"I am an old woman, and no one cares for me," she thought. "The love I might have had, I deliberately put away. I should not be lonely to-day, if I had not cast Margaret aside when she married. How she wept when I said I would never willingly look on her face again, and I thought it was my money she was regretting, not me!"
Aloud she said:
"Does Mr. Maloney hold a children's service every Sunday afternoon, Barnes?"
Then, as Barnes assented, she continued: "I have heard high praises of his preaching, and I should like to hear one of his sermons. If I go to St. John's next Sunday afternoon, will you accompany me?"
"Certainly, ma'am," Barnes responded promptly, her face showing the intense amazement she felt. She regarded her mistress with anxious scrutiny, marvelling at the softened expression on her countenance. She hoped she was not going to be ill again.
"Perhaps we shall see Miss Peggy there," she proceeded; "but, if so, I expect her mother will be with her. I suppose you will not speak to them, ma'am?"
"I cannot tell," Miss Leighton answered musingly. "I—I shall be guided by circumstances."
"Oh, ma'am!" cried Barnes eagerly. "Don't be angry with me for saying this; but, if you could bring yourself to forgive Mrs. Pringle—"
"That will do," broke in Miss Leighton with a return of her usual imperious manner. "I can imagine what you were about to say. No, I'm not angry. You're a well-meaning soul, Barnes, but—you may go!"
Barnes needed no second bidding. She slipped quietly out of the room, fearing she had done more harm than good; whilst Miss Leighton leaned back in her easy chair, a prey to anxious thoughts. She had said she would go to St. John's on the following Sunday, and she meant to keep her word, for she really was curious to hear Mr. Maloney preach, and she hoped she might at any rate catch a glimpse of Peggy, though she determined, now, that she would not speak to her. How could she ignore the mother and notice the child?
CONCLUSION
IT was Sunday afternoon. The children's service at St. John's was nearly at an end; and now the Vicar had ascended into the pulpit to address a few simple words to his congregation before giving out the number of the concluding hymn. He took for his text the Saviour's promise, "He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness," and, in the first place, reminded his hearers that in a very few days, they would be commemorating the birth of Him Who is called "The Light of the World." Would they not try to follow Him? he asked.
Then he pictured the childhood of Jesus, and many a pair of bright young eyes grew earnest and thoughtful as their owners' interest was chained by the story which the Vicar knew so well how to tell, pointing out to the children that the Christ-Child should be their pattern, that, like Him, they should be good, and kind, and obedient. And that, if they trusted in Him, He would be their Saviour and their Friend.
Finally, he explained that darkness meant selfishness and sin, and that the child who was untruthful, or dishonest, or unkind, was walking in darkness, apart from God. And that to follow Jesus, they must learn to be gentle, and pitiful, and loving, and faithful in word and deed: then would Christ's promise be for them—"He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness!"
It was a very short sermon, but so simple that no child could fail to understand it; and when it was over, and the Vicar descended from the pulpit, Peggy Pringle, who, seated by her brother's side, had listened to every word Mr. Maloney had said with the closest attention, turned her face to Billy with a pleased smile curving her lips, and thus allowed an old lady close behind her, a sight of her profile.
The old lady, who was no other than Miss Leighton, felt her heart begin to beat unevenly as she recognised Peggy. She had been on the lookout for her all through the service; but the church was so full of children that she had not picked out her little great-niece amongst so many, and lo! All the while she had been within reach of her hand.
In another minute the congregation had arisen, and with a dream-like sensation, Miss Leighton once more listened to the same hymn Peggy had sung to her in Cornwall months before:
"Holy Father, cheer our wayWith Thy love's perpetual ray:Grant us every closing dayLight at evening time."
Tears dimmed the old lady's eyes, and a softening influence stole into her proud heart; and when, at the conclusion of the hymn, the congregation knelt in prayer, Miss Leighton covered her face with her hands and prayed fervently that she, who had walked in darkness so long, might be guided into the way of light.
"Barnes, I must speak to Peggy," she said in an agitated voice, as she and her maid left the church and stood under the lamp outside. "Do not let her pass us by."
"She is with her brother, ma'am," Barnes answered. "I do not think Mrs. Pringle is here."
At that instant Peggy and Billy appeared, hand in hand, and Miss Leighton stepped quickly forward; but, immediately, Billy put himself between her and his sister.
"Go away!" he cried indignantly, for he had recognised Miss Leighton, and the wild idea that she might wish to lure Peggy away from him, then and there had flashed through his mind. "I'm not going to let you touch her!"
"What do you mean?" demanded Miss Leighton in surprise. "Peggy! It's I—Aunt Caroline! Won't you speak to me, child?"
At the sound of the well-remembered voice the little girl flushed rosily, a look of astonishment and—Miss Leighton saw she was not mistaken—of joy lighting up her face; seeing which, Billy allowed her to receive the old lady's warm embrace, though he still retained a firm grasp of her hand.
"How are you, Peggy?" Miss Leighton began. "You look very well," she continued, without waiting for a reply. "We—Barnes and I—came to hear your friend Mr. Maloney preach, and I thought I should like a word with you. We sat close behind you in church."
"Did you?" said Peggy, smiling. "Wasn't it a nice sermon? And we had my favourite hymn! Oh, Aunt Caroline," she proceeded sympathetically, "we were so sorry to hear you had been ill. Are you really quite well now? Yes. Oh, I'm so glad! Oh, Barnes, how do you do? Aunt Caroline, this is Billy. Billy, you remember Aunt Caroline, don't you? You know you saw her once before and you said you would know her again."
Billy had no alternative but to shake hands with Miss Leighton. And, now he came to regard her more closely, she did not look the sort of person who would steal his sister from him. He thought he read goodwill towards himself in her face, as he scrutinised it in the light of the lamp near which they were standing, and she showed no resentment for the decidedly rude way in which he had treated her, the real fact being that she had guessed the impulse which had prompted his strange behaviour. For some minutes, he watched her talking to Peggy whilst Barnes stood aside patiently waiting. Then, he reminded his sister that if they did not go home, their mother would wonder what had become of them.
"Yes," agreed Peggy, "we mustn't wait any longer. Mother's at home alone—it's Sarah's afternoon out—and she's always anxious if we're later than she expects us."
"One moment more," said Miss Leighton. "I must wish you a very happy Christmas before we part, and I want you to tell me what I can give you for a present. Choose whatever you like. And Billy—he must choose something too!"
"Oh, how kind of you!" cried Peggy. Whilst Billy's eyes glistened with delight, and a look of approval settled on his face—approval of this great-aunt of his, against whom he had entertained such a strong prejudice before.
"I want to do something to add to your happiness," Miss Leighton said, in a voice which trembled with an emotion which she tried in vain to repress.
"Do you, Aunt Caroline?" the little girl questioned earnestly. "Do you, indeed?"
"Yes, my dear—"
"Then if you really and truly want to add to my happiness," Peggy broke in excitedly, "you'll come home with us now—we've not far to go—and be friends with mother again! Oh, do come! It grieves mother dreadfully to think you're angry with her! But, you're not angry any longer, are you?"
Miss Leighton could not say she was, for her bitterness against Peggy's mother had been slowly fading away since she had known Peggy herself. Her head was in a whirl with conflicting thoughts. But she felt she must accept or decline her little niece's invitation at once—she could not discuss it there in the street.
"My dear, I cannot—" she was beginning, when a rush of tenderer, better feelings than she had experienced for years filled her heart and caused her to hesitate. She looked at Peggy's expectant face with its sightless blue eyes, and the last remnant of her pride died away, though she repeated, "I cannot, I cannot!"
But the sharp ears of the blind child had caught the note of indecision in the other's tone, and taking the old lady by the hand she said persuasively:
"Come, Aunt Caroline, we will go on, and Barnes and Billy will follow. I know the way quite well. Oh, do come!"
And, much to Barnes's astonishment, and Billy's intense excitement, Miss Leighton answered in a voice which no longer wavered, but had become decided and firm:
"To please you, little Sunbeam, I will!"
* * * * *
"Here's wonderful news from the Pringles!" exclaimed Mrs. Tiddy on Christmas morning, as she stood in the hall at Lower Brimley, ready to start for church with her husband, and glanced hastily through the letter she held in her hand—one of several which the postman had just delivered. "I cannot stay to read all Margaret says now, but I see she has had a visit from her aunt, and there must have been a complete reconciliation, for—fancy, Ebenezer!—the old lady is going to dine with them to-day!"
"I'm heartily glad to hear it," Mr. Tiddy responded. "Depend upon it, Peggy has brought that about—the reconciliation, I mean. But come, my dear, or we shall be late for church."
Then as they passed down the garden path, side by side, he continued:
"I always felt there was One above Who arranged that Miss Leighton and Peggy should meet here and get to know each other. I expect the old lady will have a happier Christmas to-day than she has had for many a long year."
And Mr. Tiddy was right, for this year, Miss Leighton found fresh beauty in the angels' message of peace and goodwill, and her Christmas Day was a very happy one, spent in her niece's home. God had softened her proud heart by the unconscious influence of the blind child, and He was granting her light in the evening time of her life. Miss Leighton had never felt so rich before as she did on this Christmas Day.
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