[image]"'OH, ROGER! HOW IS SHE?' WHISPERED OLIVE.""She is very, very ill," was all he said gravely; "I am glad you have come, she has been asking for you both."Barnes, who had been standing near, now came forward, and, for the first time, Roger realised that his sisters were not alone. With a word of thanks he spoke gratefully of Mrs. Beauchamp's kindness in sending the girls home under her care, and enquired as to her plans."Oh, I return by the next train, sir, thank you, which leaves just after two. I'll just have time to get a cup of tea before I start. Mrs. Beauchamp wished me to offer her sincere sympathy, sir, if I saw any of the family, and she would like to know the latest report.""Please thank her," said Roger. "My mother has been most grateful for all her kindness to my sisters.""And how is Mrs. Franklyn now, sir?" she asked.Roger turned away from the girls, who for the moment were collecting various small packages they had brought with them, and with something suspiciously like a sob in his throat, he replied, "She is sinking rapidly; she cannot live many hours.""Dear, dear. Iamsorry to hear that, sir!" said the woman, with real concern. "Poor, dear Miss Elsa.""Hush! Don't let them hear. I have not said so much to them."And with a word of farewell to the maid, he bade the twins come with him. Stopping only to give a porter instructions about the luggage, he strode on, and the girls had as much as they could do to keep up with him.Fortunately, it was only a matter of a very few minutes' walk to their home, so that they were soon there. As they entered the gate, Roger glanced furtively at the windows, for he knew his mother's life was only just trembling in the balance, and even during the fifteen or twenty minutes that he had been absent, the call might have come. But the blinds were up, and he breathed freely. In silence they entered the old side door, and quietly, oh! so quietly, Lois came downstairs to meet them.What a different home-coming was this from the one they had been anticipating. No bright welcome, no merry words, no gay laughter. Instead of all that, there was an awful hush and unnatural quiet reigning in the busy, bustling household, and it was all owing to the fact that their mother was lying so very, very ill in the well-known room, beyond the baize-covered doors, upstairs."I am glad you have come, dears," said Lois, gently, as she bent and kissed the twins, and Elsa saw that her face bore traces of recent tears."Oh, Lois!""Hush, darlings, hush!" she whispered, as she gently pushed them into the deserted dining-room; "we must not make any noise, it worries her so.""But she will get better? Oh, Lois, say she will!" cried Olive.Lois looked enquiringly at Roger; but muttering: "You tell them, Lois; I couldn't," in hoarse tones, he strode by her, and went out, shutting the door gently behind him.And, with am arm round each of them, Lois told them, in tender words, that God was calling their mother to Himself, and that very, very soon they must give her up. For a few minutes she let them weep on unrestrainedly, knowing well that it was best so. And then, with words of comfort, the elder sister, who in future would have to act a mother's part, bade them think of the peace, and rest, and freedom from all pain that their loved one would soon be enjoying in the presence of her Saviour.As Lois talked thus, Elsa seemed not to think so much of her own sorrows, as of the gain that would be her mother's, and her sobs grew less as she remembered the blessedness of those who die in Christ Jesus.But Olive, over whose turbulent young heart a perfect hurricane of doubt was sweeping, refused to be comforted, and wept on unrestrainedly. God was cruel,cruelto take their mother away, and nothing Lois or Elsa said would persuade her otherwise.A hasty opening of the door startled them, and Dr. Franklyn, looking ten years older than when the twins left home, entered the room."I hear that Olive and Elsa have come," he said. "Let them get undressed and go to their mother at once. Remember, girls, no scenes," he added severely, and was gone without another word.After hastily removing their hats, and vainly endeavouring by sponging their faces with cold water to obliterate the traces of emotion, the twins entered their mother's room. If they had expected to see a vast difference in her, they were disappointed for only a very practised eye could tell that Mary Franklyn was nearing the gates of death. To the twins she looked much as usual, the bright flush upon her poor, thin face was so deceptive. She was quite conscious and free from pain, and lay with one hand in her husband's watching for them."My girlies," she murmured, and she feebly stroked their sunburnt faces, as they bent over her, and kissed her passionately. "I am so glad--you had--a nice holiday--before--this trouble--came. Don't cry--my darlings--Jesus is--very precious--and He--will bring--all my dear ones--to me--some day." And then she stopped, for her breath was coming in quick, short pantings, and the pulse, upon which Dr. Franklyn had his finger, was only feebly fluttering."Don't exert yourself too much, my dear," he said tenderly, with anguish in his eyes.A radiant smile passed over the dying woman's worn features, and she lay back, exhausted. "I will--rest--a little," she whispered. For she hoped to recover sufficient strength to speak a last word to these two of her children and Dick, who could not arrive for some hours.But it was not to be. The gentle sleep into which she presently fell, and which seemed as if it must be doing her good, deepened into that last, long, slumber that knows no awakening in this life, and Mary Franklyn passed into the presence of the King.The sorrow and sadness in that household during the days that followed can be more easily imagined than described. Lois, Kathleen, and Roger endeavoured to be brave and forgetful of self, as they strove to comfort their father and the younger ones.Dick, who arrived home a couple of hours after his mother had breathed her last, was inconsolable. He had adored his gentle, fragile mother, and it was heart-breaking to see the erstwhile merry whistler wandering listlessly and silently about the house; or to come upon him, unawares, in some quiet spot whither he had fled in order to indulge his grief unseen. Roger, who had always been his chum in a way that brothers seldom are, now became his comforter; and it was during those sad, sorrowful days, when the younger lad's heart was rendered impressionable by grief, that he began to seek the Saviour whom Roger had lately found, and whom their mother had loved so dearly.Elsa bore up bravely, after the first terrible outburst, and was very helpful in looking after Joan and Paddy, who fretted for their mother a great deal. But Olive seemed turned to stone. She realised that in the bargain she had sought to make with God she had been worsted! Hemighthave spared her mother; Hemighthave heard her cry: and she would have kept her promise if He had! But He was cruel, oh!socruel, to snatch her mother away without giving her a chance even to whisper that she was sorry for all the anxiety she had caused her, and that she would be a better girl, in future, if her mother would only say she forgave her. Both Lois and Kathleen sought to break down the stoical reserve, behind which Olive hid her real feelings, but she always repulsed them, and they could only hope that, in time, God would answer their mother's many prayers for her wilful little daughter.CHAPTER XX."KEEP IT UP, IT ANSWERS VERY WELL."A few days after Mrs. Franklyn's funeral, Monica Beauchamp, looking very fresh and dainty in a pretty linen frock and straw hat was walking up the shady road leading from the town to The Cedars, Mr. Howell's residence.She had never yet paid the visit she had promised on the day she sprained her ankle, so Monica had coaxed her grandmother into dropping her in the town, that afternoon, while she drove on to pay a call at a little distance in the country. For some time a plan had been forming in the girl's mind, and a visit to Mrs. Howell was necessary before it could be put into execution."I hope Mrs. Howell will be in," she said to herself, as she entered the white gates, and walled up the beautifully kept drive, "and I almost hope that Lily will beout," she added; for upon the only occasion she and Lily had met since the unhappy affair at school, the latter had passed Monica with no attempt at recognition, beyond an ugly scowl. At the time (it was before she went to Sandyshore) Monica had felt very much inclined to return the scowl with interest, except that she considered Lily utterly beneath contempt. But lately she had had very different feelings towards her would-be injurer, and it was chiefly on her account that she was so anxious to pay her mother a visit.Mrs. Howell being at home, Monica was ushered into a huge and magnificently furnished drawing-room, decorated lavishly with plush hangings, of decidedly gay hues, and was warmly welcomed by her hostess, who was delighted to see her.A quarter of an hour passed pleasantly in chatting over the sprained ankle, long since well, and the holiday she had enjoyed so much, and then Monica broached the subject uppermost in her mind."Mrs. Howell," she began diffidently, for she was not quite sure how her proposal would be received, "did Lily tell youallabout the examination affair?""Well, my dear, by degrees we got to know the rights of it, though she would not tell us till her pa threatened to punish her, if she didn't speak out. He was in a great taking when the notice came that she wasn't to go back no more, and he packed her off to stay with his step-sister, a very strict woman, and poor Lily has had a very rough time of it. She only came back yesterday, and wouldn't have done then, only for her aunt being took ill; for it was her pa's intention to let her bide there some months. Now he talks of sendin' her to boardin'-school, but where to he hasn't no idea. All our plans for her schoolin' was upset-like, you see, my dear, by that notice, and her pa was terrible annoyed to think it all came about through her trying to do you a bad turn. For, to tell the truth, my dear," Mrs. Howell rambled on garrulously, "he thinks a sight of you, does Bob. He would have wrote to apologise, but he couldn't get Lily to say she was sorry, nohow. Oh! dear me, what trouble that girl has caused us, and 'twill be far worse when she comes 'ome from boardin'-school." And the poor woman whimpered distressingly."Don't cry, dear Mrs. Howell," said Monica gently; "perhaps she won't have to go away to school at all. Would you like her to go back to the High School if she could? Do you think she would go?""Oh, my dear, there's no chance!" was the dismal reply, as Mrs. Howell wiped her florid face with a tiny muslin handkerchief; "they wouldn't take her back now. I only wish they would. I know Lily would be delighted really, although she's said times and times that she'd rather die than ever go there again.""Well, don't tell her, please, in case it falls through, but grandmother thinks I might write to Miss Buckingham, and perhaps she would overlook it this once and let Lily go back." Monica spoke earnestly, and there was no hint of pride in her tones, neither did she say that it had taken a good deal of persuasion to get Mrs. Beauchamp to consent to let her write on her school-fellow's behalf."Oh, Miss Beauchamp, my dear, if you only would!" ejaculated Mrs. Howell, delight and incredulity struggling for the mastery in both tones and countenance. "But it does seem strange that you that's been injured should be the one to do us a good turn. I can't think why you should!" And she looked searchingly into the flushed face opposite her, as if she would find the motive written upon it.Monica was sorely tempted to make just a mere commonplace reply, but she summoned up all the courage she could, and gave Mrs. Howell the real reason, realising that this was an opportunity afforded her of witnessing to her new Master."I don't know whether you know Him, dear Mrs. Howell," she said, a trifle nervously, but with intense earnestness, "but while I was away I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Saviour, and He has forgiven me so much, that I can't help forgiving everybody else. And I think He told me to show Lily how I feel, by trying to do this. Oh, I do hope Miss Buckingham will make it right! I almost think she will.""Oh, my dear, my dear!" said Mrs. Howell, tremulously, in her eagerness clutching hold of Monica's hands; "you've found some One I've been wanting for years! My heart's just breaking for want of peace."And in very simple fashion, for it was all such new and unaccustomed work to her, Monica tried to feed this hungry, longing soul with the Bread of Life. She felt so helpless, but trusting to the Holy Spirit's guidance, she repeated a great deal of the sermon which she would never forget; and Mrs. Howell seemed to literally drink it all in."God bless you, my dear," she murmured, as Monica at length rose in haste, having discovered that the time arranged for her to meet the carriage was already past--"God bless and reward you for all you've done. I've been a sinful woman, all my life, but please God this shall be the beginning of better things."Monica hurried down the hill, a song of thanksgiving in her heart, and a happy smile flickering about her lips. How delightful this new life was! Not for anything would she go back now to the careless, thoughtless days of the past, when she had given others such endless trouble, and been so discontented and miserable herself. She felt as if she loved everybody, that beautiful September day, and as if it would be impossible ever to displease any one again.But, alas! a rude stare, without a trace of recognition in it, from the object of her solicitude, with whom she came suddenly face to face as she turned a corner, and upon whom she bestowed a radiant smile, and cordial "How do you do, Lily?" sent her on the rest of her way with a small cloud in her hitherto cloudless sky, and a nasty little feeling of wounded pride endeavoured to make itself felt. However, she consoled herself with the thought that Lily would soon have cause to think differently of her, and hastened to the place where she had promised to wait for the carriage.But, unfortunately, it was just the other way round! The carriage, with Mrs. Beauchamp in it, had been waiting some time for Monica, and her grandmother greeted her with words of displeasure."I am very much annoyed, Monica; you are fifteen or twenty minutes behind time," she said severely. "Richards has been driving up and down, up and down, all that time, lest the horses should take cold; they were so very warm. It was very thoughtless indeed of you, to keep me waiting like this.""I am very sorry, grannie," was all Monica said, as she seated herself beside her grandmother in the landau; and it spoke volumes for her that her voice was gentle, and her look penitent. Monica of old would not have answered thus, and Mrs. Beauchamp knew it, and thoroughly appreciated the change, although she said nothing. Indeed, silence reigned during the drive, and it was not until they were in the drawing-room after dinner that Mrs. Beauchamp enquired the result of Monica's visit."You might as well write to Miss Buckingham this evening, if you are still anxious to do so," she said, when she had heard what Mrs. Howell said; "there is no time to spare, as the letter will have to be forwarded to wherever she is spending her holidays."And Monica gladly fetched her writing-case, and began to write what proved to be a very difficult epistle. Her pen had to be nibbled thoughtfully many times before the letter was accomplished, and then the result was not all that the writer could wish. She was rather afraid that Mrs. Beauchamp would ask to see it before it went; but, fortunately, just as Monica had signed her name, in school-girl calligraphy, at the end of perhaps the most tidy letter she had ever written, the old lady roused up from the little doze in which she had been indulging, and bade Monica hasten, or she would lose the post."I have just finished, grannie," and as Monica laid down her pen, Harriet came to say that Richards was waiting for the letters."Have you any to send to-night, grannie? No? Then there is only this one, Harriet," and Monica breathed a sigh of relief as she shut up her writing-case and prepared to read to her grandmother.Not the most agreeable of tasks was this; for Mrs. Beauchamp considered that it was "improving" for her granddaughter to read aloud for at least half an hour every evening. Monica was not a very fluent reader, so that she was continually being pulled up for leaving out commas, or for emphasising quite the wrong word. The interruptions would have been very trying if the book had been even the least bit interesting, but as it really seemed to have been chosen for its dryness and dullness, Monica did not mind. However, she tried her hardest, nowadays, to read carefully, and with a fair amount of expression, and she was far less often interrupted than she used to be. She did want to be what Marcus Drury called a "whatsoever" Christian."You really begin to read quite nicely, Monica," her grandmother said approvingly, as she finished a chapter, and was told that would do for that evening. "Your father would be greatly pleased with the improvement there has been in you lately."Tears of joy sprang to Monica's eyes, as she put the book away, and then stooped and gave the old lady a "good-night" kiss."What has made the difference in you, Monica?"And for the second time that day the young girl answered radiantly, but humbly, "The Lord Jesus Christ.""Little Elsa said that was what it was," muttered Mrs. Beauchamp under her breath, as she toyed nervously with her eye-glasses. "Well, child, keep it up, it answers very well," she added, in a louder tone."It would be no use for me to try to keep myself, grannie dear," was the stammering reply, "for I should do something wrong directly, but when I let Jesus hold me tight, then it is all right."Mrs. Beauchamp made no answer, and, after waiting a moment or two, Monica slipped off, fearful lest she had offended her grandmother.But the old lady sat thinking deeply for a long, long time--thinking of the past when she was a girl of Monica's age, and with as headstrong a nature as hers--thinking of her married life, when her whole time and thought had been given to the things of this world--thinking of the unrestful, unsatisfying present, and of the dark, dark future stretching out beyond."Little Elsa told me, once, that she prayed God every day to bless me," she murmured, while a tear trickled slowly down her cheek. "God bless the child ... and me, too!"A week elapsed before any reply came to Monica's letter, and she began to be afraid that Miss Buckingham would not make known her decision before it was too late, for the school reopened in another few days. However, one morning, the long-looked-for letter arrived, and the girl's heart was overjoyed when she found that her request had been granted, and that Lily Howell would be allowed to re-attend the school if she wrote an apology for her past conduct, and sent it to the head-mistress without delay. Miss Buckingham added that it had been a matter of regret with her, that one of her scholars should have had to leave the school under such circumstances, so that if Lily were really penitent, the past should be overlooked; more especially as the girl she had endeavoured to injure had taken upon herself the task of interceding for her."I wish she hadn't put that last bit in," mused Monica, "because that will very likely offend Lily more than ever, because she will hate to think she owes anything to me. However, I can't help that; I have done what seemed right, and I must just leave the result, and I am dreadfully afraid she won't apologise. Well, I'll do as grannie suggests--just send Miss Buckingham's letter to Mrs. Howell, and then wait to see what happens."A little note, badly expressed and ill-spelt, but breathing gratitude in every line, from Mrs. Howell, was all that Monica received, and in it there was only a hope expressed that Lily would send the apology, but no certainty. So she had to be patient, and wait a little longer.Meanwhile, she kept the matter quite secret, not even breathing a word of it to Olive, for she thought, and very wisely, that if the whole affair fell through, it would be much better for no one to have known anything of it. But Monica was not very clever at keeping a secret, and if she had seen much of the Franklyns the probability is, that in a moment of forgetfulness she would have divulged it. However, the girls met but seldom during the days that elapsed between Mrs. Franklyn's funeral and the school reopening.Once, when Monica was in Osmington, she ran up against Amethyst Drury, and, as they were talking, Mr. Howell's motor car passed them, reminding the younger girl of his daughter."I saw Lily the other day, Monica, and she wouldn't look at me. She walked by just as proud as Lucifer. The idea! As if we were all to blame, and she was innocent! I'm awfully glad she won't be at school any more.""I daresay we should feel pretty much as she does, Thistle, if we were in her place," was Monica's reply; "she can't enjoy herself much.""Quite as much as she deserves," said Amethyst, with decision; "horrid cheat!""Oh, Thistle!" Monica's tone was reproachful."Well, I ought not to have said that, I know," said Amethyst penitently, "but Idon'tlike her; do you, Monica?""I am afraid I can't say I really like her," Monica confessed honestly; "but still she may be sorry inside, you know, and, perhaps, if we had been kinder to her at first, she would have been nicer to us now. I mean she would feel that we did not think the very worst of her," added Monica, a trifle lamely. She knew what she meant herself, but had difficulty in expressing it."I am afraid the worst is about right," was Amethyst's sententious answer, as they parted. And Monica could not help wondering justwhatthe girls, as a whole, would say, if Lily should reappear at the High School again.CHAPTER XXI."I GUESS I'LL JUST WATCHYOUA BIT.""Monica!""Yes, grannie?""I want to talk to you for a few minutes."And Monica, without so much as a frown, although she had just reached a most interesting part of her story, laid her book down, and prepared to give all her attention to her grandmother. She had no idea that Mrs. Beauchamp was covertly watching her, as she frequently did, to see whether she would exhibit any irritation or temper at the interruption; but if she had been aware of it, she could not have smiled more brightly, or been more ready to give up her own wishes to please her grandmother. Truly the Monica Beauchamp of the present was a totally different being from the one of bygone days.The old lady noted her expression with an approving smile, and could not help acknowledging to herself that this grandchild of hers was fast becoming very dear to her, and well deserved the pleasure that was in store for her."I wanted to have a little talk about your birthday, Monica; it will soon be here now.""Yes, grannie," replied the girl, with sparkling eyes. "Next Tuesday, the 27th.""And you will be sixteen. Dear me, how time flies, to be sure! I well remember the day your dear father was the same age," Mrs. Beauchamp said musingly, and her thoughts went back to past days for a few moments. But they soon returned to the present, and she went on: "I wonder what you would choose if I said you might have what you liked for a birthday present, Monica?" And she smiled into the eager, upturned face."Oh, grannie, I don't know, I'm sure,whatI should choose; there are so many nice things!" And Monica turned over in her mind various things she had been wishing she possessed. Most people would have thought that she already had everything that she could possibly want, but even the best supplied of mortals can always do with "more." A nice writing-case, some books, a new brooch--any or all of these would be nice, and Monica was about to mention them, when a sudden thought flashed through her brain; here was the very opportunity she had been wanting! If only Mrs. Beauchamp would give her money this birthday to spend as she liked!"Well, Monica, how long are you going to be choosing? Remember, I did not say I would give you what you chose!""Oh, grannie dear, I do hope you will!" coaxed Monica, in persuasive tones. "I would rather have it than anything else.""Well, what is it? Perhaps if it is anything in reason, you might have it, but I warn you not to ask for a bicycle." Mrs. Beauchamp looked quite stern, as if the mere mention of the article brought the past vividly before her, but there was a suspicious twinkle in her eyes, which Monica did not notice."No, grannie, I will never ask you forthat," was Monica's subdued reply, although her active young limbs literally ached sometimes, when she saw other girls jumping on their bicycles and spinning off along the country roads. But she had long since given up expecting ever to do the same, for she knew how her grandmother objected to women cyclists. "But I do wish you would give me money instead of any other present, this year, grannie, because I want some very particularly.""What for?" asked the old lady curiously. "Surely you haven't exceeded your pocket-money, and got into debt like boys do; have you, Monica?""Oh! dear, no, grannie," and Monica's laugh rang merrily out, "it isn't anything of that kind! But if I tell you what I want it for, you won't say 'no,' will you, grannie dear? It's nothing wrong." And the clear grey eyes sought the old lady's earnestly."Very well; now, tell me.""Oh, you are a dear grannie!" said Monica enthusiastically. "I'll tell you all about it. You know when we girls all went to the missionary meeting at Sandyshore, Miss Daverel, the lady who spoke, said there were lots of ways girls could help; and we four made up our minds to see what we could do." Monica paused, and looked a trifle diffidently at Mrs. Beauchamp; she was not quite sure what sort of reception her words would get, for, as far as she knew, her grandmother had no more interest in foreign missions than old Richards, the coachman, had.But the old lady nodded, and seemed in no wise annoyed, so Monica took courage, and proceeded with her story. "We want to have a sort of working-party, just amongst us girls, with perhaps Mrs. Drury and Miss Franklyn to help, and make all sorts of things to send out to China, for the poor little girls and the women who are so sad and unhappy, Miss Daverel says. She has promised to send us patterns and directions, and we want to begin very soon; but you see, grannie, we must have some money to buy dolls and print, and wool, and all sorts of things with. And Ithought, grannie dear, if you would give me money instead of anything else, it would help us start, at any rate.""H'm." Mrs. Beauchamp said nothing in favour of the proposal, but then she did not say anything against it, which was fairly encouraging. Monica tried to read her thoughts by scanning the face which was slightly turned away from her, but could make nothing of it. "Why should this undertaking be started with your money, Monica? Surely it is as much the others' affair as yours?""Oh, yes, we all want to do it; but you see, grannie, none of the others have much to spend, and I---- Oh, I do want to give something that I shall miss, if it is only a little!" And Monica's girlish face glowed with enthusiasm."Well, I had intended giving you something that I believe you would have liked very much, Monica; but if you would really rather have money to spend as you propose, you may count upon having a five-pound note on your birthday instead. I was going to give you a bicycle.""Oh, grannie!" Amazement, consternation, hesitation, these, and countless other emotions played upon the young girl's heart. First, utter astonishment that her grandmother should ever have dreamt of revoking her decision about cycling; then a great desire for the long-coveted, and now possible machine took possession of her, and something within her said: "Here is the chance, at last, that you have been longing for. It is a pity you mentioned 'sacrifice,' but still, it does not matter, you have your choice, and your grandmother feels sure you will choose the bicycle, that is why she urges you to consider." Oh, how subtle was the temptation! Only those similarly constituted can imagine what a battle was being fought in Monica's heart. The bicycle--or the five-pound note: an endless amount of pleasure for herself--or the means to provide joy for others. How hard it was! Monica felt that no other choice that she might ever be called upon to make could possibly equal this; for it was just the one thing she did want, and yet----"Don't decide hastily, Monica," said her grandmother, seeing that she hesitated; "think it well over, and tell me to-morrow which you have chosen."Monica was glad that it was nearly bedtime, for she longed to get away to her own room and think. Once there, she determined to fight the matter out, and a very sharp battle it proved, this first real denial of self. For some time, it seemed as if shemustchoose the bicycle, and satisfy her conscience by scraping together all the pocket-money she could muster (only a few shillings) and giving that to the missionary cause. She had not promised the girls a large amount, they knew nothing of the offer of the five pounds, and never need know. Her grandmother quite expected her to choose the bicycle, yes--she would decide upon that, and perhaps her father or some one else would give her a present of money, and if so, that should be added to the sum in her purse, and would provide quite a nice start for the working-party.Monica began to feel quite self-sacrificing, and having, as she thought, made a final decision, she proceeded to prepare for bed, her mind full of the joy and pleasure that the possession of (and permission to use) a bicycle of her own would afford.Her thoughts were still running in the same direction when she opened her little Bible and began to read a few verses, as she had done lately. She did not read according to any plan, she had never heard of such a thing as a Union for Bible Reading, so that she was just reading straight on through the gospels, and finding out many wonderful truths. She had read as far as Matt. xvi. 20 last time, and the little ribbon marker was laid between the pages. Her brain was still very full of the bicycle, and soon she found that she had read some few verses without having taken in the sense of them at all! So with an effort she sought to fix her wandering thoughts on the printed page, and as she did so, the words of the next verse seemed to stand out from it as if the letters were made of fire; at any rate they burnt right into her very soul."Then said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself."Oh, how that one short sentence, straight from the lips of the Saviour, accused Monica! How guilty she felt! How small must be her love for Him, if she could, even for one short hour, think more of her own personal pleasure and gratification, than the needs of great, dark, heathen China! She fell on her knees beside the pretty white bed, and burying her face in her hands, she sobbed out her sorrow and humiliation into the ear of Him who never fails to hear His children's cry for pardon. And as she prayed, a deep, sweet peace filled her heart, and she knew that she was forgiven. Thus Monica Beauchamp was enabled to triumph over self, and the first real sacrifice she had been called upon to make, since becoming a Christian, was willingly, nay, gladly made.The next day, Mrs. Beauchamp, not without some misgiving (for she did not want Monica to fall short of her expectations, though she would hardly confess so much, even to herself), asked for her decision."I would like the five pounds best, please, grannie dear," was the bright reply, while a little flush rose to the young girl's face.The old lady's heart thrilled with pleasure, but she evinced no sign of it."Very well, Monica," was all she said; and if her granddaughter had expected to be asked for her reasons, she would have been disappointed; but Monica was glad that no more was said. The experience of the night before was too real, too solemn, for her to talk it over, and she was too honest to have given any but her real reason.With a glad heart, and a bright song often upon her lips, she prepared for school next day, and Mrs. Beauchamp, catching snatches of the refrain every now and then, marvelled at the total change that had taken place in her grandchild. "It is simply wonderful," she murmured, "wonderful! She used to besuchan anxiety, and now she is just the reverse. I am glad for Conrad's sake; he will find a treasure when he returns, if this condition of things lasts." And the old lady sighed a wee bit doubtfully; but then she had no experimental knowledge of the Saviour who is "able to keep from falling," as well as "able to save."The little governess cart was brought round from the stables punctually at nine o'clock the next morning, and Monica jumped into it, closely followed by Jack."No, no, poor Jack, you can't go with me to-day," she said, as she tried in vain to get him out of the trap; "I'm going to school, my doggie, and you can't go there."Tom, the little stable-boy, who had been holding Cæsar's head, and grinning with delight at Jack's persistence, volunteered to carry him back and fasten him up in the yard."Poor old fellow," said his mistress, as Richards gathered up the reins, and the pony trotted briskly down the drive, for Jack's whines and short, yapping barks of disappointment could be heard for some distance."Pony's a bit fresh this morning, miss," remarked the old coachman, who had all his work cut out to hold him in, for the road to Osmington was a downhill one. "Steady there, steady," he said, as Cæsar tossed his dark-brown mane, resentful of some little flicks of the whip."A nasty-tempered h'animal 'e is sometimes; look how he bit your 'and, miss.""Oh, that was all my own fault, Richards," replied Monica; "I deserved that.""Well, he didn't ought to have snapped out at you like that," continued the old man. "Belle and Beauty wouldn't have done such a thing, never," and he shook his grey head decisively, for "the pair" constituted the joy and pride of his heart, and he had never forgiven the introduction of the pony."They are always so quiet and gentle," agreed Monica, and the old coachman, having subdued Cæsar into going at a steady trot, rambled on about the merits of "the pair" until the short drive was over."I dowonderif Lily Howell will turn up," thought Monica to herself, as she entered the school door, greeting one and another as she passed them on her way to the cloak-room. There she found Amethyst Drury, who informed her that several of the girls had been moved up, but the quartette was still intact."And oh, Monica," she added, in an excited whisper, "Lily Howell must have come back! There is that pink and green hat of hers; no other girl would have one exactly like it, would she?"Monica, glancing at the pegs, and seeing what was unmistakably one of Lily's well-known, gaudy hats, was not as astonished or disconcerted as Amethyst could have wished."I think there is no doubt about it, Thistle," she said quietly. "I shall be glad to find Lily has come back.""Whatever for?" enquired the younger girl, in a puzzled tone. Monica had been incomprehensible to her lately.But Monica was entering the hall by the swing-door, and only smiled her answer, for talking was forbidden. With one swift glance she saw that Lily, looking certainly less defiant than usual, was in her old place, and with a glad feeling in her heart, Monica slipped into her usual position at Olive's side, persistently ignoring the telegraphic messages that Olive's dark eyes were continually dispatching, until the head-mistress's bell announced the commencement of prayers.Every one of the girls was more or less excited that first morning at school after the long holidays, but the air of the Fourth Form seemed charged with electricity. No one, except Monica and Lily, knew how it had come about that the latter was again amongst them; and even those two were wondering just what would happen, when Miss Buckingham appeared in the doorway."Good morning, girls. I am glad to meet you all once again," she said in the energetic, crisp fashion peculiar to her. "I hope you have all thoroughly enjoyed your holidays, and have now come back prepared to work hard. Some of you may be surprised to see one of your number here again, after what occurred last term; but when I tell you that she has apologised, and I have entirely consented to overlook what took place then, I am sure I may depend upon you, one and all, to do your share in helping to blot out the memory of the past, and by your kindness and consideration, strive to emulate the Spirit of Him who said: 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' I am not afraid that this unaccustomed leniency will be taken a mean advantage of, or I should warn you not to count upon a repetition of it. Instead of that, I advise you, one and all, to throw all your energies into this term's work, particularly those among you who will be candidates for the Junior Cambridge Examination at its close, and I shall look forward to seeing the majority of your names in the 'Honours' List."The excitement caused by Miss Buckingham's words soon subsided, and beyond being the object of a good deal of staring, Lily Howell was not interfered with; and as the morning wore on, she began to feel less uncomfortable. It had been a hard tussle to get her to write the apology, and, but for her father threatening to send her to live indefinitely, with her strict aunt if she did not, she would have absolutely refused. But now that it was over, and the head-mistress had spoken so kindly, as even Lily could not help feeling, the girl began to see how despicable her conduct had been, and she was seized with a sudden desire to prove to the whole form that she could be as nice a girl as any of them, if she liked.Fortunately, Maggie Masters, her former ally, was no longer at school, having left the neighbourhood, so that Lily had every opportunity of making a fresh start, and she took advantage of it. As the days passed, the change in her was very noticeable--even those who had always felt an aversion for her could no longer find any complaint to make; she was painstaking and persevering, and being by no means wanting in ability, she bade fair to rival the most clever in the class. But she kept aloof from the girls; she felt, instinctively, that in spite of Miss Buckingham's expressed wish, they were not willing to let bygones be bygones. They did not twit her, or indeed make any allusion to the past, but they simply let her alone.All but Monica Beauchamp and Elsa Franklyn, who from the very first day of the term had tried their best to be friendly. But she repulsed them, feeling convinced that they were only patronising her; it was an impossibility for a nature like Lily Howell's to realise that both those girls were actuated by the same principle, that of "loving one another.""I can't think what you did it for," she remarked to Monica, referring to the letter of intercession the latter had written on her behalf, "unless it was to make Miss Buckingham think a lot of you. Weren't you mad when she never even mentioned your name?" And the girl looked curiously at Monica, who was a complete enigma to her."Oh, Lily! I never once thought of such a thing," she replied, in a pained tone."Well, whatwasit for, then?" persisted Lily."I don't think you would understand if I told you," was the reply."Why not, pray? Ma said it was because you had turned religious lately. Is that why?" And Lily's light blue eyes scanned the other's face inquisitively."I have not turned 'religious' as you call it, Lily," said Monica gently, although a flush rose to her cheek; "I have only given myself to Jesus Christ, and I am trying to follow Him. Idowish you would, too, Lily," she added earnestly."My gracious goodness!" ejaculated Lily, inelegantly, for she was completely taken aback. "I guess I'll just watchyoua bit, and see the effect before I go in for it."Monica had to bite her lip hard to keep back the tears that would spring to her eyes, for she was tremendously in earnest, and Lily's mocking words jarred cruelly. "I am afraid you will see more failures than anything else," she said, in a low tone; "but you must not judge of Jesus Christ by me. He is the One to copy, He never fails or makes mistakes.""Pa always says Christian people are far more often 'libels' than 'Bibles,' and that's why he doesn't believe in them," said Lily, to herself, as Monica and she separated; "but if I'm not mistaken, Miss Monica will prove an exception to that rule. All I know is,Iwouldn't have done forher, what she did forme! So there must be something in it!"
[image]"'OH, ROGER! HOW IS SHE?' WHISPERED OLIVE."
[image]
[image]
"'OH, ROGER! HOW IS SHE?' WHISPERED OLIVE."
"She is very, very ill," was all he said gravely; "I am glad you have come, she has been asking for you both."
Barnes, who had been standing near, now came forward, and, for the first time, Roger realised that his sisters were not alone. With a word of thanks he spoke gratefully of Mrs. Beauchamp's kindness in sending the girls home under her care, and enquired as to her plans.
"Oh, I return by the next train, sir, thank you, which leaves just after two. I'll just have time to get a cup of tea before I start. Mrs. Beauchamp wished me to offer her sincere sympathy, sir, if I saw any of the family, and she would like to know the latest report."
"Please thank her," said Roger. "My mother has been most grateful for all her kindness to my sisters."
"And how is Mrs. Franklyn now, sir?" she asked.
Roger turned away from the girls, who for the moment were collecting various small packages they had brought with them, and with something suspiciously like a sob in his throat, he replied, "She is sinking rapidly; she cannot live many hours."
"Dear, dear. Iamsorry to hear that, sir!" said the woman, with real concern. "Poor, dear Miss Elsa."
"Hush! Don't let them hear. I have not said so much to them."
And with a word of farewell to the maid, he bade the twins come with him. Stopping only to give a porter instructions about the luggage, he strode on, and the girls had as much as they could do to keep up with him.
Fortunately, it was only a matter of a very few minutes' walk to their home, so that they were soon there. As they entered the gate, Roger glanced furtively at the windows, for he knew his mother's life was only just trembling in the balance, and even during the fifteen or twenty minutes that he had been absent, the call might have come. But the blinds were up, and he breathed freely. In silence they entered the old side door, and quietly, oh! so quietly, Lois came downstairs to meet them.
What a different home-coming was this from the one they had been anticipating. No bright welcome, no merry words, no gay laughter. Instead of all that, there was an awful hush and unnatural quiet reigning in the busy, bustling household, and it was all owing to the fact that their mother was lying so very, very ill in the well-known room, beyond the baize-covered doors, upstairs.
"I am glad you have come, dears," said Lois, gently, as she bent and kissed the twins, and Elsa saw that her face bore traces of recent tears.
"Oh, Lois!"
"Hush, darlings, hush!" she whispered, as she gently pushed them into the deserted dining-room; "we must not make any noise, it worries her so."
"But she will get better? Oh, Lois, say she will!" cried Olive.
Lois looked enquiringly at Roger; but muttering: "You tell them, Lois; I couldn't," in hoarse tones, he strode by her, and went out, shutting the door gently behind him.
And, with am arm round each of them, Lois told them, in tender words, that God was calling their mother to Himself, and that very, very soon they must give her up. For a few minutes she let them weep on unrestrainedly, knowing well that it was best so. And then, with words of comfort, the elder sister, who in future would have to act a mother's part, bade them think of the peace, and rest, and freedom from all pain that their loved one would soon be enjoying in the presence of her Saviour.
As Lois talked thus, Elsa seemed not to think so much of her own sorrows, as of the gain that would be her mother's, and her sobs grew less as she remembered the blessedness of those who die in Christ Jesus.
But Olive, over whose turbulent young heart a perfect hurricane of doubt was sweeping, refused to be comforted, and wept on unrestrainedly. God was cruel,cruelto take their mother away, and nothing Lois or Elsa said would persuade her otherwise.
A hasty opening of the door startled them, and Dr. Franklyn, looking ten years older than when the twins left home, entered the room.
"I hear that Olive and Elsa have come," he said. "Let them get undressed and go to their mother at once. Remember, girls, no scenes," he added severely, and was gone without another word.
After hastily removing their hats, and vainly endeavouring by sponging their faces with cold water to obliterate the traces of emotion, the twins entered their mother's room. If they had expected to see a vast difference in her, they were disappointed for only a very practised eye could tell that Mary Franklyn was nearing the gates of death. To the twins she looked much as usual, the bright flush upon her poor, thin face was so deceptive. She was quite conscious and free from pain, and lay with one hand in her husband's watching for them.
"My girlies," she murmured, and she feebly stroked their sunburnt faces, as they bent over her, and kissed her passionately. "I am so glad--you had--a nice holiday--before--this trouble--came. Don't cry--my darlings--Jesus is--very precious--and He--will bring--all my dear ones--to me--some day." And then she stopped, for her breath was coming in quick, short pantings, and the pulse, upon which Dr. Franklyn had his finger, was only feebly fluttering.
"Don't exert yourself too much, my dear," he said tenderly, with anguish in his eyes.
A radiant smile passed over the dying woman's worn features, and she lay back, exhausted. "I will--rest--a little," she whispered. For she hoped to recover sufficient strength to speak a last word to these two of her children and Dick, who could not arrive for some hours.
But it was not to be. The gentle sleep into which she presently fell, and which seemed as if it must be doing her good, deepened into that last, long, slumber that knows no awakening in this life, and Mary Franklyn passed into the presence of the King.
The sorrow and sadness in that household during the days that followed can be more easily imagined than described. Lois, Kathleen, and Roger endeavoured to be brave and forgetful of self, as they strove to comfort their father and the younger ones.
Dick, who arrived home a couple of hours after his mother had breathed her last, was inconsolable. He had adored his gentle, fragile mother, and it was heart-breaking to see the erstwhile merry whistler wandering listlessly and silently about the house; or to come upon him, unawares, in some quiet spot whither he had fled in order to indulge his grief unseen. Roger, who had always been his chum in a way that brothers seldom are, now became his comforter; and it was during those sad, sorrowful days, when the younger lad's heart was rendered impressionable by grief, that he began to seek the Saviour whom Roger had lately found, and whom their mother had loved so dearly.
Elsa bore up bravely, after the first terrible outburst, and was very helpful in looking after Joan and Paddy, who fretted for their mother a great deal. But Olive seemed turned to stone. She realised that in the bargain she had sought to make with God she had been worsted! Hemighthave spared her mother; Hemighthave heard her cry: and she would have kept her promise if He had! But He was cruel, oh!socruel, to snatch her mother away without giving her a chance even to whisper that she was sorry for all the anxiety she had caused her, and that she would be a better girl, in future, if her mother would only say she forgave her. Both Lois and Kathleen sought to break down the stoical reserve, behind which Olive hid her real feelings, but she always repulsed them, and they could only hope that, in time, God would answer their mother's many prayers for her wilful little daughter.
CHAPTER XX.
"KEEP IT UP, IT ANSWERS VERY WELL."
A few days after Mrs. Franklyn's funeral, Monica Beauchamp, looking very fresh and dainty in a pretty linen frock and straw hat was walking up the shady road leading from the town to The Cedars, Mr. Howell's residence.
She had never yet paid the visit she had promised on the day she sprained her ankle, so Monica had coaxed her grandmother into dropping her in the town, that afternoon, while she drove on to pay a call at a little distance in the country. For some time a plan had been forming in the girl's mind, and a visit to Mrs. Howell was necessary before it could be put into execution.
"I hope Mrs. Howell will be in," she said to herself, as she entered the white gates, and walled up the beautifully kept drive, "and I almost hope that Lily will beout," she added; for upon the only occasion she and Lily had met since the unhappy affair at school, the latter had passed Monica with no attempt at recognition, beyond an ugly scowl. At the time (it was before she went to Sandyshore) Monica had felt very much inclined to return the scowl with interest, except that she considered Lily utterly beneath contempt. But lately she had had very different feelings towards her would-be injurer, and it was chiefly on her account that she was so anxious to pay her mother a visit.
Mrs. Howell being at home, Monica was ushered into a huge and magnificently furnished drawing-room, decorated lavishly with plush hangings, of decidedly gay hues, and was warmly welcomed by her hostess, who was delighted to see her.
A quarter of an hour passed pleasantly in chatting over the sprained ankle, long since well, and the holiday she had enjoyed so much, and then Monica broached the subject uppermost in her mind.
"Mrs. Howell," she began diffidently, for she was not quite sure how her proposal would be received, "did Lily tell youallabout the examination affair?"
"Well, my dear, by degrees we got to know the rights of it, though she would not tell us till her pa threatened to punish her, if she didn't speak out. He was in a great taking when the notice came that she wasn't to go back no more, and he packed her off to stay with his step-sister, a very strict woman, and poor Lily has had a very rough time of it. She only came back yesterday, and wouldn't have done then, only for her aunt being took ill; for it was her pa's intention to let her bide there some months. Now he talks of sendin' her to boardin'-school, but where to he hasn't no idea. All our plans for her schoolin' was upset-like, you see, my dear, by that notice, and her pa was terrible annoyed to think it all came about through her trying to do you a bad turn. For, to tell the truth, my dear," Mrs. Howell rambled on garrulously, "he thinks a sight of you, does Bob. He would have wrote to apologise, but he couldn't get Lily to say she was sorry, nohow. Oh! dear me, what trouble that girl has caused us, and 'twill be far worse when she comes 'ome from boardin'-school." And the poor woman whimpered distressingly.
"Don't cry, dear Mrs. Howell," said Monica gently; "perhaps she won't have to go away to school at all. Would you like her to go back to the High School if she could? Do you think she would go?"
"Oh, my dear, there's no chance!" was the dismal reply, as Mrs. Howell wiped her florid face with a tiny muslin handkerchief; "they wouldn't take her back now. I only wish they would. I know Lily would be delighted really, although she's said times and times that she'd rather die than ever go there again."
"Well, don't tell her, please, in case it falls through, but grandmother thinks I might write to Miss Buckingham, and perhaps she would overlook it this once and let Lily go back." Monica spoke earnestly, and there was no hint of pride in her tones, neither did she say that it had taken a good deal of persuasion to get Mrs. Beauchamp to consent to let her write on her school-fellow's behalf.
"Oh, Miss Beauchamp, my dear, if you only would!" ejaculated Mrs. Howell, delight and incredulity struggling for the mastery in both tones and countenance. "But it does seem strange that you that's been injured should be the one to do us a good turn. I can't think why you should!" And she looked searchingly into the flushed face opposite her, as if she would find the motive written upon it.
Monica was sorely tempted to make just a mere commonplace reply, but she summoned up all the courage she could, and gave Mrs. Howell the real reason, realising that this was an opportunity afforded her of witnessing to her new Master.
"I don't know whether you know Him, dear Mrs. Howell," she said, a trifle nervously, but with intense earnestness, "but while I was away I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Saviour, and He has forgiven me so much, that I can't help forgiving everybody else. And I think He told me to show Lily how I feel, by trying to do this. Oh, I do hope Miss Buckingham will make it right! I almost think she will."
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" said Mrs. Howell, tremulously, in her eagerness clutching hold of Monica's hands; "you've found some One I've been wanting for years! My heart's just breaking for want of peace."
And in very simple fashion, for it was all such new and unaccustomed work to her, Monica tried to feed this hungry, longing soul with the Bread of Life. She felt so helpless, but trusting to the Holy Spirit's guidance, she repeated a great deal of the sermon which she would never forget; and Mrs. Howell seemed to literally drink it all in.
"God bless you, my dear," she murmured, as Monica at length rose in haste, having discovered that the time arranged for her to meet the carriage was already past--"God bless and reward you for all you've done. I've been a sinful woman, all my life, but please God this shall be the beginning of better things."
Monica hurried down the hill, a song of thanksgiving in her heart, and a happy smile flickering about her lips. How delightful this new life was! Not for anything would she go back now to the careless, thoughtless days of the past, when she had given others such endless trouble, and been so discontented and miserable herself. She felt as if she loved everybody, that beautiful September day, and as if it would be impossible ever to displease any one again.
But, alas! a rude stare, without a trace of recognition in it, from the object of her solicitude, with whom she came suddenly face to face as she turned a corner, and upon whom she bestowed a radiant smile, and cordial "How do you do, Lily?" sent her on the rest of her way with a small cloud in her hitherto cloudless sky, and a nasty little feeling of wounded pride endeavoured to make itself felt. However, she consoled herself with the thought that Lily would soon have cause to think differently of her, and hastened to the place where she had promised to wait for the carriage.
But, unfortunately, it was just the other way round! The carriage, with Mrs. Beauchamp in it, had been waiting some time for Monica, and her grandmother greeted her with words of displeasure.
"I am very much annoyed, Monica; you are fifteen or twenty minutes behind time," she said severely. "Richards has been driving up and down, up and down, all that time, lest the horses should take cold; they were so very warm. It was very thoughtless indeed of you, to keep me waiting like this."
"I am very sorry, grannie," was all Monica said, as she seated herself beside her grandmother in the landau; and it spoke volumes for her that her voice was gentle, and her look penitent. Monica of old would not have answered thus, and Mrs. Beauchamp knew it, and thoroughly appreciated the change, although she said nothing. Indeed, silence reigned during the drive, and it was not until they were in the drawing-room after dinner that Mrs. Beauchamp enquired the result of Monica's visit.
"You might as well write to Miss Buckingham this evening, if you are still anxious to do so," she said, when she had heard what Mrs. Howell said; "there is no time to spare, as the letter will have to be forwarded to wherever she is spending her holidays."
And Monica gladly fetched her writing-case, and began to write what proved to be a very difficult epistle. Her pen had to be nibbled thoughtfully many times before the letter was accomplished, and then the result was not all that the writer could wish. She was rather afraid that Mrs. Beauchamp would ask to see it before it went; but, fortunately, just as Monica had signed her name, in school-girl calligraphy, at the end of perhaps the most tidy letter she had ever written, the old lady roused up from the little doze in which she had been indulging, and bade Monica hasten, or she would lose the post.
"I have just finished, grannie," and as Monica laid down her pen, Harriet came to say that Richards was waiting for the letters.
"Have you any to send to-night, grannie? No? Then there is only this one, Harriet," and Monica breathed a sigh of relief as she shut up her writing-case and prepared to read to her grandmother.
Not the most agreeable of tasks was this; for Mrs. Beauchamp considered that it was "improving" for her granddaughter to read aloud for at least half an hour every evening. Monica was not a very fluent reader, so that she was continually being pulled up for leaving out commas, or for emphasising quite the wrong word. The interruptions would have been very trying if the book had been even the least bit interesting, but as it really seemed to have been chosen for its dryness and dullness, Monica did not mind. However, she tried her hardest, nowadays, to read carefully, and with a fair amount of expression, and she was far less often interrupted than she used to be. She did want to be what Marcus Drury called a "whatsoever" Christian.
"You really begin to read quite nicely, Monica," her grandmother said approvingly, as she finished a chapter, and was told that would do for that evening. "Your father would be greatly pleased with the improvement there has been in you lately."
Tears of joy sprang to Monica's eyes, as she put the book away, and then stooped and gave the old lady a "good-night" kiss.
"What has made the difference in you, Monica?"
And for the second time that day the young girl answered radiantly, but humbly, "The Lord Jesus Christ."
"Little Elsa said that was what it was," muttered Mrs. Beauchamp under her breath, as she toyed nervously with her eye-glasses. "Well, child, keep it up, it answers very well," she added, in a louder tone.
"It would be no use for me to try to keep myself, grannie dear," was the stammering reply, "for I should do something wrong directly, but when I let Jesus hold me tight, then it is all right."
Mrs. Beauchamp made no answer, and, after waiting a moment or two, Monica slipped off, fearful lest she had offended her grandmother.
But the old lady sat thinking deeply for a long, long time--thinking of the past when she was a girl of Monica's age, and with as headstrong a nature as hers--thinking of her married life, when her whole time and thought had been given to the things of this world--thinking of the unrestful, unsatisfying present, and of the dark, dark future stretching out beyond.
"Little Elsa told me, once, that she prayed God every day to bless me," she murmured, while a tear trickled slowly down her cheek. "God bless the child ... and me, too!"
A week elapsed before any reply came to Monica's letter, and she began to be afraid that Miss Buckingham would not make known her decision before it was too late, for the school reopened in another few days. However, one morning, the long-looked-for letter arrived, and the girl's heart was overjoyed when she found that her request had been granted, and that Lily Howell would be allowed to re-attend the school if she wrote an apology for her past conduct, and sent it to the head-mistress without delay. Miss Buckingham added that it had been a matter of regret with her, that one of her scholars should have had to leave the school under such circumstances, so that if Lily were really penitent, the past should be overlooked; more especially as the girl she had endeavoured to injure had taken upon herself the task of interceding for her.
"I wish she hadn't put that last bit in," mused Monica, "because that will very likely offend Lily more than ever, because she will hate to think she owes anything to me. However, I can't help that; I have done what seemed right, and I must just leave the result, and I am dreadfully afraid she won't apologise. Well, I'll do as grannie suggests--just send Miss Buckingham's letter to Mrs. Howell, and then wait to see what happens."
A little note, badly expressed and ill-spelt, but breathing gratitude in every line, from Mrs. Howell, was all that Monica received, and in it there was only a hope expressed that Lily would send the apology, but no certainty. So she had to be patient, and wait a little longer.
Meanwhile, she kept the matter quite secret, not even breathing a word of it to Olive, for she thought, and very wisely, that if the whole affair fell through, it would be much better for no one to have known anything of it. But Monica was not very clever at keeping a secret, and if she had seen much of the Franklyns the probability is, that in a moment of forgetfulness she would have divulged it. However, the girls met but seldom during the days that elapsed between Mrs. Franklyn's funeral and the school reopening.
Once, when Monica was in Osmington, she ran up against Amethyst Drury, and, as they were talking, Mr. Howell's motor car passed them, reminding the younger girl of his daughter.
"I saw Lily the other day, Monica, and she wouldn't look at me. She walked by just as proud as Lucifer. The idea! As if we were all to blame, and she was innocent! I'm awfully glad she won't be at school any more."
"I daresay we should feel pretty much as she does, Thistle, if we were in her place," was Monica's reply; "she can't enjoy herself much."
"Quite as much as she deserves," said Amethyst, with decision; "horrid cheat!"
"Oh, Thistle!" Monica's tone was reproachful.
"Well, I ought not to have said that, I know," said Amethyst penitently, "but Idon'tlike her; do you, Monica?"
"I am afraid I can't say I really like her," Monica confessed honestly; "but still she may be sorry inside, you know, and, perhaps, if we had been kinder to her at first, she would have been nicer to us now. I mean she would feel that we did not think the very worst of her," added Monica, a trifle lamely. She knew what she meant herself, but had difficulty in expressing it.
"I am afraid the worst is about right," was Amethyst's sententious answer, as they parted. And Monica could not help wondering justwhatthe girls, as a whole, would say, if Lily should reappear at the High School again.
CHAPTER XXI.
"I GUESS I'LL JUST WATCHYOUA BIT."
"Monica!"
"Yes, grannie?"
"I want to talk to you for a few minutes."
And Monica, without so much as a frown, although she had just reached a most interesting part of her story, laid her book down, and prepared to give all her attention to her grandmother. She had no idea that Mrs. Beauchamp was covertly watching her, as she frequently did, to see whether she would exhibit any irritation or temper at the interruption; but if she had been aware of it, she could not have smiled more brightly, or been more ready to give up her own wishes to please her grandmother. Truly the Monica Beauchamp of the present was a totally different being from the one of bygone days.
The old lady noted her expression with an approving smile, and could not help acknowledging to herself that this grandchild of hers was fast becoming very dear to her, and well deserved the pleasure that was in store for her.
"I wanted to have a little talk about your birthday, Monica; it will soon be here now."
"Yes, grannie," replied the girl, with sparkling eyes. "Next Tuesday, the 27th."
"And you will be sixteen. Dear me, how time flies, to be sure! I well remember the day your dear father was the same age," Mrs. Beauchamp said musingly, and her thoughts went back to past days for a few moments. But they soon returned to the present, and she went on: "I wonder what you would choose if I said you might have what you liked for a birthday present, Monica?" And she smiled into the eager, upturned face.
"Oh, grannie, I don't know, I'm sure,whatI should choose; there are so many nice things!" And Monica turned over in her mind various things she had been wishing she possessed. Most people would have thought that she already had everything that she could possibly want, but even the best supplied of mortals can always do with "more." A nice writing-case, some books, a new brooch--any or all of these would be nice, and Monica was about to mention them, when a sudden thought flashed through her brain; here was the very opportunity she had been wanting! If only Mrs. Beauchamp would give her money this birthday to spend as she liked!
"Well, Monica, how long are you going to be choosing? Remember, I did not say I would give you what you chose!"
"Oh, grannie dear, I do hope you will!" coaxed Monica, in persuasive tones. "I would rather have it than anything else."
"Well, what is it? Perhaps if it is anything in reason, you might have it, but I warn you not to ask for a bicycle." Mrs. Beauchamp looked quite stern, as if the mere mention of the article brought the past vividly before her, but there was a suspicious twinkle in her eyes, which Monica did not notice.
"No, grannie, I will never ask you forthat," was Monica's subdued reply, although her active young limbs literally ached sometimes, when she saw other girls jumping on their bicycles and spinning off along the country roads. But she had long since given up expecting ever to do the same, for she knew how her grandmother objected to women cyclists. "But I do wish you would give me money instead of any other present, this year, grannie, because I want some very particularly."
"What for?" asked the old lady curiously. "Surely you haven't exceeded your pocket-money, and got into debt like boys do; have you, Monica?"
"Oh! dear, no, grannie," and Monica's laugh rang merrily out, "it isn't anything of that kind! But if I tell you what I want it for, you won't say 'no,' will you, grannie dear? It's nothing wrong." And the clear grey eyes sought the old lady's earnestly.
"Very well; now, tell me."
"Oh, you are a dear grannie!" said Monica enthusiastically. "I'll tell you all about it. You know when we girls all went to the missionary meeting at Sandyshore, Miss Daverel, the lady who spoke, said there were lots of ways girls could help; and we four made up our minds to see what we could do." Monica paused, and looked a trifle diffidently at Mrs. Beauchamp; she was not quite sure what sort of reception her words would get, for, as far as she knew, her grandmother had no more interest in foreign missions than old Richards, the coachman, had.
But the old lady nodded, and seemed in no wise annoyed, so Monica took courage, and proceeded with her story. "We want to have a sort of working-party, just amongst us girls, with perhaps Mrs. Drury and Miss Franklyn to help, and make all sorts of things to send out to China, for the poor little girls and the women who are so sad and unhappy, Miss Daverel says. She has promised to send us patterns and directions, and we want to begin very soon; but you see, grannie, we must have some money to buy dolls and print, and wool, and all sorts of things with. And Ithought, grannie dear, if you would give me money instead of anything else, it would help us start, at any rate."
"H'm." Mrs. Beauchamp said nothing in favour of the proposal, but then she did not say anything against it, which was fairly encouraging. Monica tried to read her thoughts by scanning the face which was slightly turned away from her, but could make nothing of it. "Why should this undertaking be started with your money, Monica? Surely it is as much the others' affair as yours?"
"Oh, yes, we all want to do it; but you see, grannie, none of the others have much to spend, and I---- Oh, I do want to give something that I shall miss, if it is only a little!" And Monica's girlish face glowed with enthusiasm.
"Well, I had intended giving you something that I believe you would have liked very much, Monica; but if you would really rather have money to spend as you propose, you may count upon having a five-pound note on your birthday instead. I was going to give you a bicycle."
"Oh, grannie!" Amazement, consternation, hesitation, these, and countless other emotions played upon the young girl's heart. First, utter astonishment that her grandmother should ever have dreamt of revoking her decision about cycling; then a great desire for the long-coveted, and now possible machine took possession of her, and something within her said: "Here is the chance, at last, that you have been longing for. It is a pity you mentioned 'sacrifice,' but still, it does not matter, you have your choice, and your grandmother feels sure you will choose the bicycle, that is why she urges you to consider." Oh, how subtle was the temptation! Only those similarly constituted can imagine what a battle was being fought in Monica's heart. The bicycle--or the five-pound note: an endless amount of pleasure for herself--or the means to provide joy for others. How hard it was! Monica felt that no other choice that she might ever be called upon to make could possibly equal this; for it was just the one thing she did want, and yet----
"Don't decide hastily, Monica," said her grandmother, seeing that she hesitated; "think it well over, and tell me to-morrow which you have chosen."
Monica was glad that it was nearly bedtime, for she longed to get away to her own room and think. Once there, she determined to fight the matter out, and a very sharp battle it proved, this first real denial of self. For some time, it seemed as if shemustchoose the bicycle, and satisfy her conscience by scraping together all the pocket-money she could muster (only a few shillings) and giving that to the missionary cause. She had not promised the girls a large amount, they knew nothing of the offer of the five pounds, and never need know. Her grandmother quite expected her to choose the bicycle, yes--she would decide upon that, and perhaps her father or some one else would give her a present of money, and if so, that should be added to the sum in her purse, and would provide quite a nice start for the working-party.
Monica began to feel quite self-sacrificing, and having, as she thought, made a final decision, she proceeded to prepare for bed, her mind full of the joy and pleasure that the possession of (and permission to use) a bicycle of her own would afford.
Her thoughts were still running in the same direction when she opened her little Bible and began to read a few verses, as she had done lately. She did not read according to any plan, she had never heard of such a thing as a Union for Bible Reading, so that she was just reading straight on through the gospels, and finding out many wonderful truths. She had read as far as Matt. xvi. 20 last time, and the little ribbon marker was laid between the pages. Her brain was still very full of the bicycle, and soon she found that she had read some few verses without having taken in the sense of them at all! So with an effort she sought to fix her wandering thoughts on the printed page, and as she did so, the words of the next verse seemed to stand out from it as if the letters were made of fire; at any rate they burnt right into her very soul.
"Then said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself."
Oh, how that one short sentence, straight from the lips of the Saviour, accused Monica! How guilty she felt! How small must be her love for Him, if she could, even for one short hour, think more of her own personal pleasure and gratification, than the needs of great, dark, heathen China! She fell on her knees beside the pretty white bed, and burying her face in her hands, she sobbed out her sorrow and humiliation into the ear of Him who never fails to hear His children's cry for pardon. And as she prayed, a deep, sweet peace filled her heart, and she knew that she was forgiven. Thus Monica Beauchamp was enabled to triumph over self, and the first real sacrifice she had been called upon to make, since becoming a Christian, was willingly, nay, gladly made.
The next day, Mrs. Beauchamp, not without some misgiving (for she did not want Monica to fall short of her expectations, though she would hardly confess so much, even to herself), asked for her decision.
"I would like the five pounds best, please, grannie dear," was the bright reply, while a little flush rose to the young girl's face.
The old lady's heart thrilled with pleasure, but she evinced no sign of it.
"Very well, Monica," was all she said; and if her granddaughter had expected to be asked for her reasons, she would have been disappointed; but Monica was glad that no more was said. The experience of the night before was too real, too solemn, for her to talk it over, and she was too honest to have given any but her real reason.
With a glad heart, and a bright song often upon her lips, she prepared for school next day, and Mrs. Beauchamp, catching snatches of the refrain every now and then, marvelled at the total change that had taken place in her grandchild. "It is simply wonderful," she murmured, "wonderful! She used to besuchan anxiety, and now she is just the reverse. I am glad for Conrad's sake; he will find a treasure when he returns, if this condition of things lasts." And the old lady sighed a wee bit doubtfully; but then she had no experimental knowledge of the Saviour who is "able to keep from falling," as well as "able to save."
The little governess cart was brought round from the stables punctually at nine o'clock the next morning, and Monica jumped into it, closely followed by Jack.
"No, no, poor Jack, you can't go with me to-day," she said, as she tried in vain to get him out of the trap; "I'm going to school, my doggie, and you can't go there."
Tom, the little stable-boy, who had been holding Cæsar's head, and grinning with delight at Jack's persistence, volunteered to carry him back and fasten him up in the yard.
"Poor old fellow," said his mistress, as Richards gathered up the reins, and the pony trotted briskly down the drive, for Jack's whines and short, yapping barks of disappointment could be heard for some distance.
"Pony's a bit fresh this morning, miss," remarked the old coachman, who had all his work cut out to hold him in, for the road to Osmington was a downhill one. "Steady there, steady," he said, as Cæsar tossed his dark-brown mane, resentful of some little flicks of the whip.
"A nasty-tempered h'animal 'e is sometimes; look how he bit your 'and, miss."
"Oh, that was all my own fault, Richards," replied Monica; "I deserved that."
"Well, he didn't ought to have snapped out at you like that," continued the old man. "Belle and Beauty wouldn't have done such a thing, never," and he shook his grey head decisively, for "the pair" constituted the joy and pride of his heart, and he had never forgiven the introduction of the pony.
"They are always so quiet and gentle," agreed Monica, and the old coachman, having subdued Cæsar into going at a steady trot, rambled on about the merits of "the pair" until the short drive was over.
"I dowonderif Lily Howell will turn up," thought Monica to herself, as she entered the school door, greeting one and another as she passed them on her way to the cloak-room. There she found Amethyst Drury, who informed her that several of the girls had been moved up, but the quartette was still intact.
"And oh, Monica," she added, in an excited whisper, "Lily Howell must have come back! There is that pink and green hat of hers; no other girl would have one exactly like it, would she?"
Monica, glancing at the pegs, and seeing what was unmistakably one of Lily's well-known, gaudy hats, was not as astonished or disconcerted as Amethyst could have wished.
"I think there is no doubt about it, Thistle," she said quietly. "I shall be glad to find Lily has come back."
"Whatever for?" enquired the younger girl, in a puzzled tone. Monica had been incomprehensible to her lately.
But Monica was entering the hall by the swing-door, and only smiled her answer, for talking was forbidden. With one swift glance she saw that Lily, looking certainly less defiant than usual, was in her old place, and with a glad feeling in her heart, Monica slipped into her usual position at Olive's side, persistently ignoring the telegraphic messages that Olive's dark eyes were continually dispatching, until the head-mistress's bell announced the commencement of prayers.
Every one of the girls was more or less excited that first morning at school after the long holidays, but the air of the Fourth Form seemed charged with electricity. No one, except Monica and Lily, knew how it had come about that the latter was again amongst them; and even those two were wondering just what would happen, when Miss Buckingham appeared in the doorway.
"Good morning, girls. I am glad to meet you all once again," she said in the energetic, crisp fashion peculiar to her. "I hope you have all thoroughly enjoyed your holidays, and have now come back prepared to work hard. Some of you may be surprised to see one of your number here again, after what occurred last term; but when I tell you that she has apologised, and I have entirely consented to overlook what took place then, I am sure I may depend upon you, one and all, to do your share in helping to blot out the memory of the past, and by your kindness and consideration, strive to emulate the Spirit of Him who said: 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' I am not afraid that this unaccustomed leniency will be taken a mean advantage of, or I should warn you not to count upon a repetition of it. Instead of that, I advise you, one and all, to throw all your energies into this term's work, particularly those among you who will be candidates for the Junior Cambridge Examination at its close, and I shall look forward to seeing the majority of your names in the 'Honours' List."
The excitement caused by Miss Buckingham's words soon subsided, and beyond being the object of a good deal of staring, Lily Howell was not interfered with; and as the morning wore on, she began to feel less uncomfortable. It had been a hard tussle to get her to write the apology, and, but for her father threatening to send her to live indefinitely, with her strict aunt if she did not, she would have absolutely refused. But now that it was over, and the head-mistress had spoken so kindly, as even Lily could not help feeling, the girl began to see how despicable her conduct had been, and she was seized with a sudden desire to prove to the whole form that she could be as nice a girl as any of them, if she liked.
Fortunately, Maggie Masters, her former ally, was no longer at school, having left the neighbourhood, so that Lily had every opportunity of making a fresh start, and she took advantage of it. As the days passed, the change in her was very noticeable--even those who had always felt an aversion for her could no longer find any complaint to make; she was painstaking and persevering, and being by no means wanting in ability, she bade fair to rival the most clever in the class. But she kept aloof from the girls; she felt, instinctively, that in spite of Miss Buckingham's expressed wish, they were not willing to let bygones be bygones. They did not twit her, or indeed make any allusion to the past, but they simply let her alone.
All but Monica Beauchamp and Elsa Franklyn, who from the very first day of the term had tried their best to be friendly. But she repulsed them, feeling convinced that they were only patronising her; it was an impossibility for a nature like Lily Howell's to realise that both those girls were actuated by the same principle, that of "loving one another."
"I can't think what you did it for," she remarked to Monica, referring to the letter of intercession the latter had written on her behalf, "unless it was to make Miss Buckingham think a lot of you. Weren't you mad when she never even mentioned your name?" And the girl looked curiously at Monica, who was a complete enigma to her.
"Oh, Lily! I never once thought of such a thing," she replied, in a pained tone.
"Well, whatwasit for, then?" persisted Lily.
"I don't think you would understand if I told you," was the reply.
"Why not, pray? Ma said it was because you had turned religious lately. Is that why?" And Lily's light blue eyes scanned the other's face inquisitively.
"I have not turned 'religious' as you call it, Lily," said Monica gently, although a flush rose to her cheek; "I have only given myself to Jesus Christ, and I am trying to follow Him. Idowish you would, too, Lily," she added earnestly.
"My gracious goodness!" ejaculated Lily, inelegantly, for she was completely taken aback. "I guess I'll just watchyoua bit, and see the effect before I go in for it."
Monica had to bite her lip hard to keep back the tears that would spring to her eyes, for she was tremendously in earnest, and Lily's mocking words jarred cruelly. "I am afraid you will see more failures than anything else," she said, in a low tone; "but you must not judge of Jesus Christ by me. He is the One to copy, He never fails or makes mistakes."
"Pa always says Christian people are far more often 'libels' than 'Bibles,' and that's why he doesn't believe in them," said Lily, to herself, as Monica and she separated; "but if I'm not mistaken, Miss Monica will prove an exception to that rule. All I know is,Iwouldn't have done forher, what she did forme! So there must be something in it!"