JACK SILVERLEIGH'S TEMPTATION. 383 Pages for the Young. JACK SILVERLEIGH'S TEMPTATION. II. ACK SILVERLEIGH did not know how anxiously he was being looked for that evening. It was an event of great importance for the family his going to business, and his mother and three sisters were on the tiptoe of expectation waiting for him. When he appeared on the doorstep there was a rush to the hall-door to open it; and such a babel of glad sound was heard within, that at any other time he would have laughed at the excitable who were making it. But now he was disturbed and Don't pull my head off!" he exclaimed, as the three girls to kiss him all at once. "Because I fear the money has gone, Jack, and I can ill afford to lose it." "Mother, it's not gone; you'll have it to-morrow," and as he said this he assumed an air of injured innocence. "Can you not trust me, mother?" he added. "And then Mrs. Silverleigh laid her hand upon his arm gently and lovingly. "It will be the saddest day in all my life when I cannot trust my own son!" she said smiling, but with a tremulous voice, "I do trust you, Jack." His clever idea, then, had succeeded, but oh! he would give anything now to be able to feel that his mother's trust in him was justified. More than ever had it become impossible for him to acknowledge his fault. At least he thought so, and there was nothing for it but to go on and on into deeper mire at every step. Of course it was impossible for him to be at ease. He got away from the parlour as quickly as he could, and went to his own room, but he could do nothing to drown an awkward conscience, and so he came back after a few minutes and said, Why, Jack, you are cross," said Ethel, the youngest, for "Mother, I am going down as far as Tom Smith's; I'll be back ould say anything to her brother. Jo not teaze him, girls, he is tired very likely," said Vonsense, mother," laughed Jack, seeing that he had be- at the one peevish expression had stopped their boisterous But all the while he was conscious of the fright Tom had to tea." He was gone before any further explanation could be given or asked, but his mother wondered what this secret could be which was evidently making him unhappy, and certainly making her uncomfortable. A straight road led directly to the principal street of the old town, and Tom Smith lived in the principal street. You could not fail to see the house. It had a red lamp suspended in front which flashed its fiery light up and down the street. It had three bottles in the window, with coloured fluid, which made the passers-by alternately green, yellow, and red, and it had "Smith, Chemist" in great gilt letters on its face. It was dingy enough in appearance, as though the paint was used sparingly and seldom, but that was explained when you saw the large family. There were eight children in all, five being boys, and considering the expense of clothing and educating so many children, the old place looked respectable enough. Tom was the youngest of the eight, and came in for his elder brothers' old jackets, when they were worn out. Jack knocked at the private door, which was opened by Tom. himself. “You, Silverleigh! Who would have thought it?" he exclaimed. "I want to say a few words to you, Smith." 66 Certainly; come in; we have just finished tea," and he led Jack upstairs to a large room where the family was assembled. It was a formidable array of boys and girls, but they were all friendly and pleasant, so that Jack felt at ease. Both Mr. and Mrs. Smith were plain folk, and their children were being educated to earn their own living, without any hope of inheriting a fortune from their father. When the introduction was over Tom asked Jack to accompany him upstairs to the "workshop." This was a room that belonged to the boys solely, and had all manner of appliances in it for their special use, such as benches and tool-boxes for carpentery work, and retorts and jars for chemical experiments. At first sight it looked in utter disorder, but each boy had his own particular cupboard and his own possessions. "Now," said Tom, "we can talk here without being interrupted." "I wanted to ask you more about Paget," said Jack, trying his best not to appear anxious, but looking all the time very distressed. "He isn't to be trusted," said Tom; "and if ever you see that half sovereign again, it will be a wonder to me." Jack's face must have told his fear very plainly, for Tom added: "I'm very sorry for you; and if I can do anything to help you I will." "I must have that money to-morrow somehow," said Jack. "Well, leave it to me; and if I can think of any way out of it, I'll do my best to help you," said Tom, feeling for Jack's misery. They talked for a little while longer, and then Jack left, feeling that he had a friend who would try to serve him if it were possible to do so. Tom went in search of a big brother as soon as Jack was gone, and to him he confided the secret of the half sovereign. After some time the two brothers went out together, and their way led them to Charlie Paget's house. It was a fine, oldfashioned building, and betokened wealth from its appearance. Charlie was an only son, and had taken up the idea of becoming a solicitor only after trying and failing at many other things. He was the cause of great anxiety just now to his parents, who feared that his companions were not such as would do him good, and who yet feared to place too great a restraint upon him lest they should lose their hold upon his heart. BIBLE CLOCK. The following are the texts to be arranged in the diagram for last month, p. 288. The Smith boys were shown into the library, and Charlie, who was at dinner, was summoned to them there. What passed between the boys during the few minutes they confronted one another, cannot now be told. Charlie was at first very angry, and disposed to talk big; but Tom and his brother were very firm, and refused to leave until they were satisfied. When they had gone, and Charlie was alone, he flung himself into the arm-chair, and sat for awhile looking blankly before him-his face crimson, and his brows knit. Sitting thus like an animal brought to bay, he cast about him for a means of escape, and the first thing his eyes rested on was his father's desk, with the keys dangling from the lock, just as his father must have left them when he was suddenly called out of the room. He was alone, and safe, for his father was engaged with a friend who had come to dine with them that day. Alone and safe! Yes, from all human interruption, but not from the eye of Him who reads every guilty thought, and marks every evil deed. BIBLE QUESTIONS. NO. VI.-ON THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOSHUA. 1. Joshua was now old; his work was done. He had led Israel into their inheritance, he had superintended the division of the land, and now he must leave the people whom he loved. What testimony did he bear to the faithfulness of God at the close of his life? 2. Mention any other aged believers who bore a similar testimony. 3. What was Joshua's fear with regard to the conduct of Israel when he should be gone? and what was his counsel for the future? 4. Where did he summon the tribes to assemble that they might receive his dying charge? 5. What solemn covenant was there made, and what was set up as a witness? ΠΙΑ HEART. Prov. &xill. 26. Psa. Xxvil. 14 Let our readers take the word FOLLOW for their next exercise. 6. Do you remember any scene in the New Testament of which this may remind us, where a servant of God, fearing the evils which he foresaw when he should no more visit his flock, endeavoured to fortify the minds of those who should take his place in ministering to them? 7. How old was Joshua when he died? Where was he buried? 8. How long did the people of Israel continue faithful to the covenant they had made? 9. Did they obey the Divine command, and drive out all the inhabitants of the land? Mention any that remained. 10. How did their sin become their punishment? 11. "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Give examples of similar decision for God. 12. What is the present and future reward of those who "follow the Lord fully"? "I like her," said Rachel calmly, looking at the fireplace, for she could not look at Ernest. "Is that all? I thought from your manner that you had really taken a fancy to her." "Taking fancies is not my way. But I do appreciate her better-and there seems to me great sweetness and strength of character. So much high principle too." "Ah, you are beginning to know her a little." Rachel brought out her tidings bluntly, after her PRICE ONE PENNY. accustomed fashion: "Mr. Maxwell will be a happy | hastily kissing her forehead. "Good-night, de man, when he has her." "Mr. Maxwell! Maxwell?" "The one that we know, the tutor. Miss Bertram told me herself about him, only she does not wish it to go beyond ourselves. He has loved her for years, and it is only Mrs. Bertram's objections which prevent their being engaged now." You are dreaming. What Mr. "But-but you don't know whether she cares for him—" "Yes, she told me plainly so. They are waiting, in hopes that Mrs. Bertram may change. She spoke very quietly, but anything else is evidently impossible to her." "You don't know-you may be mistaken. That once given up-why, he is only-he is he is old enough to be her father." "It is a twenty years' friendship. She told me plainly, that though she would not marry him without her mother's consent, she would never marry anybody else. I liked her for her frankness, under the circumstances." "Good-night, Rachel." "You won't let this trouble you too much, will you, Ernest?" 66 Good-night, You had better go to bed." And he was gone. She heard the study-door shut heavily. But Rachel knew her brother, and instead of going to bed she waited. The wrecked conservatory, showing through the uninjured glass door, had a melancholy look, and albeit the storm was at an end, the wind still sighed round the house in a style suggestive of depression. Rachel was not given to deep musings, or she had here a fitting opportunity; but she dearly loved her brother, and could not bear him to be grieved. So she cried for him a little, and then scolded herself for having the least possible sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that at present no rival was likely to dispute her position with Ernest. What would life have been to her without him? And what would life be to Ernest without Muriel? That was a grave question. For if our lives are to be lived to God and not to ourselves, then the loss of this, that, or the other, out of our lives, ought not to make them even in seeming "worth nothing" to us. Rachel felt this in an undefined sort of way, and wished that Ernest might feel it too. Then the study-door opened, and Ernest came back with a quick step, and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Rachie, was I ill-tempered to you?" he said in a low voice, and while she would not look in his face, she knew that, man though he was, he had passed through a sharp breeze of distressful weeping. The sorrow of some men-and they by no means as a rule the less manly among men, but rather the reverse-breaks out as naturally in tears as a woman's sorrow, only not so easily. Their tears are the rain of winter gales, not of summer showers. "Poor boy," she said to herself, and he turned away his head. "It is hard to give up that hope. There is no one in the world like her." Rachie. We shall have to be old maid and hich together, as we used to say we would. Pray im Rachie, you don't know how hard it is. Fatshall see me braver to-morrow." And so she à . That same morrow found Mrs. Bertram seri ill. Dr. Peters had not left the house all Fever had sat in, and the pulse was high, the ཅ་ wandering. Though able still to recognise those were with her, and to answer a question ratios she seemed to have lost all self-control, and te continually on the subject of the James Bertran matter who was with her. Even had Muriel possessed the slightest ber suppressing the truth about the relationship she had grave doubts about the rightfulness attempting to do so-it would now have Izo impossible. Before the servants and before Peters, no less than before herself, the weary r of talk went on. Muriel was obliged to explai state of affairs to Dr. Peters, mentioning als mother's dislike to the "half-caste" connection 1known, and leaving him to tell what he ches others. She had no doubt the whole tale was abr with interesting additions, though secure of k reticence on his part. He made no allusion to l Bertram's denial of the truth at the Manor. hoped he would ascribe it to a wandering and indeed she was half disposed herself to lay it measure to that score. i Muriel had seen delirium before, but anything painful as these ravings had never come in her w The excitement rarely stilled. If she could persua her mother to lie quiet for ten minutes, there sure to come an agonized start, followed by terrified gaze. "That woman, Muriel, that woman was the cry of the parched lips. "Don't you se Send her away; she drives me wild. Send r away, Muriel. She is not my sister-in-law. I never consent-never. It is all a sham, an intrig a mere cheat. It would lower us. What are y about? Why don't you settle the matter? Sur thing must be done. Oh, don't ask me. I c think; I don't know what I am saying while th creature is staring at me. Dying! why she die in the hall. Keep her off. Muriel! Murishe is going to touch me," and Mrs. Bertram's shr would ring through the house. "Get a policen why don't you-why don't you, Muriel? W doesn't John come, or Mr. Maxwell, or somebod It is horrible to be alone like this, with only th wretched creature standing there. She means: ruin me; and she can-she knows she can!" "Mamma, you are not alone. Look, dearest, am here, and nobody else," Muriel would say, layin her hand on her mother's. "Look! you know "No; don't talk so. Always arguing and tryi to get your own way. What has become of thi woman? It might be a scandal; I mean-I m2 L the laughing-stock-gossip of the neighbourho I could not endure it. Nobody need know; don': tell. Muriel, don't tell! I should go out of m mind if you did. Send them off from Bushbynext train you know. Never let me hear the nam again. James Bertram; yes, there was a Jamii Bertram, but I never saw him. Oh, this feeling in my head! I wish it would go. Everything is 9 fearfully hot. I can't think why you will keep every window shut, you send her away?" LIFE'S CHANGES. And so it went on, hour after hour, only getting worse, as the first day sped. Towards five o'clock in the afternoon, Muriel was summoned downstairs. Dr. Peters, being in the bedroom, told her to send Price, and not to hurry herself, for half-an-hour's change would do her good. Muriel did not at first mean to take advantage of the permission, till she found her hand grasped by Montgomery Maxwell. I am "Oh, how kind!" was all she could say. "Your mother is ill, the servant tells me. grieved, Muriel; very much grieved. Nothing severe, I trust. What is the cause!" Muriel explained how matters stood, and he listened with deep interest. "Poor Mrs. Bertram; sad-how sad. Perhaps she will be better to-morrow. And you sat up with her all last night, Muriel? Your eyes show it." "We have a regular night-nurse coming in an hour. I shall sleep in the next room, ready to be called if wanted. Dr. Peters insisted on my having help. She may be ill for days, he says." And all owing to yesterday's unfortunate events?" "Yes-the shock to the nervous system. I do think the woman behaved very, very wrongly," said Muriel passionately. "I feel as if I hardly could forgive her. She may have killed my mother. Why could she not wait?" 66 She has been very wrong-very mistaken. But she did not realize what the shock would be. She could not know. We must try to look at the matter from her side as well as ours. She is not a person of delicate feeling, and she was ill, suffering, bent on finding a home for her child." "Ah, if I had your charitable spirit," said Muriel, sighing deeply. "But it is dreadful to think of what may come. And mamma-mamma is not ready." She hid her face in her hands. The illness may be sent for the very purpose to make her ready, to draw her to the foot of the Cross. God draws so sometimes-often, I think. Pray, and trust Him, Murie. We don't know what is best. Maybe she needed some sharp sorrow which should strike home, to rid her of her love of this world. Don't think me harsh. She would say herself that she loved it." "Oh, I wish I could be less sure that it is so. But she thinks of nothing now except Mrs. James Bertram. Her mind seems to have no room for any other idea." "What can I do for you?" he asked presently. “I have left the boys in charge of my housekeeper, a most worthy dependable person. I shall sleep two nights at the hotel, and afterwards come backwards and forwards as often as seems needful. What can I do for you?" "Would you go and see Mrs. James Bertram ?" she said, after a pause. "I cannot leave my mother." "I had thought of that. It will not be my first visit. I saw her in London." Muriel's surprise drew the story from him. said. "Wonderfully like. I could not but see the 387 resemblance. However, knowing what Mrs. Bertram's feelings would be, I declined to mention where you were living. I thought it wisest. How they found out after all I do not know. When I returned to London I found them gone from their lodgings. It troubled me a good deal. I wished I had taken stronger measures to secure their being looked after. But I will go now gladly for you." "Tell Mrs. James Bertram, please, how ill my mother is. I think you had better mention that we are willing to help, though I shall be able to do less now than I could have done." "I see-yes, yes, I see. This illness will be a heavy expense." "I think we can spare enough to keep them going," said Muriel. "I only wished you to mention that, for fear she should expect an unlimited amount of help. I would not trouble you with money matters, but I cannot go, and I must not leave them to starve." "It is easily managed: no trouble, I assure you. Give me what you like, and I will be your almoner. I will supply small sums to the young lady as need arises. Don't give me much. I can come to you for more." Muriel put three sovereigns into his hand, and would take none back, though he protested. She had a shrewd suspicion that he would not soon ask her for a fresh supply, and determined to keep watch. Meantime it seemed the only way in which she could act. For her mother's sake she could not resolve to let her aunt be known as a pauper. "I wish they would go to rather more respectable lodgings," she said, "and be better dressed. Pauline has quite the look of a lady, only she is so shabby. Dr. Peters tells me this afternoon that all kinds of tales about our new-found relatives are flying about Bushby, but it is not yet known where they are staying. I think we should do all we can to prevent remarks of a kind that would try mamma. I mean it would try mamma by-and-bye, to know of them. Very few people are likely to see Mrs. James Bertram, but people will know where they live, and Pauline is sure to be noticed." "True-true," said Mr. Maxwell thoughtfully. "I will see what can be done. You may trust me. And it would be as well to let it be known that the mother has spent very little of her life in England, and is not accustomed to English ways. That is simple truth; as also that she is partly of Portuguese extraction, and was brought up at the Cape. People must have something to satisfy their curiosity-yes, undoubtedly. We must respect your poor mother's feelings by not mentioning the little matter of the half-caste descent. But indeed I hear of nothing except strong sympathy for you both. Three friends I met on my way from the station, the same in every case. I kept my counsel and said nothing, not knowing what you would wish. I quite understand now. I shall have opportunities in the hotel to check exaggerated reports. But indeed it will be only a nine days' wonder-nothing more. What does it matter?" |