interest, as I had already been told what were her particular doings on Sunday. Presently she jumped upon a chair which stood in the window, from whence she could obtain a view of the gate at the end of the carriage drive. Here she stationed herself with pointed ears and eager eyes, till at last she caught sight of her master. Then she hurried down, ran to the door, where she stood barking and scratching violently till it was opened for her. Then the same business went on at the front door till the servant came and let her out. Immediately she bounded off, in a state of intense delight, to greet the dear master from whom she had been separated for an hour and a half. This performance went on regularly every Sunday. Her Now a great trouble came upon poor Lilly. master fell sick; the morning rides were given up, and the pleasant walks in which she had always been his constant attendant. He was recommended by his medical man to leave the home where she had passed so many happy years of her short life, and to try the climate of one of the midland counties. Of course Lilly moved with her master and mistress to their new abode; but she was perfectly aware that things were not as they used to be. She was often seen sitting on her hind legs watching her master with anxious, wistful eyes, as if she were longing to know what ailed him. He grew worse, and soon became unable to leave his bedroom. Lilly established herself by his arm-chair, and nothing could ever induce her to move from him. Many times in the day this affectionate little creature would get up, and if his hand had fallen by his side would lick it over again and again, and then go and lie down quietly upon her mat, pricking up her ears at the least movement of the dear invalid, and watching him with an eagerness which was quite touching. After some weeks of pain and suffering her master died. Lilly was apparently perfectly aware of what had happened, for when she rose to lick his hand, it was cold and stiff, and no longer greeted her as was its custom with a tender little pat. Now of course she could not remain in her corner of the bedroom; so she was committed to the care of the servant who used to wash her, to whom she was much attached. Everything was done that loving thought could suggest to soothe the grief of this faithful little creature; but all was useless, Lilly would not be comforted. Her meals remained untouched. She wandered about in a sort of hopeless despairing way, and whenever an opportunity occurred, ran to the door of her dear dead master's room, where she scratched and whined piteously for admittance. On the morning of the fourth day, when the servant came to my room, I perceived that she had been crying. "What is the matter?" said I. Yes, it was true. Lilly had died in the night. Her grief had been too much for her. Separated from the master she loved, life had lost all happiness and pleasure for her. He was gone, and her little heart was broken. The same day that he was borne to his grave in the quiet churchyard, Lilly was taken to a grave dug for her beneath a tree in the garden, and when we laid her there, we felt that a more faithful loving little creature had never breathed. No words of mine are needed to point out the lesson which Lilly's obedience in life and devotion in death so touchingly taught. She will ever hold a strong place in the memories of those who knew her. M. C. W. “THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 247. Mention a type which conveyed a prophecy and promise of the redeeming work of Christ, and, as a precept, held up a high and holy standard of moral duty. 248. What is death as beheld in the light of Scripture ? 249. A queen who, in the spirit of nationality, was ready to meet martyrdom. 250. Mention two instances in which miraculous power seems to have been limited on the score of unbelief. 251. To what does the Bible attribute infallible victory ? ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 512. 228. King Uzziah (2 Chron. xxvi.) is called Azariah (2 Kings xv.); Jehoiachin (2 Kings xxiv.) is quoted as Coniah (Jer. xxii. 24), and Jehoahaz as Shallum. See also Dan. i. 7; 2 Sam. xii. 25. 229. Ahasuerus and Esther, of the Book of Esther. 230. That he came not then to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved. (John iii. 17). 231. He read the prophecy of Isaiah only so far as it described his own especial work of mercy, and closed the book where denunciation began (Luke iv. | 17—20). . 232. A herdman (Amos i. 1, vii. 14), called from a life of labour like Elisha and others. 233. Ezra (vii. 6). 234. St. Paul quotes it as referring to the gift of the Holy Spirit, consequent on Christ's ascension (Eph. iv. 7—12). 235. His birthplace (Micah v. 2; Matt. ii. 5, 6). 236. Mal. iii. 1, 6—iv. 5, 6.; Luke i. 17; Matt. x 10, 14, 18. 237. The many references in her song prove her to have been well acquainted with the Scriptures (Luke "Ah," said she, with a fresh burst of tears, "dear i. 46; 1. Sam. ii. 1, 10; Gen. xxx. 13; Ps. ciii. 17; little Lilly is dead!" Ps. xcviii. 1; Ps. lxxxix. 10. "I have not slept. It brought back all the memories of a sorrowful past, and seemed to prophecy such future misery," returned Nelly. Indeed, she herself was suffering; she was gravely face to look at her better. "I fear you have been dissatisfied with Horace. It went beyond the bounds suffering now." of good nature-his toleration for such a man as Mr. Jobson. She could not understand it, and it had pained her beyond measure, pointing, as she thought it did, to a lack of principle and moral feeling; for she could see no force in her husband's arguments concerning the necessity of tolerating Jobson. For her own part, she would have done with such necessities; and with this Horace seemed to have no sympathy whatever. She received her brother coldly, as if he had been a stranger, and without the least allusion to the previous evening. Harry was in that state of mind in which a man feels as if he would like to cut asunder all the ties that bind him, and rush blindly to destruction. In this mood he sat down to breakfast at the hour of eleven, certainly far from improved in personal appearance by the expression of gloom which he wore. Patricia handed him his coffee, and begged to be excused from waiting upon him further. He was left alone with his unpleasant meditations. Mr. Palmer had wended his way eastward two hours before with the bitterest feeling towards his son-a feeling so bitter and so hopeless that he felt inclined to cast him off at once, and but for Nelly and his near-approaching marriage might have done so. Anne had not accompanied her father; she had other work to do. She had not cast off the offender; there was no bitterness in Anne's nature, though, when roused, her resentment was hot and strong. She had gone off already to see Nelly, and to plead with her for Harry. Miss Macnaughten, when she knew who her early visitor was, managed that Nelly should see her alone. When she entered the room where Ann was standing, a grave sadness on her naturally cheerful face, she came to her, holding out both her hands. "My sister," said Anne, meeting her half way"my sweet sister;" and these two loving women wept in each other's arms over their first mutual sorrow. "Come with me now," said Anne, " and it will be the saving of Harry. He understands generosity, and you do not know what he will suffer." "I know too well, Anne," said Nelly. "You do not know, perhaps, how I have suffered through this very sin." "I have heard a little your father," replied Anne, hesitatingly. "No-no!" cried Anne, and she repeated the assurance she had given to Mr. Dalrymple-that it was no habit under which Harry had fallen. "Oh, Anne, I do not think I could bear it." "And I would not ask you to do so; even for his sake," replied Anne, solemnly; "but I believe it is now or never with Harry. He is on the brink of ruin." Nelly shrank visibly; she was no egotist. She did not believe she had the power to save Harry. If love could have saved her father he would have been saved. Anne saw her shrinking look. “ Oh, Nelly! do not draw back!" she cried; "you can save him." Nelly shook her head. "I cannot draw back," she replied, "any more than I could if I had been married to him these two years; but I do not believe I can save him.” "But do you wish to be set free? he would set you free if you chose. I know him well enough to know that. Do you prefer any one else—Mr. Dalrymple-" and she paused at the name. "No," said Nelly, simply, and looking slightly astonished. 66 You never thought of him ?" "You do not know that he loves you?" Nelly started. "Would you have cared for him more, if you had known this?" "No, Anne; I like him, but I would not give up Harry for him. I shall never forget how he first loved me." "Bless you, darling! then you will not forsake him now. Come with me and see him; for he will be so ashamed of himself that he will not like to come to you," said Anne. Nelly did not think it at all strange to go.. It did not strike her as unmaidenly, for she did not consider herself at all. She only thought of him, and of flinging herself as a barrier, however slight, in his path. So they went away together, Anne getting Nelly to promise to spend the day with her, and they met "Yes, and he was one of the tenderest-hearted of Harry just as he was finishing his melancholy breakhuman beings, and yet how he made us suffer, time fast, and met him with a tender and delicate reserve after time. In spite of his remorse, in spite of his that soon set him at comparative ease; but from misery, and I know how he felt, going about for that hour the relation between them changed. There days with his very soul in the dust, he would fall was a feeling of humiliation on his side, which he again. It was just as if he had been fettered, and tried in vain to cast off, and on hers a distrust which could not get free." was inevitable. A natural shrinking from a lot of "How pale you are," said Anne, putting back her which she knew the horrors, made her still graver TWO YEARS. and sadder than she was before. I think in those days preceding her marriage she would gladly have died, if only that would have saved him. It was her life she was giving up, but dying would have been an easier way of doing it. After another stormy scene between Harry and his father, in which the old man had told his son that Nelly was too good for him, things had subsided into their wonted calm. So the summer passed by, with various little changes of place and scene, but with no other change, bringing nearer and nearer Nelly's wedding day, but without bringing her nearer to her lover. At last, on a wet September morning, she stood in the church, where Patricia had stood before her. It seemed a gayer party, for the bridesmaids fluttered in white and blue, and Miss Macnaughten looked grand and matronly, and Patricia and Horace were there. But Nelly's cheek was as white as her dress, and her eyes dim as the weeping day. When they returned to the old house, where the usual breakfast was provided, there was a want of hilarity about the proceedings which chilled even the stout heart of Miss Macnaughten. She fancied she traced a resemblance to Nelly in the picture which she saw every time she raised her eyes. Of course it was but a fancy, but it set her thinking what the girl's life would be when she was left alone in the old house. Would her face be as full of care as that lovely face there with the light falling upon it, and would her path be among the shadows, like those ascending feet? It could not have been very lively for such an active, outward-minded person to have suck thoughts as these. The good-byes and blessings were all said at last, and the pair driven away together to the station of the Great Northern. CHAPTER XXIII. THREE HUNDRED PER CENT. THEY were coming home again, the honeymoon was over, the time full of things "too simple and too sweet for words." They were coming home, full of memories of sunny hillsides and autumn pastures, of grand mountain sunsets, of moonlight on the lakes, of all the glow and colour of Nature in the autumn of the North. The old house was ready for them. It had needed but little preparation; but Anne had kept herself busy providing fresh hangings here and there, and touching and retouching to make everything as light and airy and pure as possible. Mr. Palmer and Anne were going to stay with the young couple after all. The old man had not been able to tear himself away from the scenes of his active life, and he had not found a suitable house near enough to admit of his daily visits-forenoon and afternoon-to the factory. He could not abdicate in favour of his son. He flattered himself that he 547 would have done so, if Harry had been fonder of work; but he was mistaken. Out of harness, he would have died. The accustomed round had become a necessity of his existence. So when arrangements had been discussed he had offered to remain an inmate, though the house was to be Harry's. He and Anne would be simply boarders. He was to keep the sombre dining-room in which he always sat, and a pretty room behind it looking into the garden was fitted up as a sitting-room for the young people when they wished to be alone. Nelly was delighted with the arrangement, and Harry accepted it not unwillingly, for it promised a considerable increase of income. Mr. Palmer, accustomed to strict economy-though it was economy without meanness or stinginess of any kind-had not provided his son with a too liberal sum to begin housekeeping upon. One of Harry's faults-a great one in his father's eyes-was an exceedingly loose estimate of the value of money. As a little lad, he had spent every farthing the moment he laid hands on it, and always in the most unthrifty manner. As a grown-up lad, he had outrun his allowance. As a young man, he had got a little into debt. "If he had known the making of it," his father would say," he would not spend it so carelessly;" and that was his excuse, though it was not intended as excuse but accusation. Even on this wedding tour, he had got through twice as much money as he intended, or could afford to spend, and he was coming back with one-third instead of two of his quarter's allowance to begin upon. Then the first thing he did when he had money was to pay everything he owed, and a good many little bills remained to be paid. But this was exceptional, he told himself—only he was always finding things exceptional. They reached home in time for a late dinner, which Anne had provided with all her care, and everything felt so cheerful and home-like: the little circle round that table had rarely been so happy. It was rather cold, and a bright fire in the grate threw a glow on the dark panels, without overheating the lofty room. Anne knew that though they might not need a fire for the mere physical sensation of cold, they would chill mentally without it. They spent a happy evening, for the pair were full of the scenes and incidents of their journey; and after dinner Mr. Palmer, over his single glass of port, made a loving speech of welcome, in which he hoped that they might be as happy under the old roof as he had been, so long as his wife had been by his side. That first evening promised well for the future. In everything Anne's thoughtful kindness was apparent. She had arranged the housekeeping so that Nelly might slip into her place without trouble or anxiety; and in the morning she initiated her in her new duties, presenting her with a pretty crimsonlined basket, containing her insignia of office-memoranda-books and keys. "You should get Harry my father has always done with me; and then you can pay your weekly and monthly bills. It saves a great deal of trouble." to give you so much money in hand," she said, "as circumstances equally unfortunate and unforeseen, he was unable to meet it. Could Harry arrange to meet it for him? or a renewal might be accepted. Horace would be glad to see his brother-in-law that afternoon at his office, when they would go together and see Mr. Jobson. It was a matter of life and death to him, Horace added. This Nelly quite understood, and applied to Harry the next day; but the one or two little bills awaiting him had nearly "cleared him out," as he expressed it; and so on this point Nelly was obliged to seem to disregard her sister's advice. It was the third day after their return. Very few letters ever came to the house. Anne had few correspondents of any kind, and none whose communications she kept to herself. Letters for Mr. Palmer and Harry went to the factory as a rule. This morning a letter was laid in Harry's plate. "Who is it from?" was his father's first question; for such letters as did come were considered a kind of public property. "It's from Eden,” said Harry, in a tone as careless as he could assume; but both Nelly and Anne could see that it was assumed. "All well, I hope ?" said the old man. Quite well, I suppose," said Harry. "He wants to see me this evening, to talk over some business." "Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Palmer, thinking he had better consult some one else; but he did not say anything. "Nelly dear," said Harry, "do not wait dinner for me this evening. I shall stay and dine with Horace." Very well," said Nelly, looking a little disappointed, but brightening up to say, "you will be home early, though ?" "And tell Patricia," said Anne, "that we shall expect to see her--" 66 Besides the unpleasant remembrance which this missive awakened, there was the perplexing fact that Harry had not the means of meeting this bill, and that unless it could be met in some way or other, the transaction would have to come before his father, and this he was determined, at all hazards, to avoid. And over and above these causes of anxiety there was the well-grounded fear that Patricia's husband was what he termed " shaky." So towards afternoon Harry made his way to Addle Lane, where he found Horace anxiously awaiting him. The greeting between them was not so cordial as it might have been. Harry was rather disgusted with the trick which Horace had played him. "It's hardly fair of you," he began, "to have let me in for this. I can't make it out. You promised that it would be all right." "And so it will, my dear fellow-only have patience. Our returns are so slow; in fact, we need enormous capital and haven't got it." "But it's all wrong, Eden. I tell you I have not got the money to meet this bill the day after to-morrow, nor the day after that. I can't meet it, and I won't! The whole thing must go to my father, and I don't know whether you or I will have the worst of it. It's the sort of thing he can't stand." "I shall not see Patricia," he broke in ; we shall take up the bill himself if you'll give him another; dine at an hotel." renew, in fact, for another hundred." "Could you not bring Mr. Eden here ?" said Nelly, with the slightest possible shade of trouble in her face. "That's not for the accommodation?" said Harry, aghast. "Tut! no. That's only a matter of paying the "No; there may be others besides whom I should bank discount. Jobson gets nothing by it.” not care to bring here." "Why?" she asked. "Because I don't think them good enough company for my wife," he said. "Then they are not good enough for you," she answered quickly. He could not help seeing the doubtful look on her face, and it vexed him. Anne had left the room. 'Good-bye, Nelly," he said, kissing her, "and do not learn to distrust me." She murmured, "No," and he left her, but without telling her the subject of the letter which had so evidently perplexed and troubled him. No wonder that he was perplexed and troubled. He had forgotten all about the bill he had signed on the evening of Patricia's party, and now it was brought to his remembrance in the most disagreeable manner. Horace Eden wrote to say that in three days it would fall due, and that owing to "Then why another hundred ?" "I need the other hundred for my expenses to carry me on till money comes in. The fact is, we are engaged in an American spec., which will bring us three hundred per cent., if we don't run aground in the meantime for want of floating capital." "I don't see my way to get out of this without renewing; but I would rather not be obliged to Jobson for it." "He really is not so bad as he seems," said Horace. "He's not fit for society. I won't have him at home again; he's got that unfortunate habit, and I really think he goes out of his head. He didn't know what he was about that night you signed the bill; and when I talked to him pretty sharply about it, he was sorry he had led you on the ice. Upon my word he was. He'll never do it again." |