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HOME-SICK.
"WELL, Nellie," said Ada, turning round from a drawer she was sorting over, "what we shall do with you away at grandmamma's all this time I cannot imagine."
Nellie looked up from the depths of the trunk before her, and, pushing a pair of stockings hard into its corner, answered by a sigh.
"There," exclaimed Ada, "now I've depressed you. Of course we shall get on all right; and you like to be missed, don't you, Nellie?"
"Oh, I don't know! I wish I were not going."
"What a goose I am," said Ada, coming over and seating herself on the floor by the trunk. "You will be glad when you are once off. I know the feeling of home-sickness when one is packing up."
Nellie brushed away two or three tears, and went on laying-in her clothes, in silence.
"You are tired," said Ada ruefully, "and I have worried you. We shall get on very nicely; and mamma says you really do want a thorough change."
"The worst is, Ada," answered Nellie, choking down a thick feeling in her throat, "I am afraid mamma looks as if she ought to have 'a thorough change,' and I do not quite see how she is to have it."
"She is to go away with papa when you come back."
"Yes, I know."
"That will not be long, Nellie; and papa could not go now if it were ever so."
"No, no, Ada. Come, I am tired and stupid, and have got worried; but I will try and cheer up."
Ada looked in her face kindly, and went back to her drawer; while Nellie placed the last few things in the box, and then got up and began to prepare for tea.
"Leave that drawer to me to finish, dear," she said at last.
"Why?"
"Because I know where the things go, and shall be able to find them when I come back."
"Very well; and it is almost tea-time, so I will go and see about it. It will be only one day before I shall have it for my duty."
She went downstairs, and Nellie was left alone. She would have given something to have had a "good cry;" but she had a great aversion to red eyes and anxious questions; and after a few rather bitter tears, she washed her face and smoothed her hair, and then stood looking out on the May sunshine across the square, and wishing from the bottom of her heart she were not going.
Her eye fell upon her Bible lying close to her, and the sight of it reminded her that she never sought its help in vain. She opened the leaves, thinking, "This is my Father's message, straight from Him to me; it must comfort me." She turned over the pages at the Psalms till her eyes fell upon some of her favourite words—words that had been her trust many times before:
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."
Then she knelt down at the table, and laid her head on the open page, and before long her heart had found its rest again, "under the shadow of the Almighty." So it was a cheerful face that came down to tea, and no one but Ada knew that there had been that bit of home-sickness and fear, and she kept it to herself; for Ada "hated gossip," and if she found out someone's thoughts by accident, she always felt it to be a sacred trust, in great things or small.
The evening passed away in games and reading, and the next morning all were early; for Nellie's train started from Waterloo at ten o'clock.
Mrs. Arundel and Dolly were to go to see her off. Arthur and Ada would both have enjoyed to do this; but then school could on no account be neglected, and so they could only grumble and wish her good-bye, with many regrets at the inexorable nature of their duties.
Netta, Isabel, and Dolly were to have lessons with their mother during Nellie's absence, and they looked forward to this as a great treat.
Mrs. Arundel usually sat with little Tom during the hours of morning school, after she had got through her housekeeping; and when he heard that he was to be deprived of his tender nurse, he petitioned that "if mamma did not mind, could they all come up and have school in the nursery with him?"
The little girls considered this was a very good idea, as something fresh and interesting, and they also wished to compare their own attainments with their brother's. So it was arranged; but to-day was to be a holiday, because mamma would be too tired when she got back from Waterloo.
By nine o'clock the goodbyes were said, and they were driving in a cab through the rattling streets of London. Nellie held her step-mother's hand, but she did not say many words. Mrs. Arundel talked little chit-chat, asked her if her keys were safe and her purse; but seeing the rather tremulous lips, she did not touch on any subjects nearer their hearts than ordinary little travelling talk.
Dolly was kneeling up on the front seat of the cab enjoying herself after the manner of children, and was quite sorry when, after an extra whip-up of his poor horse, the cabman drove into the station.
They were in good time, and soon Nellie was placed in her corner, and Mrs. Arundel and Dolly stood close to the carriage window, sending messages to grandmamma and Aunt Ruth, and hoping she would not forget to write.
"Now, mamma," said Nellie, leaning out of the still open door, "you will not let the thought of your visit to the Lakes slip away to nothing, will you?"
"Oh no, dear; I do not suppose so. I believe papa fully intends it."
Nellie gave her a loving look, but just then the guard came to shut the door, and they drew back. Then Dolly was lifted by her mamma for one more kiss, Nellie pressed her lips on the dear face which always was so peaceful and true, and then there was a whistle, a strange little pause on the platform, and insensibly, almost, the train moved on, and Mrs. Arundel, and Dolly, and London were left behind.
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A VISIT TO FAIRLEIGH.
WHEN Nellie's train steamed into the station at Shellford, she caught sight of her grandmamma's little pony carriage waiting outside, and before she had time to open the door, a young lady came up to it, and said pleasantly, "Are you Miss Arundel?"
"Yes," said Nellie, gathering her packages together and quickly alighting, "grandmamma said you would meet me."
When they were seated in the little carriage, Nellie felt somewhat shy, for the young girl who sat beside her was quite a stranger to her, though she had heard a good deal of her.
Hope Elliot was one of a large family. She had a sister and a brother older than herself, and a number younger. Within the last three years she had lost her father, and the family had moved from Exeter, and had settled in Shellford, in order to live more economically.
Hope's eldest sister was married, and lived in London, whither also her brother was gone, and was doing well in business.
The second sister, Maude, was now her mother's right hand, and it had come to pass that Hope had become "a right hand" to Mrs. Arundel, at Fairleigh.
Soon after Mrs. Elliot had come to live at Shellford, Mrs. Arundel had found out all about her; and, ever ready to shed a little sunshine into lives that seemed to be dark, she called on the desolate widow, and invited some of her young people to come up and enjoy her garden.
Mrs. Elliot could not but be struck by the beautiful old lady, and responded most gladly to the invitation. An intimacy soon sprang up, and Mrs. Arundel and Aunt Ruth found an interest in the large family, while they on their part felt that life was not so utterly blank, now they knew the inmates of Fairleigh, and could look forward to visits and errands there.
About Christmas, when Nellie had been visiting Christina in London, Mrs. Arundel's maid, who had been with her for many years, broke her leg, and became unable to wait upon her mistress. Hope Elliot happened to call upon Mrs. Arundel on the day of the accident, and finding at what a loss the dear old lady would be without her attendant, she asked if she might come for a few days and help them.
Mrs. Arundel had looked up in her face in sudden astonishment, and when she met the candid eyes, had taken her hand and given it a warm squeeze. "Thank you, my dear," she had said simply, and with grave courtesy, "I know you mean what you say, and I shall be very glad to have you."
So Hope had taken up her abode at Fairleigh, and had never left it since for many hours; and thus it came to pass that she was sitting by Nellie, driving her home from the station on that beautiful May day.
"I cannot think how you knew me," said Nellie, for the sake of saying something.
Hope laughed. "We have not so many bright young ladies stop here that I should be likely to mistake. You seemed ready to get out."
"Of course I was; I forgot that."
Hope was silent; and in a few minutes they turned in at the gate of Fairleigh, and passed under the tender green trees of the little avenue that led up to the house.
The sound of the wheels brought the maid to the door, and Nellie was quickly led into the old-fashioned hall.
In an instant, her grandmamma's two hands were placed on her two shoulders, and she received the warmest of kisses, and the most loving of welcomes.
"My dear," said her grandmamma, holding her hand close, and leading her into the drawing room, "you are like a bit of your father to me; I am so glad to see you."
Nellie smiled brightly in answer, and then asked for "Aunt Ruth."
"She is pretty well to-day, my dear, and perhaps will be able—"
They all turned; for entering at the moment, with almost noiseless step, was Nellie's invalid aunt.
"I have just come to give you one kiss, darling, and to ask you how you have travelled, and how they all are at home?"
"Oh, very nicely, thank you, dear auntie! And I have had a very good journey. It is so sweet to be at dear Fairleigh again."
"You must be tired," answered her aunt, "and so our dear Hope will take you upstairs. Hope is quite like a grandchild here, and is a great comfort to us."
"How lovely everything smells!" exclaimed Nellie, as she entered the fresh country bedroom, with its snowy curtains, pretty chintzes, and dainty little ornaments.
Hope looked surprised. "Does it? I thought every place smelt alike."
"Oh no," said Nellie. "Fairleigh smells like no other place in the world. It is the freshness, and the flowers, and the absence of smoke and dust, I suppose, so different from London."
"Ah! I have never been to London."
"It is nothing to be regretted," said the little London lady, who was as tired of it as she could be.
Hope smiled. "You must tell me all about it, Miss Arundel."
"Please call me Nellie; I feel you a sort of cousin, you know; and we shall have to get used to each other," she added, looking up shyly.
"Very well," said Hope; "and now I shall leave you to get ready for tea, which I am sure you must be wanting; it is such a tedious journey. You know your way down?"
"Oh yes; I shall not be very long."
When Hope closed the door, and Nellie was alone, she sat down by the dressing-table, and looked round her. What a gulf lay between the beginning of this day and the end. Her sympathies and thoughts this morning were all centered in her busy home. Now everything was strange, and her grandmamma, Aunt Ruth, Fairleigh, and Hope Elliot, filled her mind.
She got up again and went to the window. It looked over a piece of the kitchen garden, kept in beautiful order, then beyond was the field where her grandmamma's cows were feeding, and beyond that, the greenest of hedges, some fine old elms, and a piece of fiat, well-wooded country, which Nellie loved inexpressibly.
The other window looked over a part of the flower garden, divided from the orchard by a splendid yew hedge. As she looked at the orchard, Nellie held her breath, and a strange feeling came over her. It was one mass of blossom; snowy cherry-trees, green and white pear, and rosy apple-trees mingled their branches together in such wonderful luxuriance that Nellie stood entranced.
With a deep-drawn sigh, she turned at last to take off her things, and feared Hope would think she had been a long time.
When she descended to the drawing room, her grandmamma rose, and taking her arm, to which she gave a loving pressure, led the way into the dining-room, while Hope followed.
"You still pour out tea, grandmamma?" said Nellie, as they seated themselves.
"Yes, my dear," answered Mrs. Arundel, emphatically; "and you will find it is very nice tea, and our old-fashioned bread and butter just the same as ever."
When tea was over, Mrs. Arundel asked Hope to ring the bell for prayers; after which they all went into the drawing room, and Mrs. Arundel took up a book of travels she was reading, while the two girls brought their work and listened to her pleasant voice.
When she retired, which she did rather early, Hope and Nellie were left together to make the best of each other.
They were both rather shy, and the conversation was not as lively as Nellie wished she could have made it.
"Shall we go into the garden?" asked Hope.
Nellie willingly assented; so they stepped through the glass-door on to the shady lawn.
"Here is our favourite place," said Hope, leading the way to a small sheltered seat under the spreading branches of an elm.
Nellie did not need telling, and they sat down, and under the influence of the peaceful evening began to feel more at home.
"They will miss you very much," said Hope.
"I am afraid they will; but mamma wished me so much to come."
"Yes, it is always right for the busy one to get a change," said Hope.
"I suppose so," answered Nellie doubtfully.
"That was partly why my mamma was so pleased for me to come here," resumed Hope. "I was so busy at home all day long, and my next sister had not much opportunity to do what she would otherwise have been willing to do."
"You like it, I suppose?" said Nellie, smiling.
"Very much indeed. I love dear Mrs. Arundel so much; and so I do 'Aunt Ruth,' as she allows me to call her."
"Do you often go home?"
"Two or three times a week I run down and say, 'How do you do?' to mamma; but my sister Maude laughingly tells me to keep to my own ground!"
"You have plenty of sisters and brothers, haven't you?"
"Yes," answered Hope; "but we get along very well. Mamma is very good to us, and tries to forget her own sorrows to cheer us."
"That is so like mothers," said Nellie.
"Some mothers," answered Hope. "But here is Maude coming across the lawn to welcome you; so you will see some of us to-night, and some to-morrow, and next week we expect our brother Wilmot down from London to spend his holiday; then you will have seen all but one."
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AUNT RUTH.
"NOW, Nellie, my dear," said Aunt Ruth, as they were seated together at work in the drawing room the next morning, "tell me all about them at home."
Nellie looked up in her aunt's face—a face still young for the actual age; a face that had lived through seas of suffering, but which was the index of a heart that rested now, and ever had rested, on the Rock of Ages.
"How can I begin to tell you, dear aunt?"
"Anything will be welcome, darling; but first your dear papa."
"I think he is just as usual," answered Nellie. "He always is just the same."
Aunt Ruth smiled. "Happy for you he is, dear."
Nellie looked thoughtfully out of the window into the sunny garden, and then she added, "We think him rather more grey, Aunt Ruth, since uncle's illness and death. I fear he will never wholly get over that."
"No, dear, I am afraid not," answered Miss Arundel, a look of pain crossing her face, but this was quickly followed by a look of peace as she glanced towards the blue sky.
"Then your dear mamma?"
"We do not think her very well; but papa has not said anything about being anxious."
"I have thought from her letters that she was not very strong."
Nellie's heart sank a little, and a nameless fear crept over her.
Aunt Ruth looked in her face, and seemed to understand. She put out her hand and took hold of Nellie's, saying reassuringly:
"'All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth.'"
Nellie's eyes filled. How wonderful it was that, all the world over, the words of the blessed Book comforted those who sought its aid:
"Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever."
"And you have good news from Walter?"
"Oh, yes!" said Nellie, brightening. "He is very well, and working hard, and longing to come home."
"It will be a great change for you all, if he settles in England."
"I think he will, Aunt Ruth. Christina does not like India very much; and then, again, Walter wants to be near papa. It seems hard that papa should lose his eldest son altogether."
"And Christina is happy to wait so long?"
"Oh, yes! In fact, she much prefers it. She says she could not have thought of it sooner, partly because of the little children."
"What will be done with them, Nellie, when she is married? Has anything been arranged? You know, dear, letters do not tell me all I want to know."
"I do not think it is quite decided. She has only four little children, and I believe she intends, if Walter agrees, to maintain them and educate them just the same. She says if any very nice home were offered for one of them, she might accept; but she loves them so much that I do not know how she could part with them."
"She is a sweet girl, is she not?"
"Very sweet; and so beautiful! She is most accomplished; and to watch her playing with the little children, and condescending to their pranks and fun, is quite amusing to me."
"I wish I could see her," said Aunt Ruth.
"She is one of the reliable people," said Nellie, "without being an atom stuck-up or stiff. The tenderest heart, but yet so firm and pure."
Aunt Ruth looked up in Nellie's glowing face. "You are a good little lover, Nellie," she said, smiling.
"It is quite true," answered Nellie, somewhat abashed, "and not at all because Walter thinks so. I felt it long before I knew anything about that."
"And now, Nellie, I must tell you about the Elliots. They are very nice people, and Hope is the greatest comfort to us. I can hardly fancy ourselves living without her now. I am sure you and she will be happy together. But, you know, Nellie, they all need the one thing. It is so sad to see a large family without that. Hope tells me her eldest brother thinks as we do; but she does not profess to care about it herself.
"Poor Mrs. Elliot has been weighed down with cares for many years, and knows not that, perhaps, they have been permitted, as George Herbert says, 'that at least if goodness lead her not, yet weariness may toss her to His breast.' I pray it may be so. Their being at Shellford will add very much to your pleasure, I think, dear, as they are a pleasant, bright family, and perhaps, Nellie, you will have some little mission for them."
Aunt Ruth drew the young face to her, and kissed it fondly.
"My dear child," she said, "our Heavenly Father leads us all in different paths; but they are all His paths—all lead straight to His heavenly home, and we must try and be willing to walk in our own faithfully and joyfully. Some paths are full of suffering, others are full of work; but still each, let us remember as we walk along in it day by day, is His path, made ready for our feet."
"Yes, dear aunt," said Nellie, looking up in the worn face, and knowing that these words came from a heart which had proved what it said.
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CAUGHT BY THE TIDE.
"MAUDE!" called Mrs. Elliot from the breakfast-parlour. "Maude! Are we not late this morning?"
"No, mamma; or at least only five minutes," answered a handsome girl coming forth from the kitchen, rolling up an apron which she had just taken off.
"I was afraid it was more, my dear."
"I have done all the things," said Maude, "and packed up the butter, and Wilmot is picking the strawberries. The butter is as cool as possible, and will travel so in all those cabbage leaves. I put some wet muslin over it first, of course."
"Have you made up the bread?"
"Yes; and it is in the oven. I think I've done well," said Maude complacently; "and by the time we have finished breakfast, it will be baked."
"Such a lot of little pretty loaves!" said a child, who had been superintending the preparations, and was now seated at the table.
"Yes; Hope could not have made them better," said Maude, laughing.
At this moment, a tall young man carried in a large basket of strawberries.
"Will this be enough?" he asked.
"Are there any more ripe?" said Mrs. Elliot.
"Yes; a good many more."
"Oh, then let us have them!" said Maude. "Nobody could have too many strawberries."
"Very well; but some of you will have to give a hand to them after breakfast."
"The children will," said Mrs. Elliot; "there will be plenty of time."
Then they sat down to breakfast.
"I wonder what time Hope and Miss Arundel will come down," said little Mary.
"Hope is sure to be punctual," said Maude, "so at exactly 'ten o' the clock,' we shall hear the wheels."
A picnic to Orston Cliff was one of the "institutions" of Shellford. It was about five miles off, and was to be reached in four different modes—by sea, by donkeys, by any conveyance which Shellford might boast, and by walking.
Many parties preferred going by water, but to-day the young people, having had the offer of Mrs. Arundel's pony carriage, determined to be independent of outside help, and were to walk and ride in turns.
Mrs. Elliot was to drive, and to take charge of the eatables; and these young country folks thought nothing of the walk, they said, even if their turn did not happen to come for a lift.
Before ten o'clock the little Elliots were eagerly looking up the hill towards Fairleigh for the first sight of the pony carriage. Very punctually it was seen descending the steep road, with Nellie and Hope seated in it.
Nellie had now been at Shellford nearly a month, and sea breezes and country life had wonderfully improved her. She was no longer the pale London girl, but looked as fresh and rosy as any of them, while there was just that air about her of ease and polish which Maude secretly envied and tried to copy.
The girls both got out and went into the cottage to see after Mrs. Elliot and the "supplies," as Wilmot called them.
"Mamma," said Hope, "we must consider the hampers quite equal to the weight of one person. We have agreed that only two besides you shall ride at once."
"There would not be room either," said Wilmot, coming out with the large hamper, and placing it on the front seat.
"Where is what you have brought?" said one of the children to Hope.
She laughed, and pointed to the back of the carriage, where two large baskets had been carefully fastened.
"Capital," said Wilmot, going behind and inspecting it. "Let us hope they are well fastened; for supposing we should arrive there and find them gone!"
"You can walk behind, to make sure," said his little saucy sister.
"I daresay," he answered, looking roguishly at her; "and poor Wilmot would have plenty of fun, wouldn't he?"
"Oh, I didn't mean it!" she said, relenting, and coming up to him for a kiss.
Then there was an amicable squabble as to who should ride first, and it was settled that Nellie and Maude should be the ones chosen.
The little carriage soon distanced the walkers, and went quickly up the smooth turnpike-road for a mile or more, when at the appointed place Mrs. Elliot drew up, and they sat still waiting for the others.
"We must not let it seem long," she said, "for they cannot be here for at least ten minutes."
So they filled up the time by a pleasant little talk; and Nellie told Mrs. Elliot what she had never yet heard—about Christina's Orphanage.
"Is she happy in it?" she asked presently. "Really happy?"
"I believe she is; I never saw anyone more tranquilly and uninterruptedly happy."
"I have heard that she has passed through great sorrows?"
"Very great indeed; but I hope brighter days will come. You know Walter will be back in less than two years."
"Two years!" said Maude. "That seems an age."
"So it does," answered Nellie; "but not so bad as three."
"Why, of course not; but I should always be afraid something would happen, and that he would never come."
"Don't, my dear," said her mother deprecatingly.
"But then," said Nellie, her eyes filling with tears, "if we thought of all those things, we should never be happy for a moment."
"That's just it," answered Maude; "if I had any thing I valued very much in life (which I haven't), I should be thinking all the time I should lose it."
"That would be dreadful," said Nellie; "but I think God is better to us than that."
"But, Nellie, people's best-loved ones do die sometimes," said Maude.
"Yes," she answered thoughtfully; "but don't you think, Mrs. Elliot, we cannot always understand what God does, and must wait?"
Mrs. Elliot answered somewhat constrainedly, "My dear, you must not appeal to me. I have not been able to understand the dealings of Providence."
"Somehow," said Nellie hesitating, "mamma thinks that we shall be able to understand some day, though we cannot now."
"It is often very hard and very mysterious," said Mrs. Elliot, looking along the lane in a hopeless kind of way that made Nellie's heart ache.
Maude sprang up, and went to peep round a bend, to look for the others, and Nellie put her hand softly on Mrs. Elliot's. "I would rather trust Him!" she said gently, looking with full eyes into the careworn widow's face.
"I do not know, my dear; life has been a long struggle with me, and I have had but little joy, and now my best is gone, and I have nothing left but an empty chair and an empty heart."
"It must be dreadful," said Nellie; "but, oh, forgive me, if I say that I know Jesus Christ is able to give you comfort and peace."
"Thank you, dear. I know at least that you think so," answered Mrs. Elliot, pressing her hand kindly.
"Here they come," said Maude. "How pretty they look winding up the road in their fresh muslin dresses and sailor hats."
"We have overtaken you at last," said Hope; "and we have been settling the order of march for the next stage; three little ones are to ride next."
"Jump in, then," said Mrs. Elliot; and they all again set forward.
Nellie had turned to pick some wild roses in the hedge, and Wilmot followed her, saying, "Those are quite dusty, Miss Arundel, to what we shall find further on, unless you particularly want these?"
Nellie raised her head, and Wilmot saw traces of tears on her face.
She glanced at him, and away, in some confusion, and said, nervously throwing those down she had already gathered, "Oh, it does not matter in the least. I only thought they were so pretty." She hastened after the others, while Wilmot exclaimed:
"There is not the least hurry, Miss Arundel; we all do just as we like."
"The others would not 'like' to be kept back by us," she answered, laughing a little.
The cavalcade now turned into one of the narrow lanes so charming in Devonshire. It was early, and the road lay in such a direction that the sun had not yet peeped over the top of the high bank and hedge. The lane was therefore perfectly cool and shady, and the young people turned round and congratulated each other on the change from the dusty high road. Ferns, mosses, foxgloves, and wild flowers of all descriptions, grew luxuriantly, and the children began to fill their hands with them, as though they could not help it.
Nellie did not attempt to pick any more flowers, but walked on soberly thinking. Not unhappily; in those few moments of quiet, she had lifted her heart to her Heavenly Father; she had reminded Him that He had promised to comfort those that mourn, and asked Him to fulfil His word to Mrs. Elliot; and then she had gone on content that it would be well.
They now made their second change, and Wilmot said they had accomplished half the journey. Mrs. Elliot produced some buns, and they all sat down to rest for a few minutes. The pony was allowed to turn his head to the patch of dewy green grass by the side of the lane, and enjoy himself like the rest.
"Will you come and look at something?" said Wilmot, addressing Nellie; "one of our Devonshire treasures?"
Nellie followed him to a little break in the bank, and he stepped down suddenly, and turning round, held out his hand. "It is worth seeing," he said, smiling.
So Nellie gave a light spring, and found herself in a deep shady nook, with lovely ferns growing in the greatest profusion, broken stones lying scattered about, and that indescribable smell which belongs to verdant damp vegetation. The sound of trickling water added to the charm, and Nellie uttered an exclamation of delight.
"It is lovely, isn't it?" said Wilmot, looking up in her face. "It seems to quiet the soul, and lead one far away from the turmoil of life."
"Yes; I was thinking so," she answered.
"I was almost wishing I could stay here always; and then I remembered that it would be but a poor life after all, Miss Arundel."
"Yes; and I believe that all those wishes of ours come from a discontented spirit."
"I daresay they do; and instead of wishing something impossible, we should rather delight that the great Maker of all things gives these lovely bits of nature to refresh us."
"Is it good water?" asked Nellie, stooping and putting her hand in.
"Oh dear, yes. See, I have brought this glass to fill for the others. Will you have some first?"
"How beautifully cool," she exclaimed.
"Here you are!" called George Elliot from above. "Are you never coming with the water?"
"All in good time," answered Wilmot. "I'm showing Miss Arundel the beauties of our neighbourhood."
Nellie made her way across the damp stones to the mouth of the dell.
"Wait a moment," called Wilmot; "you do not know how to get up."
He came after her, and showed her where to place her foot, and then springing up before her, he took her hand, and in a moment she stood in the lane again, with the others close to them, just having finished their buns.
Wilmot held up the clear spring water, and the whole party must needs go down into the shady dell to taste it fresh from the spring. Nellie volunteered to stay by the pony, and even Mrs. Elliott was tempted by her description to see it for herself; for she had never happened in the three years she had lived at Shellford to visit this spot.
Nellie seated herself in the little carriage, and folding her hands on the reins, leaned back and looked up in the deep blue sky.
"'When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, what is man that Thou art mindful of him?'" she said softly to herself.
The sound of the voices came up as a murmur from the spring; the crunch of the pony's teeth as it tore away the grass, the hum of the bees in the wild honeysuckle, all were in unison with her happy spirit; and she enjoyed for a few moments one of those seasons of exquisite delight, which generally belong to youth, and which seem to strengthen for the duties of this work-a-day world.
She felt quite sorry to hear them all coming back; and it was not till half of them had emerged, that she sat upright and brought herself back from dreamland.
"You look happy," said Hope, coming up to her affectionately.
Nellie smiled. "It is so peaceful, Hope."
"Oh!" said Hope regretfully, "I would give something if—" She broke off abruptly, and the rest being now anxious to push on, there was no opportunity of knowing what Hope wanted, but Nellie guessed.
Without further adventure they reached Orston Cliff, and everyone voted for an early dinner and a long afternoon.
The mysteries of the hamper and baskets were now explored. All the little party were too natural and simple to disguise their interest, and so everybody set to and helped to spread the feast.
A place was fixed upon under some shady trees, where in front they had a beautiful view of the sea far beneath them. The ground sloped away from them gradually for about fifty yards, and then came the edge of Orston Cliff, and beyond that an expanse of sea and sky, whose blue to-day rivalled each other.
"You are very grave, Nellie," said Maude.
"Only it is so beautiful," answered Nellie, taking a deep breath, and turning to the baskets once more.
"Here is Maude's bread," said George, unwrapping a snowy cloth, and displaying a number of tempting rolls. "And here is another package with it."
"What's this?" said Mary, feeling it with her fat little fingers. "It feels very knobby."
"Let it alone, Mary," said Maude. "It is not to be opened till we have said grace."
Mary put it down, and found that her mamma had turned out a blancmange and some jelly, and was now unrolling something else. What could it be?
"Only a ham," said Mary, disappointed, and was hissed at by her young brothers, who did not at all disdain ham.
"That is all my contribution," said Mrs. Elliot, as she placed the strawberries at the far end of the tablecloth.
"Not so bad," said Wilmot. "I wish I could get this country fare in London, mother."
"I wish you could, dear."
"Here are Hope's things," said Maude. "Now, Miss Hope, let us see what you can do."
"How awfully jealous Maude is!" said George.
"Not at all," answered Maude; "but she was perfection before she went, and what she must be now—"
"Well," said Hope calmly, "here are a couple of chickens."
"You couldn't have made them," said Mary, nodding.
"No, I didn't," said Hope. "And here is a meat-pie; and here—"
"Stop," said Maude; "did you make the meat-pie?"
"I did," answered Hope.
"Then let us 'Hope' it will be good," said George. "What else?"
"Here are some tartlets, and some lemonade."
"Did you make that?"
"I did," answered Hope again.
"Well done!" exclaimed Wilmot. "Now let us begin."
"But here's another basket," said Nellie.
There was a general rush, but Hope pushed them away, and told them dryly that that was for tea; whereupon there was a rush back again, and they all settled down to enjoy their dinner.
"Now everybody," said Maude, "here is a mysterious package; and what will you give me for its contents?"
She took up as she spoke the neatly-folded cloth which had aroused curiosity before, and began to undo it.
Inside appeared a number of queer-shaped looking dainty rolls, and Maude held up the top one, saying, "Here is my first pretty thing; whom can it be for?"
"It is an M," said little Mary. "Perhaps it is for me."
"No, it does not happen to be," said Maude, smiling; "nor for me either; it is for mamma."
"Oh, to be sure!" said Mary.
"Here is a W."
"That is Wilmot," exclaimed Mary.
"And here an H for Hope, and an N for Nellie, and so on, and so on," passing them all round with rapid fingers; and then she laughingly told them, they must put some suitable adjectives to each letter before it was eaten, applicable to the person for whom it was made.
This set them off with fine jokes, and Wilmot was pronounced "wise" and "witty" and "wilful" in a breath. But they found some of the names more difficult to match; however, it served to amuse them, and dinner was a very cheerful affair.
"Now what shall we do next?" asked Wilmot, when dinner was over, stretching himself on his back under a tree, and putting his hat over his eyes.
"It is not difficult to guess what you intend to do," said Hope, laughing.
"I'm ready for anything," he answered; "but you would not let me help with the plates for fear of breaking them, and so I may as well wait in comfort."
"I shall rest here," said Mrs. Elliot, "and very likely go over and peep at the pony at the cottage, and have a talk with the woman who lives there all alone."
"We thought of going down to the shore; it is so lovely there, mamma," said Hope.
"Very well; but take care of the little ones."
"Oh, yes, we'll do that! But shall you not be dull?"
"Oh dear, no. I have brought my knitting, and there is a book in the pony carriage if I want it."
So they wished her good-bye, and left her. She watched their retreating forms down the green slope till they were lost in a turn of the road, and then her mind wandered over the events of the morning, over Nellie's conversation, and over the memories of her past life.
What had her life done for her? It had been one long struggle with a large family, and small means—a struggle which had been unblessed by the comforting assurance of a Father's providing care. She had worked and thought and wearied for her husband and children because she must; because life, with its treadmill round of duties, had forced her. She had not known that there was sustaining strength to bear her on her way; nor had she the comfort of the highest motive for doing her labour cheerfully, even because it was meted out to her as her portion of her Father's will.
Her burdens would have been the same perhaps; but the heart that was now such a heavy weight, would have been light.
Alas! She knew not the way. She shut her eyes to the blessing that was so close to her, and went along in darkness, dragging weary feet.
While Mrs. Elliot was thinking so sorrowfully, the young people were hurrying gaily down to the shore, full of life and merriment.
They soon reached the edge of the waves, and at first were satisfied to sit down and watch the rolling breakers. Then the girls sang, "What are the wild waves saying?" which Nellie said "was never old, and sung by the sea was always thrilling."
"Can't you sing us something?" asked little Mary, looking up in her face.
"I did not know you could sing," said Hope, bluntly.
"I do at home," said Nellie. "We sing a great deal."
"Well, sing something now," said George; "I am tired of the girls' old songs."
"Songs must get old; but relations ought never to get tired of them," said Nellie, smiling.
"Well, sing away, Miss Arundel," he answered.
Nellie paused. What should she sing to this assembly? Here was an opportunity which she might not have again. How she wished she could think that all of them knew what it was to be safe! So she began in rather a tremulous tone—
"Late! late! so late! and dark the night, and chill!Late! late! so late! but we can enter still!Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!"
Before many words were sung, Nellie grew brave. She did not know if anyone there would sympathize with her, unless it were Wilmot, who she fancied thought differently from them all; but at any rate her Lord and Master was with her, and was she not trying to carry a message from Him?
There was deep silence among the little party when she ceased. The painfully solemn words, the pathos of her voice, the murmur of the sea, blended together to make an impression on the thoughtless young hearts.
Wilmot drew Mary's little hand within his own, and rose to proceed on their walk, and the rest followed in silence.
"It is not always 'too late,' Wilmot, is it?" asked she.
"No, my pet; never while life lasts."
"Because I shouldn't like to be left out. I often think about it, and I don't believe He will shut me out."
"Not if you have once been in, darling."
"But I'm not in heaven now, Wilmot, so how can I be in?"
"I mean if once you love Christ, and ask Him to be your Saviour. Then you are safe in Him."
"Well I often have; and I do love Him, Willie."
Wilmot pressed her hand.
"Did you ever hear about the ark, Mary?"
"Noah's ark?"
"Yes. Do you not remember how God told them to go into the ark to be safe?"
"Yes; and they went in."
"Just so; they went in. Did they know whether they were inside or not?"
"Of course they did," said Mary, smiling.
"And did they feel afraid of the water which was rising so rapidly round them on every side?"
"No; they knew it could not touch them in the ark."
"No more can anything hurt you, darling, if You have come to Jesus. The Bible says, 'No man shall pluck them out of My hand.'"
"Yes; that's as if you held something very fast, high over my head, and someone was trying to snatch it away from you."
"Yes; someone not as tall or strong as I."
"I see," said Mary; "and so, just the same, if I'm safe in the arms of Jesus, I can't be shut out, because if He's there, I must be too."
She smiled happily, and they turned round to look for the others.
They were close behind, and were eagerly collecting shells, which were to be found very perfect on this part of the coast.
Mary joined in the search, while Wilmot watched them and walked along humming a song to himself, his voice blending with the song of the waves, and then falling below it, and then rising above it, but always in tune.
They were in a comparatively small bay; on either extreme to the right and left a headland jutted out into the sea, with rocks beneath them which the winter's storms had detached from the cliff above. Here the breakers played their prettiest gambols. Just now they were surrounding the rock which appeared furthest out to sea, and were dashing up its side with fountains of white spray.
"The tide is coming in," said Hope; "but we shall have plenty of time for the caves. Come along, Nellie; you will be so delighted with them."
No one could leave the edge of the sea, however, till they actually came in front of the spot they were seeking. Then they all turned landwards, and soon had traversed the strip of even clear sand which brought them up under the rocks.
The Elliots had been here twice before, and had very little difficulty in finding the opening to the caves. They all halted then, and several produced small wax candles, which they proceeded to light.
Little Mary was delighted, and begged to hold one; and George gave his up to her good-humouredly, saying, "Mind you don't singe your curls, Polly."
Wilmot led the way, and the rest followed. There was no danger in the caves, as the sea washed in to the furthest point of them every day, and they had nothing worse to walk on than a bed of exquisite sand.
They wandered about, admiring the roof and laughing at the grotesque shapes which their shadows made upon it and the rocky sides; and then George proposed to dance a hornpipe, and they should see how that looked. They were very merry over this, but as the candles began to burn rather low, they all got up to proceed homewards once more. Suddenly a cry from the younger ones in front, who were climbing along the ledges of the rock, startled them, and Wilmot and Hope hurried forward, quickly followed by the rest.
On the ground sat Alice, who was next in age to George, holding her foot, and in the half-light looking ghastly pale.
"What is it?" asked Hope, kneeling down by her, and rapidly beginning to unlace her boot.
"Oh, don't!" she shrieked. "I cannot bear it. Oh, what have I done?"
"It is a sprain, I expect," said Hope; "but do, Alice dear, let me get off your boot."
Alice let go her clinging fingers, and once more Hope tried to undo the fastenings with gentle touch.
"Now I must draw it off, dear; but we will soon bathe it with sea-water, and then it will be better."
As she spoke she tenderly, but firmly, drew off the boot. "There," she said reassuringly, at the cry of agony which escaped the child, "now it will be easier."
When, however, she looked up in her sister's face, she found she had fainted.
The candles had by this time gone out, and though they could not see either the sky or sea, they were near enough to the mouth of the cave to distinguish all around them.
"Shall I run and get some water?" asked George.
"She could not drink that," said Hope, "of course; but what a pity we did not bring any with us."
They laid Alice down, and Nellie examined the wounded foot.
"How did she do it?" Hope asked.
"We none of us know exactly; but she slipped off that ledge."
"She will be better soon," said Nellie; "but see how her foot is swelling up! Don't you think we might pour some sea-water over it?"
"We haven't a thing to fetch it in. I forgot," said George.
"Here is my hat," answered Wilmot; "you could get a good lot in that."
George and one of the others ran out for it, and in a few minutes returned with it full.
"My!" he exclaimed. "Isn't the sea come up since we came in here!"
"We must be quick," said Hope, calmly proceeding to pour the contents over Alice's foot.
The cold water dashing on the painful, heated ancle, brought Alice back to consciousness. Hope asked her if she could rise.
She struggled to a sitting posture, looking frightened and woebegone.
"Come, we must go; we have been a long time, and George says the tide is rising."
Wilmot started violently, and putting his hand under his sister's arm, raised her at once, then calling to Hope to help, they proceeded to the outer air. When the view of the sea burst upon them, they found by its nearness how long they had been detained.
"Hope," exclaimed he in a whisper of intense anxiety, "shall we be able to get round the corner of those rocks?"
Hope looked. The sea was dashing among the stones directly at the base of the cliff, but some of them were still visible, and stood up black and hopeful against the spray.
"Oh, Wilmot!" she exclaimed. "Call to them; we must hasten forward. How can we reach it?"
Wilmot called in a tone which brought the whole party up to them in a moment.
"What is it?" said Maude, looking in their anxious faces.
He pointed with his disengaged hand, while he hurried forward, supporting poor Alice, who was doing her best to help herself, but could not put her foot to the ground.
"Never!" exclaimed Maude, with blanching cheeks.
The nearer they came to the projecting cliff, the quicker the ever-advancing sea seemed to come in upon them.
"What shall we do?" said Hope, when she saw that the black points were fast disappearing.
Wilmot and she were now so breathless that they were forced to give up their heavy burden to George and Maude.
"Oh, hurry on," said Maude, weeping, "and see what can be done, and whether we can pass."
Wilmot looked round. "Come, Mary; come, Miss Arundel; we will all keep together."
He did not slacken his speed for a moment, and Mary, who was holding Nellie's hand, caught his, and so they hurried on.
Alas! When they reached the cliff, the water was washing up at their feet, and far in front of them to their left, was the point, with the breakers rolling playfully in and out among the few stones that were still uncovered.
As the party came to a stop, and looked in each other's terror-stricken faces, they realized the full extent of their danger.
Behind them the cliff rose gaunt and tall; in front the sea crept nearer and nearer, slowly but surely advancing upon them.
Their eyes scanned the horizon, not a boat or sail within sight, all smiling and sunny; the ocean, holding so many secrets in its bosom, without a change on its calm face.
"Surely we can pass by wading," said Hope, gathering her clothes together and stepping into the shallow water.
The others were following, but she and Wilmot bade them wait one moment; for they found that the point was still far ahead, and the water was already nearly to their waists. It got deeper and deeper, and Hope put out her hand to her brother as she felt her feet slipping under her.
"It is useless," said Wilmot hoarsely; "come back."
He guided her till she was within her depth again, and then he looked towards the little party on the shore. They had already retreated some feet from where he had parted from them, and now stood gazing at them with hopeless faces.
"I must swim round and get a boat; it is not very, very far to the village there. I may be back in time, Hope."
"And if not?" she said; but she needed no answer.
"Pray," he said. "Go back and tell them all that 'Christ is able to save to the uttermost.'"
"Oh, Wilmot, Wilmot! What will mamma say?" she exclaimed, as he wrenched off his wet coat and threw it to her, and, dropping his boots, waded into deeper water.
"My love to them all," he said, "and to Miss Arundel, and tell them not to fear, but that I will do my best."
In a moment there was nothing to be seen but his dark head. But soon they saw him clambering over the rocks at the corner of the cliff.
"Deep water!" he shouted, and waved his hand. And as he plunged in again on the other side, he felt as if he had left behind him something which he held very dear.