helps towards patience and content was the young girl’s trust in Him who had brought them to a safe place. On Him she was learning to rest more lovingly every day. She suffered a good deal at first; but peace came and stayed, not quite the perfect peace promised to them whose trust is entire and full, but even that came later.Tessie watched her sister narrowly, and expressed her opinion of her way of taking it all by little shrugs and laughing protests, in which Frederica sometimes fancied there was a contemptuous echo. But Tessie was subdued at last by her sister’s never-failing gentleness and sweetness, and showed it by devotion to her duties, and by deference to her sister’s wishes in little things.The time of Selina’s absence extended beyond what was first planned. But this was not so great a trial as it seemed beforehand Spring passed into summer before a word was said of their going home, and the time came to leave hot and dusty London, and to return to Eastwood Park again, and the sisters went gladly, though they had no thought of the joyful surprise awaiting them there.

After Christmas the boys went to school—to the great public school where their father and their elder brother had been educated, and a great quietness fell on the sisters after they went away. It was their first separation since the day their father had been, laid beside their mother on the hillside far away, and they missed them sadly for awhile. They all missed them, but Frederica especially felt lost without the constant sense of responsibility which had rested on her with regard to them since that day. It was well that they still lingered in beautiful Eastwood. Cecilia did not like to think of how dull the days would have been in London at this time. But every one in the large and happy household of Colonel Bentham strove more than ever to interest and amuse them, so as to beguile them from regretful thoughts; and when there came first one letter and then another from the little lads, showing that they were falling more easily and happily than could have been supposed into their right places, and taking the good of the pleasant things in school, even Frederica became content about them, and confessed that it was a relief to know that they were safe and well, and to let the sense of responsibility slip from her for a time.

But a greater trial was before her than the parting from their brothers. By-and-by they returned to London, and she and Tessie were soon as earnestly engaged with lessons and masters as could be desired. It was partly from a sense of duty, and from a desire to make the most of the exceptional advantages afforded them, that they worked so well, but they also enjoyed their work. It was made pleasant to them, and they were not allowed to do too much. Walks and drives, visits and sight-seeing prevented their work from becoming monotonous, or from injuring them in any way, and the time to them passed quickly.

But Selina drooped. She missed her brothers, and though she shared Frederica’s reading as far as was possible, and enjoyed the sight-seeing at second-hand, still she was not so bright and cheerful as usual; and strange to say, Frederica was not the first to see it Selina’s best time was when they were all together, so that this was not surprising; but Cecilia became anxious about her, and longed for the time when their brother Edgar should be at home again.

He came at Easter, and in a day or two declared himself at liberty to do as he pleased for three months at least. After that he was to settle down to the practice of his profession in another part of London, and then there would be no more leisure days for him.

“And you are going to make the most of these three months,” said Tessie, “and have a great deal of pleasure.”

“I hope so,” said Edgar, but he looked more grave than people usually do who are anticipating three months of pleasure; and when Tessie went on to suggest, that instead of going away by himself, as he had proposed, he should take them all with him, he looked grave still, and said that would be impossible. He could not take them all at this time, but it was his intention to take Selina away for a little while. They all looked grave at that, and there came a look over Frederica’s face which neither he nor Cecilia had ever seen before, but which made Tessie think of the rule of Madame Ascot, and the days when Fred took her own way in spite of her. It would not be right, Edgar went on to say, to interrupt the studies of the others so happily and successfully commenced, for though their company might be agreeable to Selina, it was not necessary to her, as he would care for her, and Miss Agnace was to go with her.

Frederica uttered an impatient exclamation. “Studies! In comparison with Selina’s happiness her studies and masters counted for nothing. Selina must come first always. They had never been separated since—since—” Fred could get no further. It was only by a great effort that she kept back her tears. And her brother said gently,—

“But if it were to be for Selina’s good that she should go away for a little while, and that you should remain at home, surely you would be willing to deny yourself? At this time it is better for our sister to be in my care, and in the care of Miss Agnace.”

“That is because you do not know,” broke in Frederica. “Ask Selina. Let her decide.”

“No, we will not ask Selina this time. Of course it will be a trial for her to leave you both; but still it is best.”

“And, Fred darling, you will not make the trial harder for her by objecting,” said Cecilia. “Believe me, dear, Edgar is right. You must trust him.”

“Edgar does not know,” persisted Frederica. “Selina cannot go alone. It would break her heart. Selina alone! without me or mama—”

Frederica was determined she would not cry, and she stopped suddenly. Edgar was very gentle with her, but he was very firm also, and when he forbade her or Tessie alluding to the subject in Selina’s presence till he should give them leave, Frederica rose and walked out of the room, carrying her head very highland with a look on her face that made Cecilia regard her brother anxiously as the door closed upon her. Edgar smiled reassuringly. He was surprised, but he was amused also, Tessie could see as she rose to follow her sister. He looked grave enough in a moment.

The case stood thus. Selina was not looking well, and the change was necessary for her, but that was not all. It was of the utmost importance that she should be strong and cheerful just now, because the time had come when her brother hoped to get the opinion of a friend of his, a celebrated oculist who resided in a German city, as to the state of her eyes, and the possibility of something being done to restore to her some measure of sight. The prospect of success was not so assured as to make it wise to say anything about his plans and wishes to his sisters. The suspense would not be good for them, and the trial of remaining behind would be all the greater to Frederica, should she be made aware that her sister might have doubt and anxiety, and perhaps pain and disappointment, to undergo alone. Her being with her sister at such a time would not be good for either of them, he thought; and should his brotherly influence fail, her guardian’s authority must be exercised over Frederica.

“But Colonel Bentham’s authority will not be needed. Fred will think better of it; and be reasonable.”

But Cecilia was not so sure. “You give her no reasons,” said she. And then she went on to repeat some instances of Frederica’s wilfulness in the old days, of which their sister Caroline had told her, how she used to rule the household, and set Madame Ascot at defiance. Some of these it was not easy to believe, in view of Frederica’s almost uniform gentleness and sweetness since they had known her, but they were doubtless quite true; and remembering her face and air as she walked out of the room, some trouble with her seemed not impossible.

“But all the same she must yield,” said her brother.

But it was not the wilful little Fred of the old days that had walked out of the room with her head held high and haughtily. She was as angry and indignant as ever the Fred of those days could have been, so angry that she utterly forgot for the moment how dear was the love that had grown up during the last year between her and her brother, or how perfect the confidence she had had in his affection and wisdom until now. She was so angry that she would not let the tears come even when she was alone; and when Tessie ran in upon her, exclaiming indignantly about their brother’s unkindness, Frederica sat with a face that changed from red to white and from white to red every moment, but she did not utter a word. As she listened to her sister, she grew less angry and more unhappy, for there was an echo of triumph mingling with Tessie’s indignation, that smote painfully on Frederica’s heart.

“I have been wondering for a long time when all this was to come to an end—your ‘docility and humility,’ your ‘sweet bright gentleness,’ as your friend Captain Clare calls it. Oh, yes, I have been expecting it. It is all very well within reasonable limits, obedience and submission, and all that; but Edgar has not a particle of authority over us, and you can wind Colonel Bentham round your finger, as you used to do with Mr St. Cyr. It is just as well to make a stand about Selina as anything. It must have come some time, and now we shall have the pleasant old days back again.” And so on. Yes, she grew very unhappy as she listened. Were the old times coming back again?—the times when she did not know where to turn to find a friend when anxiety for her little brothers and Tessie made her heart-sick. Obedience! submission! She had not been conscious of any such thing all this time. She had felt so safe, so comforted, so at home with her brother and sister. They had no authority certainly. But would it be a wise or happy thing to take even the smallest of these affairs out of their hands into her own?

If only Edgar would be reasonable about Selina! No, she could not part from her. She could bear it for herself; but what could Selina do without her?

“I cannot, cannot let her go.”

Tessie’s voice startled her again. She was laughing merrily.

“I declare, Fred, I could quite have fancied myself at home again. I had forgotten howgrandyou could be;” and she threw back her head with an air, and marched to the door as her sister had done. “You quite frightened Cecilia, I could see. As for Edgar, I think he was laughing a little. He cannot be harder to overcome than Madame Ascot. This ‘turning the other cheek’ is all very well to talk about; but Edgar has no real authority over us, and if you are firm now, Fred, we shall have it all our own way.”

Did she want to have it all her own way? Had Edgar no authority over them? Would her father have said that? And without him what was to be done with the brothers or with Tessie, should she grow wilful, as she used to be? And as to “the other cheek”! Had Edgar smitten her on the one cheek? Was she right in resenting what he had planned and what he had said to her? And now here was Tessie laughing and delighted at her anger and her pride. Poor Fred! The very foundations seemed to be removing. The tears she had kept back with such difficulty flowed freely; but all this time she had never uttered a word.

“I thought it was all over and at an end, my foolish anger and pride and disobedience, and now, at the very first word of opposition, I am as bad as ever. Oh! if it were anything else, I would give up, and not mind! Hush, Tessie,” she said aloud, “you do not understand. No, you are not to speak to Selina. I must think about it first. Edgar never was unkind before. Perhaps to-morrow he may change his plans.”

To-morrow found Frederica not at all well; a restless night had given her a headache; and when she did not appear at breakfast, Edgar went up to see her, only half convinced that real illness was keeping her in her room. She was ill certainly, and very silent, but she was not angry any longer. Selina was with her, and Edgar knew in a moment that nothing had been said between them with regard to the coming separation. He was very gentle and kind, but Fred could not look up and meet his eye, because she had not fought out the battle with herself yet. She had got so far as to acknowledge that it was very ungrateful in her to act and speak as though Edgar had no right to interfere in their affairs, after all his kindness to them. Every hour she had felt more deeply how dearly she loved him, and how entirely she trusted him, and how terrible a thing it would be for them if their brother were to leave them to their own guidance, as she had yesterday wished him to do.

But she had not been able during the wakeful night to persuade herself that he was right with regard to Selina. She had thought of many things that she would like to say to him about her to make him change his mind; but when she saw his face in the morning, so kind and yet so firm in its expression, she doubted whether her words would avail, and so she did not look up, and scarcely uttered a word. Tessie waited eagerly to hear what might be said, but she heard nothing, and their brother took her and Selina away with him, leaving Frederica to Miss Agnace’s care. So she had time to think over her trouble, and the longer she thought the more clearly she saw how foolish had been her anger, and how wrong her example to Tessie.

Still she could not yield the point in question. Edgar could not know as well as she what was best for Selina. It would be like forsaking her sister, were she to consent to his plan. It would be breaking her promise to her mother, that Selina should always be considered before herself. She could not do it.

And yet something made her feel sure that she must do as her brother wished, and feeling confidence in his love and in his wisdom, she thought if it had been anything else she would have yielded to him so gladly. But she lay and turned about restless and feverish, more unhappy than she had ever been since the days of her illness after her father went away. Miss Agnace came in and went out softly, saying little, but very gentle and kind.

“Is it something that you cannot tell to your best friend?” she said at last, as she bathed her hot brow with cool water, and smoothed the hair that lay in confusion on the pillow.

Frederica gave her a quick look. She longed to ask her about her brother’s plans, but it would not be right to do so. And besides, Miss Agnace might not know, and might not tell her if she did.

“After all He has brought you through to these happy days, you are surely not forgetting to bring your trouble to Him, are you?”

It was not just the way Miss Agnace was wont to speak; but even Miss Agnace was beginning to see things differently, in the new light that was shining on them, and for a minute Frederica forgot her own trouble, looking at her wistfully.

“Are you glad to be here, Miss Agnace? Are you happy here?” said she. “Will you never go away from us any more?”

“Oh! as to going away—no, while my young lady needs me,” said Miss Agnace.

“Not even if Father Jerome said you must?”

The name had not been mentioned for a long time between them. An odd look came over Miss Agnace’s face.

“He will not say it,” said she.

“Did he wish you to come? I am very glad you came; but was he not afraid to let you come? Was it for our sakes?” said Frederica, wishing to get away from her own troubled thoughts, and speaking very much at random.

“My dear, Father Jerome loved you, though you doubted it, and he wished you well always, though perhaps he made mistakes,” said Miss Agnace; “but you are to rest, and not think of anything to vex you, and I will leave you for a little while.”

But though Miss Agnace went, Frederica’s troubled thoughts stayed with her, and she said to herself she must find courage to write to Colonel Bentham, and ask him to interfere between her and her brother. Could she ask it? would it do? oh! how helpless and miserable she felt! Suddenly there came into her mind Miss Agnace’s question: “Is it then anything you cannot carry to your best Friend?—to Him who has brought you through all to such happy days?”

Had she brought it to Him? Could she bring it? Not her anger, and her pride, and her determination to rebel—to have her own way; but her trouble—her fear for Selina being far away and unhappy. If Edgar did not know what would be best for her, surely Jesus did, and He would help them. But then it might not be in her way. They might have to be separated all the same. Frederica cried bitterly as she thought about it; but she did bring her trouble to her Friend, and the bitterness had all gone out of her tears, and out of her heart too, before she fell asleep. When she woke, her brother was looking down upon her with a very grave face. Frederica smiled, though her tears came again.

“I am going to be good,” said she, and she took the hand that rested on hers, and Carried it to her lips.

“My darling! my precious little sister!” said her brother, moved by her gentleness as her anger could not move him. “It grieves me sorely to have to grieve you; but trust me, Frederica, this once.”

“Ah! must you grieve us? I do trust you: I could bear it, but Selina! I do not think I am vain, but I cannot think what she will do without me,” she pleaded. “No, I am not going to be naughty, and I do trust you—”

Edgar soothed her with his touch and his voice. He was very gentle with her.

“If I were sure—”

“But, darling, if you were sure, there would be no need to trust me. And our Elder Brother—do you think He will forget Selina and you?”

“Oh, no,” said Fred, but her tears fell fast. He was very tender with her, and firm too, telling her that he depended on her to make the parting easy to her sister, saying it would only be for a little while, and in the meantime she could not be very unhappy, having many and pleasant duties, and a willing mind. And then there was Tessie, who needed her more even then Selina. And Frederica’s conscience told her that Tessie had been none the better for her influence for the last two days at least.

“I will try and be good,” she said, and her brother could not but wonder at her gentleness; and as he went out he said softly to himself, “‘Except ye become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.’”

In one sense Frederica’s trouble was over now. Her anger was over, and her rebellion; and in trying to speak cheerfully of their separation, for Selina’s sake, she did much to strengthen herself for the trial. Selina was startled and grieved at the thought of going away from her sisters, but she was gentle and yielding, as she always had been, and never doubted that their brother was wise and right in the plans he had made for them.

So she said “Good-bye,” cheerfully enough, and so did the others for that matter; but when she was gone, and Frederica found herself standing looking after the departing carriage, it seemed to her that the feeling of loss and loneliness was more than she could bear.

“And now we shall have our drive in the Park,” said Colonel Bentham cheerfully, as though nothing particular had happened, and Selina’s going away was an event of every-day occurrence. But Frederica stood very white and still.

“I am—tired—I think. If Tessie would go without me to-day,” said she with difficulty, but she walked very quietly by Captain Clare’s side till they came to the drawing-room door. “I think I must—rest for a little while. Will you excuse me to Colonel Bentham?”

She spoke quietly; but when she looked up and met the kind eyes that were looking down on her, she gave a little cry, and ran upstairs into her room, not at all sure that she was not rebellious and angry still. Tessie came in soon, all ready for the drive, and found her sister crying on the bed. She was quite inclined to feel aggrieved at the delay. She went at her sister’s entreaty to carry her excuses to Colonel Bentham. Her guardian seemed quite to understand, and they went out without her.

True to her determination to be good, Frederica did not long indulge her tears, and within the hour she came downstairs, and walking sedately into the drawing-room, found Captain Clare waiting for her. Her elaborate cheerfulness was quite as pathetic, he thought, as her grief had been, and so were her fears that her guardian might believe her to be ungrateful for his kindness. Captain Clare laughed at her a little.

“You speak as though you were a child to be punished for being naughty by being put in a corner,” said he. “Shall we go and walk? we may meet the carriage, and you can still have your drive.”

Frederica hesitated, but only a moment.

“You were reading,” said she.

“I was waiting for you, and now we must hasten, for the best of the afternoon is passing.”

They did not meet the carriage, though they went a long way round, hoping to do so. Frederica was not sorry: she never forgot that walk home in the twilight. As it grew dark she put her hand into that of her friend, as simply as a little child might have done, and for a while she had most of the talk to herself. She told him more than she had ever told any one before about their mother, and their old home and their way of life; and sometimes he smiled, and sometimes he was deeply touched, as she dwelt with quite unconscious pathos on some of the incidents of those days. Her face clouded as they drew near the house.

“I am almost afraid to go in,” said she.

“Lest you should be naughty again? No, you will not,” said her friend. “See, I will give you something to prevent it: ‘Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.’”

“Thank you,” said Frederica, without looking up. “A month is a long time, two months perhaps.”

“But it will soon pass, and summer will soon be here, and who knows what summer may bring?”

“And this afternoon has not been so bad,” said Frederica.

No time after that was so very bad. Frederica kept herself conscientiously busy for one thing, and she kept Tessie busy also. Their friends made pleasures for them. They had walks with Captain Clare which were always delightful, and drives with their sister Cecilia, and one day they went with them to visit their brothers, whose school was not so very far away, and this they enjoyed wonderfully. Frederica, who had had few letters in the course of her life, took great delight in those of her brother Edgar. Besides bringing good news of her sister’s health and happiness, they were full of interest for other reasons, and they never failed to contain just a word or two to remind the sisters at home that all were alike safe in the best keeping.

And better than all other helps towards patience and content was the young girl’s trust in Him who had brought them to a safe place. On Him she was learning to rest more lovingly every day. She suffered a good deal at first; but peace came and stayed, not quite the perfect peace promised to them whose trust is entire and full, but even that came later.

Tessie watched her sister narrowly, and expressed her opinion of her way of taking it all by little shrugs and laughing protests, in which Frederica sometimes fancied there was a contemptuous echo. But Tessie was subdued at last by her sister’s never-failing gentleness and sweetness, and showed it by devotion to her duties, and by deference to her sister’s wishes in little things.

The time of Selina’s absence extended beyond what was first planned. But this was not so great a trial as it seemed beforehand Spring passed into summer before a word was said of their going home, and the time came to leave hot and dusty London, and to return to Eastwood Park again, and the sisters went gladly, though they had no thought of the joyful surprise awaiting them there.

Chapter Twenty Two.If Eastwood had been beautiful to the eyes of the sisters when seen under Christmas skies, what was it now in the prime of summer? The pony carriage awaited them at the station, and in it they drove to the Park the nearest way through the loveliest lanes, in the hedges of which Tessie counted nearly a score of different green growing things besides honeysuckle and foxgloves and bluebells and many a flower that she could not name. How wide and still the Park was, with only green grass and great trees to see at first, and by-and-by shrubbery, and then flowers, and then the house itself came in sight. There were open doors and windows, and people coming and going over the lawn, and Grandmamma Bentham sitting in a garden chair, in full sight of the gate.Some one was coming to meet them, as the carriage stopped at the east gate, and they came in. Some one! There were many people. Colonel Bentham was there, and Captain Clare, and Everard, and their brothers Charlie and Hubert. But “some one” was Selina, not led by Miss Agnace, as might have seemed natural, not led by any one, though Everard Bentham walked at a little distance from her, regarding her with the strangest wondering smile upon his face. Their brother Edgar was there too, a little in advance of the rest. But Selina walked alone, and came forward to them, holding her hand a little out before her, as she always used to do, walking softly and slowly to the very gate, for Frederica stood still and waited. Tessie waited too a moment, and then sprang forward with a cry.“Selina! Do you see me? Oh! Fred. Oh! mama! mama?”And then she clasped and kissed her, clinging to her, and sobbing wildly, moved as no one had ever seen the sharp little Tessie moved before.“Gently, Tessie love,” said her guardian, putting his arms about her, and drawing her aside from the rest. Frederica stood still and white at the gate, so still and white that her brother Edgar drawing near looked anxiously at her. But she only looked at Selina, who paused at a little distance.“Frederica,” she said, “I can see you.”Then Frederica awoke out of her dream; but before she sprang forward to clasp her sister, she turned and kissed the hand her brother had laid on her shoulder. She did not cry out as Tessie had done, nor speak a word, but she held her sister’s hand firmly as they walked towards the house, looking at her with eyes in which the wonder hardly left room for the pleasure to appear.The meeting had not happened just as their elder brother had desired and planned. He had meant to prepare his sisters for the happy change in Selina, but perhaps it happened just as well. They were left very much to themselves for the rest of the day; and as their way was at such times, they talked in their mother tongue fast and eagerly. That is, Tessie and the little brothers talked, and Selina also, who had much to tell them, though she told it in few words. The beginning and the end of all was her brother Edgar’s kindness to her during the time she had been away.As to how it all came about—how through the wonderful skill, and unfailing gentle care of her brother’s friend, and of her brother as well, the blessed gift of sight was restored to her, need not be told here. The sweet blue eyes looked just as they had always looked, but there was light in them now. Her face was changed. It was not so peaceful and serener—it could hardly be brighter than it used to be. But it had an expectant look, and its expression varied every moment. Her constant movements towards this and that, in her attempts at a nearer acquaintance with things which she had hitherto only known by touch or by sound, gave her an air of restlessness not at all like Selina, and for a little while Frederica watched her doubtfully. But when Edgar came among them, hushing the eager buzz of talk, and saying gently to Selina that she had seen enough for one day, the old look came back, sweet and serene, and she lay down at his bidding, with closed eyes and a smile on her lips that reassured her sisters. And then Edgar said in response to the brightening of Frederica’s face,—“Yes, it is a new world to her. But she has had the best things all along—the peace and the joy—and she is not going to lose them because she can see. I think you may let yourself be glad for her.”“Yes, I am glad! for her,” said Frederica gravely, “very glad, I think; or I shall be glad by-and-by.”“Are you sure you are glad now?” said Captain Clare to her when a few days had passed, and they had in some measure become accustomed to the knowledge that Selina could see; “because I do not think you always look very glad.”“I am glad for Selina, I am glad for us all: But then, you see, I do not quite know what I am going to do with myself and my life now,” said she gravely. “I have it all to plan over again, now that Selina will not need me to take care of her.”“You need not be afraid, I think,” said her friend. “Your work will come to you; and indeed, your sister needs you as much as ever. She does not seem to be able to do without you.”“She likes to look at me, because I am like mama, she says. She has not forgotten mama all these years since she was a little child. And I am to teach her all I know; and that will not take me long,” added she, laughing. “And besides, she has been learning all the time, though not with her eyes. Oh, yes! I am glad!”In the midst of their rejoicing Mr St. Cyr came to Eastwood Park; and if Frederica had had her choice of all the pleasant things that might happen to them, she would certainly have chosen this. It was almost like being at home again, and having the old times back. Not but that they were all quite content at Eastwood; but their old friend, who had also been their mother’s friend, was very welcome and dear. They had some things to say to him that it would not have been easy to say to any one else; and his odd ways with them, sometimes merry and sometimes grave, always old-fashioned and friendly, had a wonderful charm for them all, and even for those who were looking on.Frederica no longer doubted her joy over her sister when she presented her to Mr St. Cyr. Her tears fell, it is true, in a sudden shower, as she said to him, “If mama had only known!” But her tears were soon dry; and in his society, responding to his quaint ways and speeches, she grew more talkative and merry than ever her English friends had seen her before. She was more like the Fred who used to drive “Jack and Jill,” and amuse the children in Miss Robina’s orchard, than like the grave little monitress of her brothers and Tessie, inclined to be careful and troubled about many things.Mr St. Cyr stayed at Eastwood till the summer days began to grow short, and then he went away, not to Canada, but to some mild climate, for another winter, till his health should be more firmly re-established. It was quite as well, for the peace of mind of the young people, that he should have so decided; for they might have longed to return with him, had he been going home.If I were to carry my story over the next three years, I should have little more to say than this: they were happy and profitable years for them all. Selina learned all that Frederica could teach her, and some things besides. Sometimes they were in London, and at Christmas times and during the summer they were at beautiful Eastwood. They went through some of the prettiest parts of England with their brothers, to their great delight; and after a time their travels extended beyond England. They saw just what other travellers see, and enjoyed it more than most travellers do, being young and full of life, with no weight of care pressing upon them.And after their travels were over they began seriously to consider and plan what their life-work was to be, and on which side of the sea it was to be done. Selina still spoke of the blind old people and little children whom she would like to gather into their old home, to care for and to teach. But her plans went farther than these now.“For surely,” said she, “if we were to tell our people about Jesus and all He has done for them, they would turn to Him rather than to those who bid them look to Mary and the Saints in time of need. It is because they do not know Him that they look to be saved in some other way, and I would like to teach them. It is at home that we ought to be, Miss Agnace, is it not?”But Miss Agnace had little to say, knowing better than they all that would make it impossible for these young girls to influence directly any one among a people so docile in the hands of their spiritual guides.“God will prepare your work for you,” said Miss Agnace gravely. “It matters little where it is, so that it is done for Him. We must wait and see.”Selina’s work came to her in an unexpected way, but by a sure token she knew it to be God-given work when it came. It was no new work. Ever since the happy Christmas-time when the blind girl went softly about the great house at Eastwood, and sat in the sunshine in Grandmamma Bentham’s garden, she had been doing a good work for Everard Bentham. Her influence was exerted quite unconsciously. She did not know how much every gentle word of hers meant to him, how dear she became to him day by day. But when he left his father’s house after that time, it was with a new resolve for the future—to the living of a new life, to a new end. Three years of earnest devotion to the duties of his profession, and to the still higher duties of a Christian gentleman, had placed him on different ground from that which he had occupied in the days when his father had suffered deep anxiety with regard to him. Edgar Vane had always loved him, now he respected and trusted him; and when he found courage to ask Selina to become his wife, neither her guardian nor her brother said him nay. Selina had no doubt then on which side of the sea her work was to lie.All their friends were surprised when it came to be known that Captain Clare had persuaded Frederica to share a soldier’s fortunes as his wife. Not that it needed much persuasion. For though he was older and graver than she, one who might be thought little likely to take a young girl’s fancy, Frederica knew his worth, and had long loved him, first as her brother’s friend, and then as her own. Her husband took her to Canada for a time, where his regiment was stationed, and Tessie accompanied them. Selina and her husband also went with them for a summer holiday.And so Selina saw her old home, as Edgar had foretold. It was she who, through the lifting morning mists, first caught sight of the city roofs and the cathedral towers, and the mountain beyond, beautiful with the level light of the sunrise on them. She saw her old home, and the two graves, and the faces of some people who had only been as names to her in the old days. She saw her home, and for a time she wished she had not seen it, but that she had allowed it still to stand in her memory as the sweetest and loveliest spot on earth, made beautiful in her thought by the remembrance of her mother and of all they had been to each other there.For the old home was changed. The great warehouses pressed closer and closer upon it. The garden had been encroached upon, and the shadows of great chimneys and workshops darkened the lawn. It was very little like the home she had been remembering so lovely all these years. It was little like home to many of them now.There were few people that they remembered well. They saw Miss Robina again, but her mother was dead, and so was Mistress Campbell. Madame Precoe was very friendly with them, in her unpleasant way. She smiled, and was polite, and spoke softly to them, but she never allowed them to forget that she believed them to have wandered far from the truth, and that days of darkness awaited them.Father Jerome did not come to see them, but one day Frederica met him in the street. He had grown very old and bowed, and walked wearily, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, so that he did not see her when she passed. For the moment she was glad, but afterwards she could not forget his face, nor the look it wore,—a look not peaceful, but silent—blank—unresponsive.Mr St. Cyr was home by this time, and they saw him often. But he would not speak much about his brother.“He is not happy,” said he; “but that is a small matter. I pray God to give him His peace.”And these young people, who had only just escaped great suffering and sorrow at his hand, remembering all the way by which they had been led and guided since then, could only join heartily in the prayer that God’s peace might indeed come upon him, and God’s light as well.Selina and her husband had only a summer holiday to give to her native country, and they did not linger long in M—. Selina had been glad to come, but she was not sorry to go. On the spot she did not find it easy to identify herself with the little blind child who had lived so happily with her mother there. She seemed to herself to be a different person now. She might have been quite content to remain, if her lot had been cast in her old home, but she returned gladly to the land of her adoption. Miss Agnace returned with her. Whether she asked and obtained leave from those whom in former days she had vowed to obey, or whether she broke her bonds of her own free will, no one asked her. She is happy in the loving service of one whom she so faithfully cared for when she was in need of care, and happier still in the higher service of a Lord and Master whom she has better learned to know.Tessie stayed in Canada with her sister Caroline; and when the brothers have thoroughly prepared themselves for the work that awaits them, one or both of them may join her there. They both give fair promise that they mean to do faithfully that which is given them to do.Frederica’s work lies wherever her husband’s duty calls him. It is among the women and the little children of the regiment, who need her care; and the same gentle brightness that endeared her to her friends in the old days, makes her a messenger of blessing to many a suffering soul. The message that brought peace to the troubled heart of her mother, when the shadows of the valley of death began to darken around her, has—spoken by Frederica’s lips—brought peace to many a troubled heart since then.This is her work, and her happiness as well, and it does not matter on which side of the sea such work is done.

If Eastwood had been beautiful to the eyes of the sisters when seen under Christmas skies, what was it now in the prime of summer? The pony carriage awaited them at the station, and in it they drove to the Park the nearest way through the loveliest lanes, in the hedges of which Tessie counted nearly a score of different green growing things besides honeysuckle and foxgloves and bluebells and many a flower that she could not name. How wide and still the Park was, with only green grass and great trees to see at first, and by-and-by shrubbery, and then flowers, and then the house itself came in sight. There were open doors and windows, and people coming and going over the lawn, and Grandmamma Bentham sitting in a garden chair, in full sight of the gate.

Some one was coming to meet them, as the carriage stopped at the east gate, and they came in. Some one! There were many people. Colonel Bentham was there, and Captain Clare, and Everard, and their brothers Charlie and Hubert. But “some one” was Selina, not led by Miss Agnace, as might have seemed natural, not led by any one, though Everard Bentham walked at a little distance from her, regarding her with the strangest wondering smile upon his face. Their brother Edgar was there too, a little in advance of the rest. But Selina walked alone, and came forward to them, holding her hand a little out before her, as she always used to do, walking softly and slowly to the very gate, for Frederica stood still and waited. Tessie waited too a moment, and then sprang forward with a cry.

“Selina! Do you see me? Oh! Fred. Oh! mama! mama?”

And then she clasped and kissed her, clinging to her, and sobbing wildly, moved as no one had ever seen the sharp little Tessie moved before.

“Gently, Tessie love,” said her guardian, putting his arms about her, and drawing her aside from the rest. Frederica stood still and white at the gate, so still and white that her brother Edgar drawing near looked anxiously at her. But she only looked at Selina, who paused at a little distance.

“Frederica,” she said, “I can see you.”

Then Frederica awoke out of her dream; but before she sprang forward to clasp her sister, she turned and kissed the hand her brother had laid on her shoulder. She did not cry out as Tessie had done, nor speak a word, but she held her sister’s hand firmly as they walked towards the house, looking at her with eyes in which the wonder hardly left room for the pleasure to appear.

The meeting had not happened just as their elder brother had desired and planned. He had meant to prepare his sisters for the happy change in Selina, but perhaps it happened just as well. They were left very much to themselves for the rest of the day; and as their way was at such times, they talked in their mother tongue fast and eagerly. That is, Tessie and the little brothers talked, and Selina also, who had much to tell them, though she told it in few words. The beginning and the end of all was her brother Edgar’s kindness to her during the time she had been away.

As to how it all came about—how through the wonderful skill, and unfailing gentle care of her brother’s friend, and of her brother as well, the blessed gift of sight was restored to her, need not be told here. The sweet blue eyes looked just as they had always looked, but there was light in them now. Her face was changed. It was not so peaceful and serener—it could hardly be brighter than it used to be. But it had an expectant look, and its expression varied every moment. Her constant movements towards this and that, in her attempts at a nearer acquaintance with things which she had hitherto only known by touch or by sound, gave her an air of restlessness not at all like Selina, and for a little while Frederica watched her doubtfully. But when Edgar came among them, hushing the eager buzz of talk, and saying gently to Selina that she had seen enough for one day, the old look came back, sweet and serene, and she lay down at his bidding, with closed eyes and a smile on her lips that reassured her sisters. And then Edgar said in response to the brightening of Frederica’s face,—

“Yes, it is a new world to her. But she has had the best things all along—the peace and the joy—and she is not going to lose them because she can see. I think you may let yourself be glad for her.”

“Yes, I am glad! for her,” said Frederica gravely, “very glad, I think; or I shall be glad by-and-by.”

“Are you sure you are glad now?” said Captain Clare to her when a few days had passed, and they had in some measure become accustomed to the knowledge that Selina could see; “because I do not think you always look very glad.”

“I am glad for Selina, I am glad for us all: But then, you see, I do not quite know what I am going to do with myself and my life now,” said she gravely. “I have it all to plan over again, now that Selina will not need me to take care of her.”

“You need not be afraid, I think,” said her friend. “Your work will come to you; and indeed, your sister needs you as much as ever. She does not seem to be able to do without you.”

“She likes to look at me, because I am like mama, she says. She has not forgotten mama all these years since she was a little child. And I am to teach her all I know; and that will not take me long,” added she, laughing. “And besides, she has been learning all the time, though not with her eyes. Oh, yes! I am glad!”

In the midst of their rejoicing Mr St. Cyr came to Eastwood Park; and if Frederica had had her choice of all the pleasant things that might happen to them, she would certainly have chosen this. It was almost like being at home again, and having the old times back. Not but that they were all quite content at Eastwood; but their old friend, who had also been their mother’s friend, was very welcome and dear. They had some things to say to him that it would not have been easy to say to any one else; and his odd ways with them, sometimes merry and sometimes grave, always old-fashioned and friendly, had a wonderful charm for them all, and even for those who were looking on.

Frederica no longer doubted her joy over her sister when she presented her to Mr St. Cyr. Her tears fell, it is true, in a sudden shower, as she said to him, “If mama had only known!” But her tears were soon dry; and in his society, responding to his quaint ways and speeches, she grew more talkative and merry than ever her English friends had seen her before. She was more like the Fred who used to drive “Jack and Jill,” and amuse the children in Miss Robina’s orchard, than like the grave little monitress of her brothers and Tessie, inclined to be careful and troubled about many things.

Mr St. Cyr stayed at Eastwood till the summer days began to grow short, and then he went away, not to Canada, but to some mild climate, for another winter, till his health should be more firmly re-established. It was quite as well, for the peace of mind of the young people, that he should have so decided; for they might have longed to return with him, had he been going home.

If I were to carry my story over the next three years, I should have little more to say than this: they were happy and profitable years for them all. Selina learned all that Frederica could teach her, and some things besides. Sometimes they were in London, and at Christmas times and during the summer they were at beautiful Eastwood. They went through some of the prettiest parts of England with their brothers, to their great delight; and after a time their travels extended beyond England. They saw just what other travellers see, and enjoyed it more than most travellers do, being young and full of life, with no weight of care pressing upon them.

And after their travels were over they began seriously to consider and plan what their life-work was to be, and on which side of the sea it was to be done. Selina still spoke of the blind old people and little children whom she would like to gather into their old home, to care for and to teach. But her plans went farther than these now.

“For surely,” said she, “if we were to tell our people about Jesus and all He has done for them, they would turn to Him rather than to those who bid them look to Mary and the Saints in time of need. It is because they do not know Him that they look to be saved in some other way, and I would like to teach them. It is at home that we ought to be, Miss Agnace, is it not?”

But Miss Agnace had little to say, knowing better than they all that would make it impossible for these young girls to influence directly any one among a people so docile in the hands of their spiritual guides.

“God will prepare your work for you,” said Miss Agnace gravely. “It matters little where it is, so that it is done for Him. We must wait and see.”

Selina’s work came to her in an unexpected way, but by a sure token she knew it to be God-given work when it came. It was no new work. Ever since the happy Christmas-time when the blind girl went softly about the great house at Eastwood, and sat in the sunshine in Grandmamma Bentham’s garden, she had been doing a good work for Everard Bentham. Her influence was exerted quite unconsciously. She did not know how much every gentle word of hers meant to him, how dear she became to him day by day. But when he left his father’s house after that time, it was with a new resolve for the future—to the living of a new life, to a new end. Three years of earnest devotion to the duties of his profession, and to the still higher duties of a Christian gentleman, had placed him on different ground from that which he had occupied in the days when his father had suffered deep anxiety with regard to him. Edgar Vane had always loved him, now he respected and trusted him; and when he found courage to ask Selina to become his wife, neither her guardian nor her brother said him nay. Selina had no doubt then on which side of the sea her work was to lie.

All their friends were surprised when it came to be known that Captain Clare had persuaded Frederica to share a soldier’s fortunes as his wife. Not that it needed much persuasion. For though he was older and graver than she, one who might be thought little likely to take a young girl’s fancy, Frederica knew his worth, and had long loved him, first as her brother’s friend, and then as her own. Her husband took her to Canada for a time, where his regiment was stationed, and Tessie accompanied them. Selina and her husband also went with them for a summer holiday.

And so Selina saw her old home, as Edgar had foretold. It was she who, through the lifting morning mists, first caught sight of the city roofs and the cathedral towers, and the mountain beyond, beautiful with the level light of the sunrise on them. She saw her old home, and the two graves, and the faces of some people who had only been as names to her in the old days. She saw her home, and for a time she wished she had not seen it, but that she had allowed it still to stand in her memory as the sweetest and loveliest spot on earth, made beautiful in her thought by the remembrance of her mother and of all they had been to each other there.

For the old home was changed. The great warehouses pressed closer and closer upon it. The garden had been encroached upon, and the shadows of great chimneys and workshops darkened the lawn. It was very little like the home she had been remembering so lovely all these years. It was little like home to many of them now.

There were few people that they remembered well. They saw Miss Robina again, but her mother was dead, and so was Mistress Campbell. Madame Precoe was very friendly with them, in her unpleasant way. She smiled, and was polite, and spoke softly to them, but she never allowed them to forget that she believed them to have wandered far from the truth, and that days of darkness awaited them.

Father Jerome did not come to see them, but one day Frederica met him in the street. He had grown very old and bowed, and walked wearily, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, so that he did not see her when she passed. For the moment she was glad, but afterwards she could not forget his face, nor the look it wore,—a look not peaceful, but silent—blank—unresponsive.

Mr St. Cyr was home by this time, and they saw him often. But he would not speak much about his brother.

“He is not happy,” said he; “but that is a small matter. I pray God to give him His peace.”

And these young people, who had only just escaped great suffering and sorrow at his hand, remembering all the way by which they had been led and guided since then, could only join heartily in the prayer that God’s peace might indeed come upon him, and God’s light as well.

Selina and her husband had only a summer holiday to give to her native country, and they did not linger long in M—. Selina had been glad to come, but she was not sorry to go. On the spot she did not find it easy to identify herself with the little blind child who had lived so happily with her mother there. She seemed to herself to be a different person now. She might have been quite content to remain, if her lot had been cast in her old home, but she returned gladly to the land of her adoption. Miss Agnace returned with her. Whether she asked and obtained leave from those whom in former days she had vowed to obey, or whether she broke her bonds of her own free will, no one asked her. She is happy in the loving service of one whom she so faithfully cared for when she was in need of care, and happier still in the higher service of a Lord and Master whom she has better learned to know.

Tessie stayed in Canada with her sister Caroline; and when the brothers have thoroughly prepared themselves for the work that awaits them, one or both of them may join her there. They both give fair promise that they mean to do faithfully that which is given them to do.

Frederica’s work lies wherever her husband’s duty calls him. It is among the women and the little children of the regiment, who need her care; and the same gentle brightness that endeared her to her friends in the old days, makes her a messenger of blessing to many a suffering soul. The message that brought peace to the troubled heart of her mother, when the shadows of the valley of death began to darken around her, has—spoken by Frederica’s lips—brought peace to many a troubled heart since then.

This is her work, and her happiness as well, and it does not matter on which side of the sea such work is done.

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