"It is hardly worth while to have come all this she whispered to the little girl, "It is in the way for such a little thing." "Every act of kindness, however small, is worth the trouble if it brings happiness to some poor sufferer." The next place they stopped at was in the midst of a large town. A mother was pacing up and down the dark room, in the vain endeavour to hush a sickly child. cup." The child stretched out her hand and took the mug, and having tasted the water, she laid down refreshed, and was soon asleep. "Why, it is Janey White,” said Essie, recognising a little girl who lived in the same village & her own parents. "Yes, it is," replied the fairy. "And now I shall "Poor little thing!" whispered the fairy, "she has leave you, hoping you may derive some benefit from never been well since she was born." "What can you do here ?" asked Essie, wonderingly. "Not much," answered the fairy, as she dropped a snowflake in the child's palm. The child left off crying, to admire the pretty plaything that lay glittering in her hand. Now that she had left off crying, the mother's coaxing had more effect; and before they left, Essie and the fairy had the satisfaction of seeing the baby asleep in its little cradle, and the mother resting from her weary vigil. "Poor thing! she looked quite worn out. I am glad the baby went to sleep," said Essie, who was beginning to experience the pleasure of making others happy. "Yes, so am I," replied the fairy; "she needed it, for she had been up nearly all night for several weeks." "Poor woman! but why did you not go to her before?" asked Essie. "I could not-I had to go elsewhere; for there are many thousands of God's creatures who need my assistance even more than she." By this time they had come to a cottage, on the window-sill of which was a flower-pot containing a stunted flower. At this the fairy stopped, and heaped up the flower-pot with snow from her wand till the flower was no longer visible. "What is that for?" asked Essie, wonderingly. 'In the cottage lives a little invalid, who has only this flower to cherish," answered the fairy; "and if I did not cover it over with snow every cold night, it would soon die, for you know the snow keeps it warm." "But is it worth while for you to spend your valuable time over that little withered flower?" asked Essie. Quite," replied the fairy; "it is the only thing the little fellow has, and he would miss it very much if it were to die." Presently they came to another cottage, into which they entered. A little girl was sitting up in bed, and stretching out her hand for the cup of water that her mother had placed on the chair at her bedside; but a look of distress came over the poor child's pinched features. Her mother had forgotten to put any water in the cup. The fairy filled a little mug with melted snowflakes, and put it in the place of the cup. Then this night's adventures." "But I am not at home yet," said Essie, anxiously. "Yes, you are," said a voice that Essie knew; and to her entire bewilderment, she found herself in her own bed, with her mamma bending over her. Then Essie heard how she had been found asleep, and nearly frozen, by a labourer who had come through the churchyard on his way to his work, and had been brought home to her parents. Essie never could quite understand that night's adventures; but that they made a lasting impression upon her, was very certain. Although she never told any one of her acquaintance with the fairy, it was evident to all that she was trying to make herself more lovely and lovable, and that the lesson of the "little deeds that make up the sum of human happiness" was slowly but surely being learnt by the once unamiable Essie.. L. M. C. "THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 110. What is the meaning of "Jehovah-shammah?" 111. The Lord once asked a man if he sought great things for himself, and told him not to do so. Who was it? 112. How many men were sent to take up Jeremiah from the dungeon? 113. The water trickles into the Pool of Siloam so softly that it cannot be heard. Travellers have remarked this. What scripture does this confirm? 114. Certain postmen who were mocked and jeered at when they delivered their news. 115. Why was it that the Syrian charioteers left from following after Jehoshaphat at the battle of Ramoth-gilead ? 116. At what part of the dedication service was it that the cloud filled the Temple ? ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 192. 96. Trophimus (Acts xxi. 26). 97. 1 Chron. iv. 23. 98. 1 Chron. xxvii. 33. 99. Rehoboam (2 Chron. xi. 21). 100. 2 Chron. xxv. 12. 101. Ezek. xlv. 11, 12. 102. Ezek. xlvii. 12. 103. Ezek. xlv. 1. 104. Joseph (Gen. 1. 17). ANT BY THE AUTHOR OF 66 MARK WARREN," "DEEPDALE VICARAGE,' 99 66 A BRAVE LIFE," ETC. ETC. CHAPTER XXXIX.-HER LADYSHIP TOUCHES THE RIGHT CHORD. ND so careful as we have been, Sidney!" ex- Why could we not hold our tongues? No good ever comes of gabbling," continued Lady Peters, Oh, dear! oh, dear! there "and walls have ears. 226 66 Ah, me!” and Sidney sighed—to do him justice, have borne it better. When the mind is hurt, from the bottom of his heart. Mr. Easton, the pain is far more intolerable," added Sidney's mother, mournfully. He was very unhappy indeed. He had not slept all night, for thinking about Adela. Besides, so much else was implicated in this separation. He had begun to look upon certain things as his own— riches, for instance, and freedom from the necessity of giving himself any trouble. All this was to come to him with Adela. And it was such a trumpery business which had undone him. A few words spoken inadvertently, and without suspecting that she could overhear them. He had been so careful up to that point. He had never let her guess what he was intending to do. Still, it was impossible to give up all hope, and surrender the prospects which had been so enticing. "I had better see Mr. Easton," said, he, trying to pluck up his courage. "My dear, I have sent for him. I wrote a note, asking him to come. I expect him every minute." "Then I had better tell him—” 66 Sidney!" said his mother, in an authoritative manner, 'you had better let it alone. You have managed your affairs so badly, that I begin to think they are better in my hands than in yours." "As you please, mother," said he, submissively. From his childhood upwards he had always succumbed to his mother. "You had better retire, Sidney, and please do not make your appearance while Mr. Easton is here. You will very likely damage your own cause." "Pray explain yourself, Lady Peters; it is cruel to keep me in suspense!" exclaimed Mr. Easton, perplexed and alarmed. "Well, then, really I hardly know how best to clothe such an ugly fact. It is all over between my poor boy and Miss Easton." "All over?" Yes; there was some slight disagreement about the little girl. Excuse me, but it was scarcely wise of our dear Adela to take such a step-I mean, as regards her niece. Young ladies should have a little more regard to what is sure to happen, when they are rich and beautiful." "I quite agree with your ladyship," said Mr Easton, heartily. "It was a most unwise step. I thought so at the time." "And, then, our dear Adela is not quite reasonable," continued her ladyship, in an insinuating tone. "Of course, a husband naturally expects no rival in the affections of his wife-such as an adopted child. He proposed to her, in the first instance-or she proposed to him, I forget which-that the little girl should remain with you." "With me? Adela could hardly make such a proposition as that. She knows that I should send it to the workhouse to-morrow," returned Mr. Easton, with a sharpness and severity that astonished even Lady Peters. 66 'Exactly, you have a right to do as you please. "Am I so devoid of tact, mother?" asked Sidney, Our dear Adela should have remembered that parents with a smile. "No, my dear; but I can make something out of your absence, and we must not lose a single point. Hark! there is some one at the door. I fancied I heard wheels. Ge, Sidney, go!" Sidney hastily departed. His mother drew a chair forward for her visitor, and sank in a languid attitude into the one opposite. She was thus seated, her handkerchief in her hand, when there was announced, "Mr. Easton !" do not like to be disobeyed," insinuated Lady Peters. She had touched the chord she intended. She had roused the old dormant spirit. One daughter had disobeyed him-was the other about to do the same? The colour flushed angrily to Mr. Easton's face. "The matter will end thus, Lady Peters," said he, rising-"my daughter shall not be guilty of such incredible folly. I shall find means of bringing her to reason. Never fear." "Oh! Mr. Easton," said her ladyship, the tears IN DUTY BOUND. still trickling down her cheek, "I wish I could ask you to see my poor boy; but he will see no one. He is shut up with his sorrow. If nothing can be done, we must go: I must take him away from here -quite away!" and she raised her handkerchief to her eyes, as if overcome by her feelings. "Don't you trouble yourself, Lady Peters," said Mr. Easton, resolutely. "There will be no occasion for banishment, or for anything else. Tell Sidney to keep up his spirits. I can manage Adela." "How kind you are! See what it is to have a friend!" He held out his hand to her. "Now, don't you fret," said he, as if he were speaking to a child. "You and Sidney must come and dine with us to-morrow. You will see that all will be right. Pshaw! a mere lover's quarrel, to destroy the happiness of a lifetime! CHAPTER XL. NOT THE SPEECH HE MEANT TO MAKE. THE old arbitrary spirit was dominant in Mr. Easton's mind, as he rode home from the Tower. He hated to have the chord touched which had been broken and jarred all these years. Nothing but submission and absolute surrender could appease him. On this very point, part of his domestic happiness had been wrecked. Was another daughter to go? He did not imagine, as he grew cooler, there would be any necessity for extreme measures with Adela. She could not possibly have ceased to love Sidney. If so, the fact baffled his comprehension. But he would take high ground with her in the beginning. It was like crushing an infant rebellion. His first words when he reached home were to inquire for his daughter. Not receiving any satisfactory reply, he went in search of her himself. He knew that Adela had fitted up a couple of disused rooms at the Hall. He guessed why she had done it, though he had passed the matter over in silence. The rooms were for the use of Margaret's child. The child had been kept out of his sight. He had made this stipulation. She was never to cross his path, and she never had. He had not even seen her. But, in his haste to find his daughter, he traversed the corridor which led to the rooms in question. He had searched everywhere else. Adela could be nowhere but here. He was still wrathful, and the very atmosphere of this part of the house suggested thoughts that were annoying to him. He would make an end of the matter quickly. Though she were his own flesh and blood, she should obey him, or else she should be turned adrift like the other. With this hard thought in his mind, he came in sight of an open door. He was on the threshold in a second. Here he should find Adela. A little girl was standing in the middle of the room, her face puckered up into extreme earnestness 227 while she was trying to fasten a new frock on her doll. There was no Adela, and no one else except the child. The noise of his creaking boots made her look up. He could see her face distinctly. It was the face of his eldest-born-of Margaret! Margaret, as she was once, many a year ago! Memory, with her magic touch, carried him swiftly over the space which lay between this time and that. It carried him, whether he would or no, to the time when a little playful child climbed on his knee, or prattled by his side. His first, for a long time, his only one. How he had loved her! How dear she had been to him! She had eyes of just such heavenly blue! They were his wife's eyes. She had just such golden hair as this-his wife's hair-the wife who had died so soon. How this little one reminds him of her of her, and of Margaret! The sight does not irritate him, as he thought it would. Those tender memories come flocking round and soften his heart. He holds out his hand, and the word comes from his lips quite tenderly, "Margaret!" The little one was frightened at first. Her visitors are few and far between-and Aunt Adela is not here, nor the old nurse either. But she thinks it her duty to correct a mistake. "My name is not Margaret," she said. It was Margaret's voice-his wife's voice. Adela did not resemble her mother in the least. Margaret had been her living image. "What is your name, then, my pretty one?" "Ethel Seymour." "Ethel He sat down and took out his watch. come and see grandpapa's watch. Hark! how it ticks!" The blue eyes rested on him with mingled wonder and delight. She came to him in a minute, with the sweet confidence of childhood. The touch of that baby hand seemed to thrill through him. Very soon Ethel was on his knee. She played with the watch a little time, her face wearing a serious and wondering expression. Then she looked up to him—his arm was round her. "Where is mamma gone to ?" It was a question she was apt to ask of strangers. It made him wince. How could he tell? She had drifted away from him. To be a wreck or not? What had he cared? Yet this little one, born of the marriage that he hated, had crept into his bosom, and was probing the deepest wound he had-was asking him where was Margaret! He put her down hastily. There was a dimness before his eyes, and a quick throb at his heart. He between yourself and the man you have promised did not mean to be unmanned, or to give up his to marry?" point. This was mere weakness! Disobedience must reap its harvest. The thorn-tree cannot bring forth grapes. Let her go! He has no part or lot in her, She chose her destiny-let her work it out. It is no question for him to answer-" Where is Margaret ?" now. Still he was softened. One stronghold in his rugged and stubborn nature had been taken by the innocent hands of a child. He left the room. He did not wish to be found there. Pride and stubbornness are twin brothers. He would have felt ashamed. There was another room close by. He knew as well as could be that Adela had fitted it up for herself, to be near her charge, and he opened the door. Yes, she was there. She was reclining in her chair, in an attitude strangely languid for Adela. She who was all strength and energy, and knew neither ache nor pain. He was glad he had met with her at last. He said, kindly, for the spell of softness was upon him, "You should have let me know that you were ill, Adela." "I shall be quite well soon," she replied, trying to assume her old cheerful manner; though the wan look on her face belied her words. "What was it, dear?" he asked, still kindly. She turned away her head. She bent forward, and sat in a stooping attitude, her face hidden in her hands. It affected him to see her—she who had been so full of hope and happiness. He spoke more gently. 'Whatever it is, Adela, I am convinced that the breach may be healed. You love him, do you not, my child? He has not forfeited your affection!" She made a kind of inarticulate murmur. He could see how this conversation shook her. She trembled like a leaf-she, his strong, brave, invinci ble Adela! "My dear, if you confide the matter to me, I will do my best to make all right again. The happiness of a lifetime is not to be lightly flung away." Again she murmured, as she sat still stooping, and her black hair falling in unwonted disorder over her face. "You will not be so mad as to break with him for ever." She raised her head with a touch of her ancient spirit. Yes, she said she should. Why torture her with dwelling on it? She was no weak girl. She should recover presently. He had said it was so easy to deceive a woman. The words dropped from her unawares, or rather were wrung from her by the agony of the moment. Besides, did she not owe some kind of explanation to her father? It would not have mattered to him, 'Nothing that I need speak of now,” she said, in some hour ago, what the explanation might have been. a voice that struggled hard to be calm. He sat looking at her. There was a sharp conflict in his mind. His thoughts were swayed this way and that by an indecision quite alien to his nature. "Adela," he began at length, in rather a tremulous and husky voice, "if-if there is any difficulty about the child His supreme will would have decided beforehand what she was to do, as it had decided on the fate of Margaret. But the spell of the blue eyes and the golden hair lingered yet He had looked on the innocent face of the child, and he was softened. He would not let Adela go as he had let the other. A vague wonder crossed the current of his thoughts as to the fate of that other. He had remembered Her face was towards him. She was looking at many times the untasted cup of tea and the handhim with a strangely mournful expression. kerchief wet with tears! Should he ever meet with her again? She had been very lovely. He could almost behold the shining hair and the gleeful eyes -could almost hear her light step and her carolling voice. He knew she must be changed. That youth, and beauty, and gladness had all perished; for these were sure to go. The broken heart, and health, and hope might linger and drift about a while. Then they, too, would float down the current that leads far away from here! CHAPTER XLI. SIDNEY GOES OUT OF SIGHT AND HEARING. "THERE, Sidney, you may go to the wars, or do what you like,” said his mother, tossing him a note which she had just read, and then beginning to walk slowly up and down the room. She was still walking, her hands clasped behind |