

About the Book

Rose and Maurice Capel find themselves living in poverty through no fault of their own, and their daughter Gwen is dangerously ill and in need of a doctor and medicine, which they cannot possibly afford. There seems to be only one option -- to offer their daughter to Maurice Capel's unmarried sister, Dorothy, living in the beautiful Welsh countryside, and be left with nothing more than memories of Gwen. Dorothy has inherited her father's fortune and cut herself off from the family. Although Gwen would be well cared for, if she got better and Rose and Maurice's finances improved, would they be able to ask for Gwen to be returned? Another story from popular Victorian writer Margaret S. Haycraft.

Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret S. Haycraft

1855-1936

Abridged Edition

Original book first published 1893

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2017

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Rose Capel's Sacrifice is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

Contents

Cover

About the Book

Author Biography

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About White Tree Publishing

More Books from White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Young Readers

Author Biography

Margaret Scott Haycraft was born Margaret Scott MacRitchie at Newport Pagnell, England in 1855. She married William Parnell Haycraft in 1883 and wrote mostly under her married name. In 1891 she was living in Brighton, on the south coast of England, and died in Bournemouth, also on the south coast, in 1936. She also wrote under her maiden name of Margaret MacRitchie. Margaret Haycraft is by far our most popular author of fiction.

Margaret was a contemporary of the much better-known Christian writer Mrs. O. F. Walton. Both ladies wrote Christian stories for children that were very much for the time in which they lived, with little children often preparing for an early death. Mrs. Walton wrote three romances for adults (with no suffering children, and now published by White Tree in abridged versions). Margaret Haycraft concentrated mainly on books for children. However, she wrote several romances for older readers. Unusually for Victorian writers, the majority of Margaret Haycraft's stories are told in the present tense.

Both Mrs. Walton's and Margaret Haycraft's books for all ages can be over-sentimental, referring throughout, for example, to a mother as the dear, sweet mother, and a child as the darling little child. In our abridged editions overindulgent descriptions of people have been shortened to make a more robust story, but the characters and storyline are always unchanged.

A problem of Victorian writers is the tendency to insert intrusive comments concerning what is going to happen later in the story. Today we call them spoilers. They are usually along the lines of: "Little did he/she know that...." I have removed these when appropriate.

Thirty shillings (£1.50) from the pawnbroker in the story may not sound much, but in income value it is worth about £180 pounds today (about US$240). The ten pounds for the pictures would be like £1,200. I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant! A sovereign was a gold coin worth one pound at the time.

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 17 chapters in this book. At the end of the book are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known.
Chapter 1

"Mother, Mother! The postman's here. He's got a great, thick letter, all tied with red string. I'll just run down and get it for you."

"Perhaps it is for Mrs. Mullins, Gwen," says the bright eyed, woman bravely as she sits sewing by the table of the little lodging house parlour. Her hands are trembling, and her breath comes and goes in short, nervous gasps as the child's eager feet run down to the floor below.

An answer, perhaps, at last -- an answer that may mean a breath of sea air, physician's advice, all kinds of nourishing things for Maurice, and new boots and a bright summer frock for Gwen whose old serge is patched and darned and shabby now. Oh, thank Heaven, the suspense is going to end at last, and just as she thought she must write and ask Messrs. Canvasse and Co. concerning the fate of her paintings, their letter is here. She has heard they pay well and promptly. What a good thing Maurice happens to be out in the neighbouring park! It will be such delight to see the light shine out upon his pale, tired face as she shows him the help that has come so providentially in their extremity.

"It is for you, Mother," says Gwen caressingly. "Please may I have the red tape, and may I go downstairs and play with Dan and Beersheba? They're coming home from school, and Mrs. Mullins has got a cake for tea. When I smell it I feels empty inside of me, Mother."

"You may go and play, my darling, but mind you do not ask Mrs. Mullins for any cake."

"No, I won't, Mother, but she'll be certain sure to give me some."

And away trips violet-eyed Gwen to play with the landlady's twin boy and girl, while her mother, left alone, begins to unfasten the packet, and her shaking hands drop to her side in helpless trouble for a moment. The contents are only her own sketches -- the best, she knows, she has ever yet produced -- with a brief note, saying, in clear, courteous printing, the return of such does not necessarily imply lack of merit, as the publishers are frequently overstocked with material.

At a neighbouring bazaar Mrs. Capel has been able to sell hand-painted cards, screens and the like from time to time at fairly remunerative prices, and very thankful she has been for the womanly sympathy of the owner of the bazaar. By her encouragement this more ambitious effort -- a set of Welsh views to make a series of cards or an art volume -- has been laid before Messrs. Canvasse and Co., the great firm of artistic publishers in the City; and oh, what hopes and prayers have speeded that little packet upon its way.

Now it lies before her again on the table, as though silently mocking all her bright anticipations. It will have to go to the bazaar in the neighbouring street, and wait long, weary weeks for a purchaser, and they are almost at their last sovereign! Mrs. Capel has plenty of courage -- she has needed it for many a year -- but heart and hope fail within her as she gazes blankly at the printed note.

She thinks of the Welsh, sun-lit honeymoon round Berwyn and Llangollen, when she sketched the fair landscapes of river and mountain, that now she has painted with such tireless care for the series, returned -- rejected! The early morning hours found her at work. Tender touches, born of sweet memories and golden hopes, found place in those pictures "regretfully declined" -- and with them it is the darkest hour at last, she feels, as she shuts the packet within the table drawer.

Then evil, bitter thoughts begin to whisper within her: "Is not God able to do everything? Is He not the ruler of men's hearts and minds? If He cared about you and yours, how easily He could have sent you the purchase money for these paintings, and made your heart to sing for gladness, instead of aching with perplexity! Other people succeed, who never lift the voice of prayer, nor try to give the Lord of all the chief place in family and home. You have never ceased to spread your needs before Him who is Almighty, but He hears not, heeds not, cares not!"

The thoughts were not finished yet. "High in heaven, how far God is from troubles like yours, that are so low and earthly, all about the empty purse. It is foolish to pray about the needs of food, clothing, and medicine. You must fight life's battle alone. You must sail the ocean of life as best you can. If God were indeed an ever-present Friend, He would have had mercy upon you and helped you to sell these paintings."

Then Rose Capel remembers Gwen's protest only that very morning against the cod-liver oil Rose her daughter needs, and how she swallowed it at last with the dews in her violet eyes, and a tremulous quiver of the lips that seemed to say, "If my own Mother loved me, she would not want me to drink this nasty stuff, and a whole teaspoonful, too, spoiling my nice milk!"

She knows how thin and fragile is her only child, and by what a slender thread that precious little life seems to hang sometimes. She must use every means to build up and strengthen her little one, even though Gwen might think it much kinder were she allowed to forego the dose ordered her by the doctor.

"I cannot see why life is so hard and the daily round so perplexing," thinks Rose, as she stands with clasped hands at the window, watching for her husband's return. "I long for an easier life, for a respite from struggling. But since God does not send the respite, and He could and would if it were best, I know the perplexities must be part of His training for Maurice and me, to strengthen us as His children and deepen our faith and patience. Gwen trusts me under all the little frettings and sad looks. Can I not trust my Lord, whose heart is as father's and mother's too, in its unchanging tenderness? Even though everything seems against me, and the money I relied upon too surely has not come, 'He who feeds the ravens will never starve His saints!' I must carry these round to Miss Gigins's bazaar by-and-by. I will just do my very best and leave the rest to the Lord God who in some way or other will certainly provide."

And the dark, doubting thoughts steal away in the music of sweet words that echo back to her now from the service she attended last Sunday -- words which seem like a message from the Shore where storms and struggles and mysteries end:

"Whate'er my God ordains is right,

His will is ever just;

Howe'er He orders now my cause,

I will be still and trust.

He is my God

Though dark my road,

He holds me that I shall not fall;

Wherefore to Him I leave it all."

The landlady, Mrs, Mullins, breaks in upon her thoughts with the tray, remarking, "The good gentleman's a-coming round the corner, mum, and he'll be glad of a cup of tea. It's early today, being the night for our meeting, and my Dan sings 'Sign the pledge, brothers,' and Beersheba, bless her heart, in her new blue zephyr and her coral necklace that was her poor grandmother's, is to recite 'I met a little cottage girl!' It's a goodish way off, so Mullins and me wants to start directly he's cleaned himself. And being the twins' birthday, might I make so bold as to offer a slice of pound-cake, plain but wholesome, made after the recipe of my poor dear Aunt Elizabeth that married the French polisher?"

Mrs. Capel thanks her gently, grateful for the conversational powers that prevent notice or remark concerning her own look of headache, and the suspicious state of her eyes. But, all the same, Mrs. Mullins knows that her lodger has been crying, and the packet meant bad news, and an extra pinch from her own tea caddy goes into the pot for the parlour. Some radishes are likewise contributed with a spray of watercress, for "there's something cheery-like and countrified in a bit of salad -- it brings to mind a German band and tea-gardens and switchback, and seems to liven up one's feelings," thinks Mrs. Mullins. It is hard enough to get along when one's husband is a cabman with very precarious earnings and there are five little children below Dan and Beersheba. More profitable lodgers than the Capels could easily be found for the parlour floor; "but," say Mullins and his wife to one another, "they're in trouble, and it's home-like for them here, and seeing as we've so many mercies of our own, we'll stand by the poor lady and gentleman and help them and liven them up all we can."

"Come and rest in the armchair, Maurice," says Mrs. Capel brightly, as her husband slowly ascends the stairs and enters the little sitting room. A fine-looking man is Maurice Capel, author and journalist, the last of a line of Welshmen whose pedigree goes back to ages remote and vague. He is tall, and despite his nationality, blue-eyed and fair-haired, with a steadfast, tender face, and an air of strength and courage that even long sickness has failed to destroy. His clothes hang loosely on him, so thin and worn has he become; and he carries his right hand in a sling. Some nerve damage, left behind by an attack of lingering fever, has robbed him of power in this hand for nearly six months.

He has been advised to consult an eminent physician whose speciality seems to be these mysterious troubles of the nerves, and meanwhile he is told to travel and enjoy himself, having the best of nourishment and driving in the open air. Seeing he has spent his meagre savings during the long illness, a good deal of this advice is impracticable; but he tries to get as much air as possible, walking in the open space planted with shrubs that is near Prospect Row which was once a churchyard choked with weeds. To the children and frail folk of the crowded suburb it forms a much-appreciated park; but it is overlooked by a large workhouse, and is scarcely calculated to act as a bracing nerve-tonic to the overworked journalist.

Mrs. Capel tries to manage so that her husband gets no clear view of her face, but the eyes of love are quick, and he says very gently, "My little woman's paintings have not sold this time."

"You can get your living as a thought-reader, Maurice, if everything else fails," says his wife, laughing. "I am sorry to say your guess is too true. But never mind, they are sure to find a purchaser some time."

"Of course they are, sweetheart. When my ship comes home I intend to buy them myself. I have often wished I could afford some really good pictures of the dear old fatherland. Such a fine day as this makes one long to see the sunshine on old Cader Idris and Moel Cynwch again."

Gwen comes running in, full of the splendour of Beersheba's new summer dress. Her father takes her on his lap, and their merry talk almost beguiles away the housewife's cares, but not quite. It is a trouble she carries alone \-- save for the Saviour -- that the purse is well nigh empty. Maurice Capel knows she manages cleverly, and does not yet realize how quickly in illness money can seem to take to itself wings and disappear.

His journalistic work is just now impossible to him, owing, not only to his infirmity but to his headache and trouble as to sleeplessness. Rose's few trinkets have ere this been parted with to defray medical fees. What is left for them to do now? Only one thing; and from it her pride shrinks with repugnance that even Maurice cannot guess, though he dislikes the notion almost as much as herself.

All the afternoon his thoughts have tried to devise some other plan whereby he might obtain some start on the road to health. But he knows that hard as Rose might work, her earnings in the way of art can only be small and precarious, and for the sake of her courageous, struggling life, and the face growing weary and white, he has almost made up his mind to ask help from his rich sister at Plas Craigllyn in Wales.
Chapter 2

"Dad," says Gwen confidentially as tea progresses, accepting a radish as dessert after her meal downstairs, "the Mullins' teas are nicer than ours. Their butter isn't so nasty as this, and Beersheba says they have periwinkles most every day, and they give me lots of sugar, and Mrs. Mullins says I should look very pretty in a blue dress with two flounces and a smocked body, like Beersheba's."

"You look pretty enough as you are, my darling," says her father admiringly; and "indeed and indeed," as his fellow Welsh countrymen say, he has some excuse for his assertion.

Gwendolyn is a picture-sort of child, the kind of little maiden who, according to the comforting predictions of many, will grow up remarkably plain. Good-looking children, such prophets assert, become extremely unprepossessing in after life. But Mr. Capel declares the idea a heresy respecting his five-year-old Gwen, with soft, silky rings of jet-black hair, eyes like dark violets, and an expression such as one finds in the pictures of old masters when they try to show the cherubim. Mrs. Capel reproves him with a shake of the head for putting ideas of vanity into their daughter's mind, and reminds Gwen that the great thing to strive after is goodness, and not prettiness.

"Oh, yes, I know," says Gwen; "but I am good -- Mrs. Mullins says I am, Mother. And I does want a new frock with a smocked body," she adds coaxingly, sidling up to her mother and edging herself into her lap.

"My darling, if Dad and I had the money to buy it, you should have a new frock tomorrow," says Mrs. Capel, caressing the dusky curls; "but we cannot afford it, Gwen, and people must never buy what they cannot afford. You know some dear little children have only rags to wear. You must be very thankful you have this comfortable frock, and nice shoes and stockings."

"I is thankful," says Gwen, "and I'll pray God to give me a new dress now 'cause I've had this hundreds of years -- ever since I was a little tiny baby like Isaac Mullins."

"Feminine vanity!" laughs Mr. Capel. "That frock of Beersheba's rankles in the female breast. And, now I come to look at it, Rose, the child's frock does seem the worse for wear. Couldn't you cut her up one of yours?"

Mrs. Capel might with truth reply that she possesses but the black cashmere she is wearing, but she will not distress him, and she answers gently, "The first thing I must get for Gwen, when I can, is a strong pair of boots. There is a good deal of wear in this blue serge yet."

"Never mind, Mother," says Gwen suddenly, hearing perhaps a tremble in Mrs. Capel's voice as she holds the child to her breast, "it don't matter 'bout new dresses. My picture-book says Eve didn't wear no dresses at all."

"Where do you get your grammar from, Gwen?" asks her father, laughing. "Upon my word, we must soon begin your education in earnest. The Capels are a clever family, you know. I'm a nice specimen, who can't write a decent letter without a headache! And you must make haste and drink of the fountain of knowledge, Miss Gwen."

"That's what Dan sings at the meetings," she announces; "it's all about drinking -- 'Go and drink the gristle founting.'""

"The child means crystal!" explains Mrs. Capel. "What a chatterbox you are, Gwen. Well, what is the excitement now?"

"There they go!" shouts the child, hearing the front door shut and rushing to the window. "Mother, Dad, do come and look! There's Mr. Mullins and Mrs. Mullins and Mr. Mullins's sister, Mrs. Slack. She gave me six empty cotton reels, and I'm going to wear them for a bracelet. And there's Dan. Doesn't he look lovely with a shining medal? And there's Beersheba with her Sunday hat, and little Mary Jane. The lady next door's coming in to take care of Isaac and the children."

"What a life of excitement yours is, Gwen!" says her father. "You have all kinds of interests, haven't you, what with the Mullins' family and your beloved doll, Nancy? I wish, though, we could put a little flesh on your bones. I do wish you would get fatter, child!"

"You should wish when you see a piebald horse, Dad," says Gwen gravely. "Mrs. Slack told me so, and she showed me one, and then I had a wish. People oughtn't to tell their wishes, but I expect I might tell just you and Mother. Do you think the piebald horse would mind?"

"Not he," says Mr. Capel. "He's too amiable a quadruped."

"Well," says Gwen, "my wish was this -- I wished to go away and live in fairyland."

"What, and leave me and poor mother without any little girl at all?"

"Oh, but you'd come too," says Gwen eagerly. "Of course the piebald horse would know I meant that."

"Gwennie," says her mother tenderly, "have you forgotten that I told you there is no such place as fairyland, where everybody can have their wishes and use magic wands and so on? Fairies are only found in stories, my little one. They do not really exist."

"I know one," says her husband. "The good fairy of my life."

"You mean Mother," decides Gwen. "Mother's the bestest in all the world. But, oh, I do wish fairies were real; then they'd take care of us and give us lots of nice things."

"There is someone better than fairies who takes care of us all, pet," says her mother. "Does my Gwen know who I mean?"

"Gentle Jesus," says Gwen softly. "And now, Mother, I'll get my Nancy and begin to undress her, because it's her bath night, you know, and it's almost bedtime."

The child retreats with a much-enduring china doll beneath the side table to the corner which is Nancy's own private apartment. Here the friends appear to converse in confidential tones respecting the advantages of knowing a fairy, did such really exist, having blue frocks with smocked bodies at her disposal.

Despite this air of sociability, Nancy appears to lose her temper at the prospect of the nocturnal bath, and is loudly chastised by her indignant parent. Mr. Capel watches the animated scene for a few minutes, and then he asks his wife to come and sit beside him in the sunset light that has even found that overbuilt street.

She brings the sock in process of knitting for him, and they talk in low tones, knowing how remarkably quick is little Gwen Capel's sense of hearing.

"Rose," he says gently, "I don't want to upset you, love, but I am afraid our little store is ebbing away by this time. There is always one comfort, though -- we are not in debt."

"No, Maurice, and perhaps Miss Gigins will be able to sell my pictures soon. She knows so many travellers for art-publishing houses. We shall get on all right, dear Maurice. We have wanted for nothing yet."

"Rose, why did you only eat bread-and-butter at dinner-time? You made Gwen and me take fish. You will fade away, my darling, unless you think of your own health more."

"Oh, I am always strong," she answers, "and I don't care for fish particularly. And you know I don't like meat," she adds. "Never mind me, Maurice; just rest back, and enjoy the evening air. Isn't the sunset lovely tonight?"

"What must it be over Cader Idris?" says her husband involuntarily, thinking of his Welsh homeland and the high mountain. Then, as he sees the passing shadow across her face, he adds: "It is only my weakness that sets me longing for the homeland, Rose. Sometimes I think I should get well if I could breathe the mountain air again around Plas Craigllyn. But if such a change were the right thing for me, our Father would open the way for me to go."
Chapter 3

"If I had only sold those paintings!" thinks the troubled wife. "He must have a change, but where can the money come from?"

Capel knows that to tell her the brightness is fading from her eyes and the quick energy of old from her step will have no weight with his wife. He must put what he has to say, not on the score of her health, but on that of his own need and Gwen's.

"Rose," he says tenderly, "we have fought the battle of life in sturdy independence for many a year, and we have never yet asked her for help."

"Oh, no!" she cries, almost with a gasp, "we have more self-respect than to do that!"

"My darling, she may regret those letters of old, that declaration that you shall never cross the threshold of Plas Craigllyn, and that I may perish before I or mine touch a penny of her money. That was seven years ago, my Rose. Can my sister harden her heart for seven long years?"

"She will never forgive your marriage to me, Maurice," says his wife, whose face looks hard and cold. "You forget that she returned unopened the letter you wrote to tell her about Gwen's birth. She is steeped in family pride, and she threw you off for ever when you took for wife a hospital nurse."

"It was the fault of meddlesome, interfering neighbours," he says, stroking her hand. "Somebody rushed in and told her that her young stepbrother -- the 'hope of her race,' as she chose to call me -- was engaged to a nurse at a friend's house in Kent. In vain I explained that you were well educated, an artist's daughter and an officer's niece, and that you were the trained nurse of an invalid child. Then and there she cast me off. By my father's will she inherited everything, and I had nothing but my brains to look to. But God has been very good to us, dear; and oh, we have been happy together! How thankful I am I did not let you sever our lives, as in your pride you wished to, when you heard poor Dorothy opposed the marriage!"

"Yes, we have been happy," says his wife, "and we shall manage still. You are getting better now, Maurice."

He shakes his head. "I think I am at a standstill now, love. I seem fit for very little. I should certainly like to consult Sir Powell Finch, the great nerve doctor; and if you could only bring yourself now to write for me to Dorothy, and tell her how ill I have been----"

"Oh, no, no!" she cries out, as if in pain, "I would do anything for you in all the world but this. Don't make me ask help of Miss Capel!"

He answers that it shall be as she decides; and in the sunset hush she lays her bewildered, aching head on his shoulder, while Gwen in the corner croons Nancy to sleep with the evening hymn Mother has taught her.

Maurice Capel says nothing more about acquainting his sister with their troubles, but his wife never forgets that the thought has found a place in his heart. As she daily realizes that he is by no means gaining ground in the close atmosphere of the crowded suburb, as every shilling has to be anxiously considered before she dare exchange it for necessaries, she tells herself she must conquer for his sake and Gwen's the pride that declares it impossible to bare their privations to the cold, haughty gaze of their rich relation.

"What matter her insults towards me, if Maurice can be saved anxiety, if he can be helped to the needful treatment that no efforts of ours can afford?" she argues within her, working at her sewing or painting. "Miss Capel would not miss for one moment such help as would be a godsend to Maurice -- and she did love him in the past. It is wrong for me to oppose his desire to communicate with her now. She may be even wanting an opportunity for reconciliation."

And then, like a gloomy shadow, returns the remembrance of bitter unkindness in the past, and the resentful letter wherein the mistress of Plas Craigllyn informed her brother that he had nothing to expect from her henceforth, having degraded himself by an alliance "contrary to all the traditions of the Capels," and giving him to understand that the person introduced by his lamentable folly into the family should never, under any circumstances, cross the threshold of Miss Capel's house.

Miss Capel had long cherished the project of uniting the ancient houses of Capel and Humphreys, Miss Mary Humphreys being heiress to an adjacent estate coveted by Miss Capel's heart on behalf of her brother. To increase the coffers of Plas Craigllyn and uplift her family in the county was an object near and dear to the spinster's heart. It mattered not to her that Miss Humphreys showed preference for her father's ward, a certain Lloyd Griffith, who returned her regard very plainly. Miss Capel maintained that but for "Maurice's deplorable insanity" the two estates might have become as one, and her indignation against her sister-in-law was proportionate to her disappointment.

At one time the Capels had been very low as to money matters, some of the race having proved too lavish and imprudent. Miss Capel's mother had brought plenty into the family, and her father had willed everything to Dorothy, his only child, who early showed business faculty and power of management. After his second marriage, late in life, he executed another will, still making Dorothy his heiress, but leaving an income during his wife's lifetime for her own use. The second Mrs. Capel died when Maurice was born, and his father meant to provide independently for his son, but failed to arrange this by will, passing away after a very short illness.

Maurice lacked for nothing, however, being his stepsister's idol and pride. He had an expensive education, and being of an open, kindly, high-principled character, he had never given her cause for the least uneasiness till his engagement to "a mere hospital nurse" changed her pride to bitterness, and caused her to estrange herself from him and his. Rose Capel goes over all the story again and again in her sorrowful meditations. At one time she decides she will humble herself to appeal to their relative, and then she tells herself the act would be degradation.

"If it were only myself in need, I would starve rather than take her help," she cries within her, hotly. "But Maurice is not improving, and he ought to be having all sorts of nourishing things, and pure, country air. And Gwen is looking so white and frail. 'Give her plenty of new-laid eggs,' the doctor said, and 'Alderney milk, and as much cream as she will take.' Oh, if I only could! Help me, Lord, to resist this selfish pride, and to put the needs of my dear ones before my own past grievances. Help me to forgive even as I have been forgiven."

There is a picture hanging in their little sitting room that often brings Rose comfort. It was a birthday present to her once from her husband, and represents our Lord with a little group of fishermen, beside the Sea of Galilee. They look toil-worn, care-burdened men -- those who know what it is to work sometimes all night long, and in vain. On the hand of Peter, Jesus has gently laid both His own, with a tender touch speaking of sympathy, comfort, help. Rose Capel looks up from her sewing often to gaze at that pictured scene. How she wishes she too could feel that loving touch, and look into those eyes, all-comprehending, all-comforting. Then the heavenly whisper comes to he, that patient faith can bring the peace of Galilee very near even now; that humble obedience can still behold the Love Divine, and touch the Saviour's hand.

"Mother," says Gwen one day, "can't Jesus do everything? Why doesn't He make Dad quite better? I heard Mrs. Mullins say Dad's illness is getting colic, Mother. Is colic very bad?"

"She means chronic" thinks Mrs. Capel, and a fear trembles through her heart as she takes the child in her arms. "My pet, do not talk to Dad about his illness, or repeat what Mrs. Mullins said. We must keep papa cheerful, you know. Yes, Gwenny, the Lord Jesus can do everything, and you must keep on asking Him every day to cure papa, and make him strong again, as he used to be."

Chapter 4

"The Garden of Wales" is the description given by the guidebooks to the district wherein is situated Plas Craigllyn, Maurice Capel's old home. One enthusiastic writer goes so far as to liken the neighbourhood to "a glimpse of Eden-beauty." Plas Craigllyn itself, as yet, is some distance from any railway station, but enterprising tourists have discovered it, and the villagers reap quite a harvest from artists and other lovers of lake and mountain scenery.

"Surely everyone must be happy and peaceful here," wistful hearts have often thought, looking upon the flower-wreathed cottages, the calm, fair pines, and the greenness that clusters around the tranquil waters. But many a life in some close city alley knows more of peace and joy than does Miss Capel, the rich owner of Plas Craigllyn, and the possessor of substantial savings in the county bank. She has all that money can give, and her house is in the midst of fair and healthy surroundings, but she is not a happy woman. Her very face looks fretful, troubled, discontented.

The local newspaper has much to say in praise of Miss Capel's cottages and schools that she inherited, and in admiration of the lady herself, as "universally respected by all classes of the community," when Miss Capel opens her park for village flower shows, and the like. She is the leading spirit amid the good works carried on by the congregation wherewith she worships, and the sick and poor look upon her as a generous friend and helper. But -- in most lives there is a but, for God who looks upon the heart sees not as mortal vision sees -- Dorothy Capel is a stranger now to the peace and comfort that once were her own. She has refused to forgive her fellow-creatures, her kindred, her brother, who has wanted so much while she has lacked for nought.

The unforgiving heart cannot in humble sincerity plead with the all-pardoning Lord, and prayer is with Miss Capel now more a matter of habit than of help, and communion, and uplifting. She persists in looking upon her brother's marriage as a wilful slight towards herself, an insult as concerns his ancient and distinguished Welsh race. A bitter dislike fills her heart towards the sister she has never even seen.

At times kindlier feelings assert themselves, and she almost wishes there were some way of helping Maurice, so that he and his shall not connect her with the assistance, or imagine she is softening towards them in spirit. She would give much for a sight once more of the brother who was so long her pride and her delight; but self reminds her she was not consulted as to his marriage. He chose to unite himself with "a vulgar-minded pauper," and now he must make the best of his choice! She told him she never would forgive him, and she is not one to say one thing and mean another. He knows she never breaks her word. To her dying day she will never pardon him or the "ambitious, grasping young person who married him for the sake of his future prospects."

"You are looking very poorly, Miss Capel," her neighbours tell her. "You work too hard among your poor people. You must consider yourself a little more, and not sacrifice yourself so much for others."

Miss Capel smiles somewhat bitterly as such words fall upon her ears, and she listens with the same expression while one after another recommends foreign travel, continental baths, the "grape cure," Hydropathic treatment, electric appliances, and so forth.

"Who can minister to a mind diseased?" she says to herself, conscious she is far from well, and vexed with herself that she is growing nervous and sleepless. "Who can cure sicknesses which are not of the body, but of the spirit?"

In her heart she knows that it is only the Saviour, that great Physician who has balm for every wound, even the sore troubles wrought by sin, who can make the contrite spirit whole and bind up even the broken heart. Has He not compassion and pardon even for our follies and mistakes? But Dorothy Capel, hardening her heart against such thoughts, knows she stands far off from Him who refused pardon to none.

One day, the mistress of the Plas drives to a distant cottage to see an old woman whose life has been a stormy and troubled one, and for whom she feels a good deal of sympathy. Old Jenny Coran is fading away now, everyone can see. By rights, say the neighbours, she ought to be well off financially, for was she not once the mistress of the general shop in the village, and did she not lay by savings to provide for her old age? The story of Jenny's heartbreak is well nigh forgotten now, but Miss Capel knows it, and she thinks about the old lady's wrongs as she drives down to see her with some nourishing food and a warm coverlet for the bed.

When Jenny Coran was twenty years old she was wooed by a handsome young fellow, a sailor to whom she was much attached. But her father had been left a widower with a little baby girl, and he could not spare Jenny from his home. After his death, Jenny had all things to see to. She was business-like and careful, spending little on herself, but generous towards Lizzie, her idolized young sister to whom she often spoke of joyful days in a new home, "When David comes back!"

Years went on, and his letters grew few and ceased at last. Jenny remained single for his sake, looking for his coming. He returned at length, handsomer than ever, people said, but with nothing saved towards the home, for he was too fond of "a glass." Lizzie was then seventeen, and Jenny was getting to look middle-aged and worn. Everyone else saw where David's fancy had strayed, but Jenny never suspected it.

The blow came upon her suddenly and cruelly, and seemed to age her and rob her of all power to fight the battle of life. One morning she awoke to find the sister of her love had flown far hence. When next she heard of the two, they were married and in London. None knew how Lizzie was tempted by David, or just how it was done, but Jenny's hoard of savings, that she foolishly kept in her own home, had all been taken. From that hour she lost health and spirits. The business drifted away from her, and she dwelt now, a poor, struggling invalid, in a little wayside cottage.

"Poor Jenny!" thinks Miss Capel as she comes in sight of the lowly cottage that is now Jenny Coran's home. "She will not be able to knit and sew much longer. What is to become of her now she is so infirm? All things have seemed against her for years. That wretched girl ruined her life. Both she and that good-for-nothing man should have been put in prison! Well, I dare say they will come to it yet. People get what they deserve, sooner or later!"

"Dear mistress," says old Jenny, whose face is bright as a rose this sunshiny morning, "I've been listening to the music of the pony's feet all down the road. 'Tis good of you to come, mistress, there's such news to tell you! She's come back, and she's found the Good Shepherd away in far London, and she's His own -- and so was poor David -- the Lord be thanked."

"What do you mean, Jenny?" asks Miss Capel. "You don't mean to say you have heard of that sister of yours again after all these years!"

"Dear mistress, she's come home," says old Jenny simply.

When she was ten years old, Jenny helped an aunt who was then cook at the Plas, and she then formed the habit in her childhood of considering herself in the service of the Capels. "Miss Dorothy" has always been to her "mistress," and a strong affection exists between the two.

"Surely she has not had the face to come back here?" says Miss Capel indignantly. "She ought to be ashamed to come near you. And what about the fellow who was the worst of the two? I hope he is in jail at last."

"David is dead," says old Jenny, in her gentle, feeble voice; "but away in far London when he was stricken down by his last sickness. Some of the Lord's people as helped my Lizzie in her trouble brought poor David to the Saviour who casts away none that seek His face. Left alone and heart-broken -- for her two little ones were taken away as babies -- my Lizzie turned back to me, mistress. Praise the Lord, I've set eyes on her again before He calls me home."

"I should think you told her to go about her business, the ungrateful creature!" says Miss Capel hotly.

"Oh, mistress, life's been a sore road for my Lizzie's tender feet. She well knows what it is to want a bit of bread."

"Has she brought you back the money they took?" says Miss Capel.

"No, mistress, she's got nothing. I fear poor David were one of those that gets dragged down by the drink and the gambling, mistress. Lizzie come back to me empty-handed, meaning to wander off again after she'd heard me speak the words of love and pardon for which her poor heart hungered. But when she see me as I am, old, and poor, and feeble, she up and says she'll face the place and the neighbours again, and take care of me all my life long. Praise the Lord, mistress, I'll never be lonely again. My Lizzie's been working in a grand laundry in London, and she knows how to get up things beautiful. She's going to take in washing. You know there's plenty to be had round about these parts."

"But, Jenny, do you really feel you can bear to have Lizzie with you again, after she has wronged you so cruelly? She and her husband ruined your life."

"But, mistress, she's sorry now for what she did; and as to David liking her best, who could wonder at it? The past is past, and such as me isn't sinless enough to throw stones of reproach at poor Lizzie; and I wouldn't if I could. Isn't she my own little sister?"

"Well," says Miss Capel, "I wonder at you, Jenny. I cannot think how you can cover over the past like this. It seems to me there are wrongs and grievances which are past all forgiveness. How you can pardon Lizzie is more than I can understand."

Old Jenny lifts her hand, and feebly points to a text opposite to her bed, a text an English lady had given her after lodging at her little cottage. Miss Capel flushes slightly as she reads the Bible words: "Be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." Jenny's soft voice repeats the words fervently, and she adds, recalling part of a hymn that is dear to her heart, "Who is a pardoning God like Thee, Or who hath grace so rich and free?"

Even as she is speaking her sister comes in, bringing some necessaries for the invalid that she has been out to procure. Lizzie trembles and colours as she perceives who is in the room; but old Jenny takes her hand, and the two sisters exchange such a look of love that Miss Capel has not a word of reproach to utter. Her indignation melts at the sight of Lizzie's face, worn with trouble and suffering. She leaves them together, with a solemn sense that the Saviour greater than all is in that humble room with those two lonely lives.

Miss Capel drives back to the Plas in her pony carriage along a road fragrant with sweet scents, and beautiful with shining bloom. The sunlight is golden around her, and myriad sounds tell of life and joy on every hand. But her face is shadowed. She cannot forget the sermon preached in that cottage home, the heavenly light on old Jenny's face as she raised her shrunken arm and pointed to the text upon the wall. "Be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." The words seem standing out from hillside, grassy glade, and moss-grown bank, even, as of old, Belshazzar, in the midst of plenty, saw upon the wall a hand and a writing that troubled his soul. Miss Capel cannot forget the look that passed between the sisters in that humble home -- the one so deeply, cruelly wronged, and the penitent who seemed to find in her sister's pardon the experience of her Lord's forgiveness. What had been "Maurice's ingratitude" on which she had dwelt so long, compared to Lizzie's waywardness? Yet that old cottager could find it in her heart to put by all the past, and forgive even as she hoped to be forgiven!

"We cannot all be constituted alike," decides Miss Capel, the look of hardness deepening upon her proud face. "I am not soft-hearted like Jenny Coran. I am a Capel, and I come of a sterner race. I never could bring myself to receive or acknowledge that woman Maurice married, and I must just do my best to forget the brother who treated me so thanklessly. It is my only chance of peace of mind, and quietude, and health."

A strange looking letter has come in by the London post. Miss Capel selects it quickly from amid some business correspondence. A quick, frightened heartbeat tells her it brings news of her brother. "It must be her writing," she thinks, disdainfully surveying the ill-formed characters and the wrongly spelt address. "Her lack of culture must be purgatory for Maurice!"

She is inclined to return the letter unopened, but she reflects that she does not know her brother's present address. "A begging letter at last, of course," she meditates as she unfastens it. "I have expected such for years, but that grasping woman shall never receive help from my pocket."

"Beersheba -- who is Beersheba?" she says in bewilderment, glancing at the signature, but the letter, written on the page of a copybook, explains itself as she reads.

"My dere Mis Capel,

Mister Sexton that Father drives sometimes, knows our lojjers Gwen's papa, and says Gwen's papa have got a sister thats got lots and lots of money, and your the sister Mis Capel, for theres your adress where you live in the lojjers's Bible that he lent me to find the refrences about Samuel for my zamination. So when I see the adress I wait for a stamp till Aunt Slack give me a penny for when I resited so well at the meeting, and I want to writ and tell you our lojjerss is very pore, and Gwen gits so thin mother says she'll soon be a bag of boans and our lojjers's hand is bad so he can't right books any more, and I does love Missis Capel and so does Dan, that's my twin you know, Mis Capel; and Missis Capel don't git enuff to eat, Mother says and Aunt Slack says she'll be in her korfin if things doan't mend soon, she does look that wite and worritid, so plese dere Mis Capel, send them lots and lots and lots of money and new shuse for Gwen, and a pram for her Nancy, that's her doll, and Gwen wants a pram for her badly and lots to eat for our lojjerss and I remane dere Mis Capel, your affeckshunt friend

Beersheba Eliza Mullins."

Miss Capel has to study this communication through her eyeglasses before she can decipher the meaning of the child's impulsive appeal -- a private epistle, confided only to Dan and Mr. and Mrs. Mullins, who regard Beersheba's writing powers with great admiration. Miss Capel's lips tremble a little as she finally tears up the paper covered with the childish writing, and proceeds to look over the particulars of a case applying for relief to a benevolent society with which she is connected.

Is it some salve to her conscience to accept that case, and to pay the travelling expenses? Her mind is made up that her kindred, whose very independence has galled her pride, shall share no help of hers; and little Beersheba, who dreams of joy and comfort and help for "the lojjerss," is sadly disappointed to find she wrestled with composition and spelling and the difficulties of penmanship all in vain.
Chapter 5

"Mother, I have my bright penny, and my pincushion with a picture of the Crystal Palace on the top, and my seal with the little dove and 'Friendship' on it -- my lovely seal that Mr. Sexton gived me, Mother?"

"Yes, my pet," says Mrs. Capel, who is bending, weary and hot-faced over some photographs she is colouring for a firm lower down in the street; "but why do you want your treasures just now? I thought you were making little pies with Mrs. Mullins this morning."

"So I was, Mother, but she's crying, and I want to give her my bright penny and the other things."

"Who is crying, Gwen? Is it Beersheba? Would she like to come upstairs and lie here on the sofa, if her head aches?"

"No, Mother, Beersheba isn't home from school yet. It's Mrs. Mullins. I seed her crying, and her nose and her eyes have got quite wed."

"Well, my pet, stay here with Nancy," says Mrs. Capel. "I dare say Isaac had a bad night, and Mrs. Mullins is tired out today. She will not want you running about in the kitchen just now."

Her little daughter sits down obediently to disrobe the doll she calls Nancy. As Rose Capel turns again to the photographic portrait of the smiling young lady that faces her, her heart sinks within her, for she guesses that money troubles may be the cause of Mrs. Mullins' depression.

For the first time during their stay in the lodgings, they are behind with the rent. They owe now for three weeks, and though Mrs. Mullins says, "What do a week or two matter? Wait till Mr. Bowers have settled for them photygraphs. Dear me, there's no hurry about a few shillings, Mrs. Capel, ma'am," Rose is convinced that the kind landlady is feeling the want of the rent.

That afternoon she overhears a conversation in the hall which causes her to use her brushes with almost feverish haste, so anxious is she to finish her commission and receive the photographer's payment for her work. Her husband and Gwen are out, and Mrs. Mullins must believe she accompanied them, as Mr. Capel had desired, so she does not check the loud, clear tones in which her neighbour, Mrs. Chipps, is criticising her conduct as a landlady.

"Which it seems to me you're robbing your family, Mrs. Mullins," she says emphatically. "Here's Mr. and Mrs. Jotkins as gets his living respectable and regular by the tax-collecting. None of them book writing sort like your Mr. Capel, as is hand to mouth, and I don't hold with them. Here's Mr. and Mrs. Jotkins, and their newborn babe, all ready and waiting to take your rooms, seeing I'm full and can't no way take in another set. And don't they offer you a good three shilling a week beyond what you charges them Capels, and paid down regular every Saturday? Why, one that thought about her husband and family would soon persuade Mr. Mullins to consent for to give them Capels notice. I wouldn't keep them another week -- not I, when permanencies like the Jotkinses was enquiring after the rooms. And you knows very well, my dear, there's your brother down Mile End way that's in difficulties through a poisoned finger, and him not in any club as would keep him while he's out of work."

"Mullins and me does what we can for him, Maria," says Mrs. Mullins, who seems by her voice to be in distress such as goes to the heart of the listener; "but he's badly in need of a few shillings just now, and what with paying the doctor for Dan's measles, and Mullins' horse not so well as one could wish all last week -- though now on the mend, I'm thankful to say -- I don't know where to lay my hand on half a sovereign for poor Charlie. We know he would repay us right enough by-and-by, but we can't spare it, that's a fact; and it do seem unkind to deny him while he's ill."

"Then do your best by the rooms, and don't delay. Give them lodgers notice, my dear, for I do believe as Mrs. Jotkins would lay down a week in advance."

"No, Maria, it wouldn't lessen our worries to add to those if the poor dear lady's. I'm real sorry for her and her good gentleman, and they're welcome to our rooms as long as they wants them. Things is dark with them since Mr. Capel fell ill, and Mullins and me have known troubles ourselves. We're not that unfeeling to show Mr. and Mrs. Capel the door. I'm sorry to lose such as Mr. Jotkins, seeing as you knows the family and speaks so well of them. I know you means kindly, Maria, but I can't bring myself to worry the poor dear lady upstairs by proposing any change about the rooms."

"You'll always be poor, mark my words," says Mrs. Chipps indignantly. "It's downright silly not to look after your own interests more. Everyone for their selves, that's my motto."

Mrs. Capel does not catch the landlady's reply, though she thinks she hears something about "Bearing one another's burdens." The two are passing down to the lower regions, and though she stops her work and presses one hand to her aching head, she has no time for tears. Her heart is lifting a prayer for heavenly aid, even as her brushes move swiftly upon the task that means payment towards the rent.

"Mrs. Mullins must be paid," she resolves. "It is unfair to keep other lodgers away, and yet to remain in her debt. Oh, if only the days were longer and I did not get so tired. My Gwenny needs so much, and so does Maurice, and I seem powerless to provide."

Yet she feels the hardest part of life's burden is borne by her husband, who tries to keep little Gwen bright and cheery, yet realizes, as he slowly paces the park that was once a graveyard, and as he rests beneath the shadow of the trees, that the waiting time is more dreary than that which is filled by the hardest work.

The whisper comes to husband and wife alike: "Your Father knoweth" and in this way they gather strength and courage to face daily needs and anxieties.

Mrs. Capel's work is not finished till nearly nine that evening. With a sigh of relief she makes up the parcel and carries it round to the photographer's, resolved to pocket her pride and ask Mr. Bowers for an immediate settlement. No one is at home save a young servant girl, who tells her "Master and missus is gone to Ramsgate for a fortnight, and master's father and mother's left in charge, and they'll be back late tonight from a meeting they're attending."

"I will call again in the morning," says Mrs. Capel, her heart failing as she reflects that she will probably have to wait for payment till Mr. Bowers returns.

Little sleep she knows that night. She is mentally going over her possessions, wondering what she can part with to pay Mrs. Mullins. She can think of nothing. All they can spare has already been sold. The one article of any worth she owns is her paint box, which was Maurice's gift in his most prosperous days, and which is a really handsome casket fitted up with the best materials.

She knows she cannot sell that, for her work makes it a necessity, and it is precious as her husband's gift. But towards dawn the thought comes to her that she must make use for a time with a cheap little box of materials she has long discarded. Would it not be possible to obtain a loan on the case that Maurice told her was the best he could procure?

Rose Capel had never entered a pawnbroker's, and she shrinks from the thought in shame and humiliation. Sleepless and troubled, she lays the matter before the Saviour to whom the silver and the gold belong, and entreats Him, if it be His will to save her from the need of taking this step -- to grant her the money due for the photographic work.

"Mother's going for a walk," Gwen announces in glee next morning. "Gwenny come too, Mother, and my dearest Nancy, and Dad, and can't we ride in the tram, Mother -- just the penny tram, and go on the top?"

"Mother can't take you today, my Gwen," says Mrs. Capel, hoping Maurice will not notice how pale she looks this morning. "Maurice dear, I have some things to see to out of doors. Would you be able to take Gwenny a little way?"

"We'll all go together," says her husband. "It is a treat to see you in the air, Rose. You are always at your painting."

It makes her task harder that she has to plan and arrange otherwise. Gwen is fretful, owing to the close weather, and breaks down into tears when her idea of accompanying her mother is frustrated.

Mr. Capel comforts her with the promise of the "penny tram," and thinks to himself, "My little wife, bless her brave heart, means to try to sell some of her work today, and she thinks it will pain me to see it refused."

His wife's first visit is to the photographer's. Her heart beats quickly as she ascends the stairs, but she has to wait some time before she can see old Mr. Bowers, who is taking a portrait. She thinks the shabby little waiting room, with its amiable-looking portraits all around her, will forever be engraved on her memory. All the time she is dreading lest stern necessity will take her at last to the "poor man's banker."

"I am Mrs. Capel...." she begins, when old Mr. Bowers is disengaged at last.

"It comes cheaper if you take a dozen," says the old man, who is very deaf, and believes she is enquiring the terms as to portraits.

When he understands her business at last, he produces some likenesses his son left for colouring, should she call in his absence, and he promises to write to Ramsgate concerning her request for payment, but he has not the money by him to settle with her himself. With a heavy heart, Rose Capel goes back to the lodgings, and wraps up her paint box, trusting Maurice will not miss it from its accustomed place. She knows how it would distress him to think she knew not where to find the rent money.

"I will never tell him about this till days are brighter, and my darling is stronger," she says to herself, going out once more into the street, and feeling as if everyone knew where she was going.

Suddenly she remembers she has not the slightest idea which way to go. She cannot recall any place where she has seen the three golden balls and the sign "Money Lent," and she cannot bring herself to enquire for such a place. So on she walks, turning instinctively towards the poorest, busiest quarter of the neighbourhood where there are plenty of public houses, and where she feels sure she will presently find a pawnbroker's. When need arises, Rose Capel knows she can be fearless and brave. She prepares herself now to meet rude jests and insults, such as she has mentally always associated with the pawn broking business, and she whispers to herself, "It is to pay our debt."

Convinced that the eyes of all are upon her, she walks into a shop, outside which rugs and coats are hanging, and says in a faltering voice, "Can you advance me some money on this box?"

"Pawn broking department up the alley to the left," says a man who is marking some carpets with their price.

With flaming cheeks, Rose turns away, but she is relieved to find she is soon out of the public gaze, for the sidewalk leads to a sort of office with separate compartments. A poor woman with a bundle occupies one of these, and Rose does not hear one word of the heartless jesting she has somehow anticipated. A quiet, grave-looking clerk examines her paint box, tells her such things are not much in their line, and it has been evidently well used already, but finally gives her thirty shillings, rather more than she had expected. She is startled when he asks her name and address, but she gives them in simplicity, feeling there is no real shame in poverty. She fancies he looks at her somewhat attentively as he hands her the ticket, and he bids her a civil "good-morning."

She leaves the place with a calmer, lighter heart. How she has dreaded the ordeal, and how different it was from her fears. "If ever I get rich," she thinks, "I would like to send that assistant a present anonymously. A man who is polite to the poor must have good in him, I am certain. He looked sad too. Maybe he has troubles of his own. Sorrows teach us sympathy."

Mrs. Mullins is greatly cheered when her lodger's payment makes it possible for her to assist her brother, but she will not take more than a sovereign. "Things is looking up a bit with the poor, dear lady," she tells her husband. "There's gold in her purse at last. Maybe the rich body in far-off parts have taken some notice of our child's letter, after all."

Gwen, too, is quite struck by the sight of half a sovereign in her mother's purse, and confides to Nancy that she, "Shouldn't wonder if Mother meant to buy her a grand new frock presently, for she's as rich as rich can be, this day. Isn't it lovely to be rich?"

"Rose," asks Maurice Capel tenderly, "why do you look so grave this evening? Do you know Gwenny has been telling you all the events and adventures of our tram ride, and I believe you have scarcely heard her. Come now, little wife, let me be Father Confessor, and give me part of the burdens to bear. Was not the mysterious outing this morning an attempt to sell some of your designs, my darling? Never mind, love. By Heaven's mercy you shall not work like this much longer."

"Work, Maurice! It has been quite an idle day. Walking about is not work," says Rose, trying to speak lightly. "As to selling my designs, the only ones from which I have expectations at present are my Welsh views at Miss Gigins'. She gives me every hope that they will find a purchaser before long. But do you know, Maurice, our conversation is always turning upon pounds, shillings, and pence? I hope we shall not develop into a couple of misers! Come, dear, shall I read to you from the newspaper Mr. Mullins has sent up for you to see? There is an article here you will enjoy."

She commences to read a clever political essay, bright with flashes of wit and full of interesting allusions. Both appear immersed in the subject treated so brilliantly by the writer, but the wife's thoughts are with her treasured paint box, the money still due to the Mullinses, and the clothing Gwen so badly needs just now.

Maurice Capel is far away in a daydream wherein he once more beholds the lake, sapphire blue and calm and sunlit that flows near the home of his boyhood in Wales. The invalid's longing for his native air and those well-remembered scenes is becoming almost painful in its intensity, but he endeavours to suppress such feelings, conscious that there must be always pain for Rose in the mention of Craigllyn.

At the Plas, Miss Capel thinks more of her brother than he imagines at this time. More than once she takes pen in hand to write to him, and to ask for some account of his present circumstances. Little Beersheba's appeal haunts her, but whenever she commences a letter to her brother, the bitter dislike that fills her heart towards Mrs. Capel checks the sisterly remembrance, and she tears up many a note, pride and prejudice conquering sympathy and compassion within her. All her softer feelings are due to the visits she pays old Jenny, and the erring sister whom those servants of Christ brought in penitence and faith to His feet.

"Lizzie is a better Christian than I am. My own heart knows it, and so does my God," thinks Miss Capel, seeing how, like the publican, poor Lizzie is bowed down beneath a sense of her own sinfulness and the mercy of her Lord. With cold dislike towards the wife Maurice had brought into the family, it was not possible for her to breathe in simplicity and sincerity like old Jenny's: "Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone that is indebted to us."
Chapter 6

Honoured Madam,

Should you be anywhere in our neighbourhood, which leads out of the Old Kent Road within a walk of the Elephant, Annie Stevens -- Annie Barnley that was, and formerly a patient at St. Edwy's under your care -- would be grateful to see you, being very poorly and having often thought and talked of you since those days. Mrs. Stevens made enquiries about you at St. Edwy's. They told her you were now Mrs. Capel, but did not know where you were living. Should you be the Mrs. Capel who once was Nurse Laurel at St. Edwy's, please come and see Annie Stevens, as my poor wife is very low, and gets no better I am sorry to say. Trusting you will excuse the liberty,

Yours respectfully,

James Stevens.

"Who is your correspondent, Rose?" asks Maurice Capel, as his wife reads with perplexed looks a letter that has come to the lodgings for her.

"One of my old patients has found me somehow," she answers. "I have been trying to think who Annie Barnley could be, and now I remember all about her. Poor child, for she was only a child after all, a girl of seventeen, out of health through long hours working in a dark shop. The lad with whom she kept company made another choice, and the silly child threw herself into the river. She was soon rescued, but the shock and her appearance at the police station, where she was warned and discharged because of her good character going in her favour with the magistrate, brought on an illness, and her employers sent her to our hospital. Annie Barnley was under my care, and I had the joy of leading her to look heavenward for light and comfort. She became a humble Christian girl, and before she left St. Edwy's I found a much healthier employment for her. I am glad to find she has a husband to look after her now. Certainly I must try to go and see her. I shall finish the Easter cards tomorrow, and in the afternoon I will go to the Old Kent Road."

"You can get an omnibus all the way, dear," says her husband. "Go on the top, it will do you good. But do you feel well enough, my white rose, to take another invalid under your tender little wing?"

"Do roses have wings, Maurice?" laughs his wife. "A literary genius like my husband must not mix his metaphors, must he?"

There is no omnibus ride for Rose upon the morrow. With so many pressing needs surrounding her and hers, she feels that the pence cannot be spared. She sets out to walk all the way, asking the direction as she goes on. She feels a thankful glow in her heart that she is permitted some ministry of cheer and comfort to the heart of another.

About five o'clock she draws near to Meadow Place where Mrs. Stevens lodges, and she is glad to note how spotless are the blinds and curtains of her old friend's rooms. Annie Stevens is careful and conscientious over her housework, and the flowers are her husband's pride; but Rose is reminded of the look she saw on the young face of past days, when Annie first came to the hospital, as she catches sight of a sorrowful-eyed woman sitting in the pleasant little parlour with some small woollen socks in her lap, an empty cradle at her side.

Rose bends down and kisses her, and the words of a poem rise to her lips as she touches the dainty cradle that tells the secret of the mother's dreariness.

"Saviour, now receive him

To Thy bosom mild;

For with Thee we leave him,

Blessed, blessed child!

Yield we what was given,

At Thy holy call;

The beautiful to heaven --

Thou who givest all."

"Oh, Nurse Laurel! "A flush rises to the pale face of the bereaved mother as she looks upon her friend of old. "I never, never thought we should meet on earth again. Oh, I have prayed to see you, dear Nurse Laurel. What made you say those words about my little boy?"

"I did not know yours was a baby boy, Annie dear," Mrs. Capel tells her, "but somehow those words of Mrs. Hemans came into my mind as I saw you sitting here, bending over the empty cradle of your little child. How God has honoured you, Annie! He has asked you for your best, and in love and faith you have given up your treasure to His keeping, have you not?"

"Oh, Nurse Laurel, my child died because of my own wickedness. God refused my prayer for my baby's life, because of what I did before they sent me to the hospital."

"What you did, Annie? Why, you repented of that long since, and asked the Lord to forgive you for Christ's sake. His word says He will remember our sins no more. Think how gracious and good He has been to you. Here you are in this pleasant home, and I am sure by his letter to me you have a husband who loves you dearly"

"Oh, yes, Nurse, I have the best of husbands; and, oh, the past did seem all blotted out at last, for God gave me my Artie, my own beautiful, innocent baby. But the wrath of God was upon him, Nurse Laurel. God let him suffer all the pain of that dreadful croup, and rejected all my prayers for him because of my wickedness. What have I been at heart but a suicide? My own memory condemns me, and tells me I am lost."

"Who is he that shall condemn?" says Rose softly, knowing how dangerous the poor woman's depression may become if indulged. "The Bible tells us 'It is Christ Jesus that died, yea rather, that was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us.' Annie, you are wronging the love of God. You knew not what you did, I am certain of it. You acted so wrongly as a girl, for you were ill in body and mind. You have repented and cast yourself upon the Lord's forgiveness. Do not make His promise false. His word says there is no condemnation to them that are in Christ."

"But I am not one of His," says Annie bleakly, "or He would have spared my child."

"Dear Annie, in His great love for you He tried your faith. Let it shine out now in the darkness. Trust Him, love Him, praise Him, even 'with empty arms and treasure lost!' I, too, since we were last together have known mystery and sorrow, Annie, but I mean to trust my God through all, and so will you, dear, won't you? You are nearer to Him than ever, for your precious little baby is in His own happy, sinless home."

"Oh, Nurse, he was so beautiful, and he knew us both. He was just beginning to call me...."

"Have you a lock of baby's hair?" says Rose, who longs to break the stony, hopeless looks by a flood of healing tears.

Annie shows her the hair and the baby toys, and the little clothes laid away in soft, dainty wrappings; and then the rock is smitten. She puts her head down on the shoulder of her tender comforter, and there is a long, passionate burst of tears sent in mercy by heavenly love to relieve that bewildered, overburdened heart. Presently it occurs to Rose to ask how Annie traced her to her present address.

"Oh, Nurse Laurel," says Annie Stevens, "I've thought of you so much. You were the first real friend I ever knew. And when my trouble fell upon me, and I felt all in the darkness, like I did before when I was at St. Edwy's, I prayed to God that He would somehow send you again to me. But it seemed a foolish thing to long for. Even at the hospital nobody knew where you were, only that your name was Capel. But the other day my husband told me a lady of the name of Capel had been in their place on business, and when he told me what your looks were like, my heart was full of joy, for I knew God had had pity on me, and given me back my friend, my comforter."

She presses Rose's hand to her lips. Rose colours a little as she asks, "Is your husband at a pawnbroker's, Annie? I am sorry to say I was obliged to do business there a little while ago."

"Oh, dear Nurse, but for that I might never have found you. You know not what it meant to me to think God in His pity was giving me my prayer, sinner as I am. And, Nurse Laurel, I have money in the post office. You will not worry about money while John and I have savings."

"I will take nothing but your love and your prayers, Annie dear," says Rose. "And now I think I must go, but I will come again very soon."

"Oh, Nurse Laurel, surely you will stay to tea with me," says Annie, in a pleading tone.

"Indeed I will, gladly," says Rose, feeling it is good for Annie to be roused from her brooding and depression, even by the necessity of attending to the meal.

Annie Stevens is so thankful to entertain her much-loved comforter of old, that hers is a rainbow-face, the smiles gleaming out through the tears as she prepares the tea, and brings forth her best tea service to do honour to the visitor.

Rose tells her of Gwenny, and relates many of her little one's funny sayings to amuse her friend. She promises to bring the child next time, and as they converse concerning her, and recall incidents of those past days at St. Edwy's hospital, Annie becomes almost cheerful; for all the time she is thinking, "If God had turned against me, and cast me off, He would not have sent His servant here to tell me He loves me yet."

A pitiful baby's wail has for some time been heard above, and now Rose asks, "Is that child ill, Annie? Is nobody attending to it?"

Mrs. Stevens explains that it is probably left alone, the father being a cabman at work all day, and the mother constantly running round to the public house. "They're in the room above us," she says. "She'll be in presently. Many's the time I've felt like going up to the poor little man, Nurse, but I couldn't bear the touch of a baby hand again. It would just break my heart to have another little one in my arms."

Mrs. Capel makes no answer, but it is impossible for her to listen to that pitiful cry and render no aid. She runs upstairs and finds the child alone, and evidently hungry. She gathers it up in her arms, and brings it down to Mrs. Stevens who shrinks back for a moment, and then hushes its cries upon her breast.

"I know the mother to speak to," she says, fondling the little face. "She's a decent enough person when she's sober. She won't mind my keeping the baby a bit."

Rose watches her with a bright face, as presently she gets a little bottle from a drawer and begins to prepare some food for the hungry child. Mr. Stevens has made an errand to come home for half an hour, being anxious all day long as to his wife's state of mind.

"You'll come again, ma'am, won't you?" he asks Rose earnestly. "She looks a different woman tonight. She'd set her heart on seeing you once more, but I told her it wasn't likely you'd ever meet again. After so long, it seemed well-nigh impossible."

"But we have proved," says the visitor, with shining eyes, "with God there is nothing impossible."

Rose Capel's suggestion with the neglected babe upstairs is one that bears fruit, beautiful and blest as time goes on. When she is far away, and her visits to Annie are only a memory, loving letters tell of the bond of affection and comfort between the childless mother and the little one that is worse than motherless. In time the poor, depraved heart of the drunkard learns to lean upon Mrs. Stevens for help and strength against the vice the poor wife realizes as ruin. Annie is privileged to lead that helpless one to the Lord Jesus, and so the chain of Christ-like ministry goes on, reaching even unto eternity.

"I bless the day you came to me amid my darkness," Annie says, over and over again, in her letters to "Nurse Laurel." On her knees Rose gives God thanks that He did not save her from that dreaded ordeal of entering the pawnbroker's, seeing that her suffering was the means of leading her to a heart that was troubled and in need, and praying for her presence again, if possible.

As soon as Mr. Bowers pays her for the work done for him, she reclaims her treasured paint box. On that occasion she does not see Mr. Stevens, except in the distance. A business-like boy attends to her, and she is glad indeed to possess her paint box once more. As soon as Maurice is feeling a little better, Rose tells him the story of that morning when her cup of perplexity seemed full, and when the crossing of the dreaded threshold of the pawnbroker was the means of leading her to the heart that was needing her then.

"You should have sent me" he says, holding the hands that once so tremblingly tried to keep away from him the pressure of poverty. "Thank God, my dearest, those days are ended for ever."

"Those days taught us what our Saviour can be, Maurice, when no other help or hope seems left," says his wife earnestly, looking backward through a vista of cloudless days.
Chapter 7

Soon the time becomes dark again, and the struggling seems harder and harder. Every day Rose hopes she may hear good news from Miss Gigins as to her views of Welsh scenery, but still the good tidings delay. Maurice Capel has certainly made no start as yet upon the road of health and restoration. Mrs. Chipps, who is a veritable "Job's comforter," stops Mrs. Capel in the street to enquire after her "good gentleman," and is reminded, she explains with many solemn shakes of the head, of a brother-in-law "who was his living image, and quite a scholar too, as his letters to his friends and relations was beautiful to read, and took to his bed all of a sudden, as it was creeping paralysis, the doctors said, which there was three in consultation, and they all give him up, and he made his will there and then, being in the drapery and outfitting line."

"It was very sad for your sister, Mrs. Chipps," says Rose, longing to end the mournful recollections outpoured upon her.

"There I can't agree with you, Mrs. Capel, ma'am," says her neighbour, who never abandons in conversation a contradictory attitude, "for poor Simpson knew someone as a medical doctor and attended to him regular, and his employer sent him for a sea voyage when he got a bit better, and there isn't a heartier nor a stouter man this day, though give up by the doctors. Well, them doctors don't know everything, nor them nurses either, that's certain."

With which parting shot at Mrs. Capel's former profession, Mrs. Chipps proceeds upon her marketing, while Rose goes in to steal anxious glances at her husband's weary, listless face, and to cry within her, "Oh, that I never, never may have to appeal to his sister on his behalf! I think that would break my heart. It would be such a triumph to her to find we had to come to her for help at last. Surely while I have health and reason, I can manage for Maurice and my precious Gwen. And Maurice will improve, I know, when the weather is cooler and more bracing. When I married, I resolved that nothing should induce me to accept help from Miss Capel. Surely we have not come so low as that, after all the unkindness she has shown us. May God in His mercy help us now, and deliver us from coming upon her charity."

"If you please, ma'am, the lady is here with the tickets for the children's treat to Brighton. Beersheba says as how Miss Gwen wants to go, and her teacher says she can come, and my little ones will look after her."

"Oh, Mother, Mother, let me go," pleads Gwen, who is lying down on the floor at her mother's feet, tired out with one of the headaches her illness in the spring seems to have left behind. "Oh, Mother, I'll be quite better if only I may go to the treat. Oh, I do want to see the water, Mother, and ride in the train, and my head doesn't ache one bit now, Mother. Do let me go and see Beersheba's teacher. She gived me some chocolate once, and kissed my Nancy."

"You may go and see her, my pet," said Mrs. Capel, "but you will not be able to go with the children, Gwen. I want you to be my own brave little daughter and not fret. You know how it troubles papa to see you crying, and he will be in very soon."

Gwen checks a sob with a mighty effort, and looks appealingly from her mother to Mrs. Mullins. "I'd keep by Beersheba all the time," she pleads. "We'd have such lovely games, like Beersheba did last year at Epping Forest."

"We cannot afford the money for your ticket, Gwenny," says her mother, finding it hard to speak the words to her patient little daughter, who already has had to learn so much self-denial. "Now do not fret, but think how nice it will be to hear all about the treat from Beersheba and Dan when they return."

"And they will bring you some shells and seaweed, my dearie," says Mrs. Mullins, who would offer to pay the child's fare but for fear of hurting the feelings of her lodger. "Come and see Beersheba's teacher now. I expect she will say what a big, tall girl you are growing."

Gwen is very quiet when she creeps back to her mother's feet. Her little chest is heaving, but no tears flow forth. She is as anxious as her mother not to disturb her father by looks of trouble. Mrs. Capel puts her hand fondly on the curly head that leans so quietly against her.

"Mother," says the little one presently.

"Yes, my own? Mother is so sorry for you, my little daughter."

"Mother, hasn't God got one shilling and nine-pence anywhere?"

"My precious, everything belongs to God. All the gold and silver are His. 'The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof,' you know, Gwenny."

"But hasn't He got one shilling and nine-pence to give away, Mother?"

"Why do you ask, Gwenny darling?"

"Because," says the child, holding back tears, "me and my Nancy think if He was nice, He would give it to me for my treat. I'd only cost one and nine-pence. Beersheba says it's very cheap, and He might give it to a little girl like me, for I does ache to go with Beersheba, Mother. Doesn't you think He's got it to spare, Mother?"

"Yes, pet, I am sure He has."

"Why won't He give it for my ticket, Mother? Isn't He fond of me?"

"My child, if we knew all God's reasons for giving or for not giving, we should be just as wise as He is. He does not tell us everything yet, but one day we shall know why we did not have just the things we long for sometimes. This He does tell us, Gwenny -- that He loves us, remembers us, thinks about us, watches over us, and never leaves us lonely. There is a great deal you cannot understand, my darling, but be quite sure, whatever happens, that you are dear to the loving Lord. He has not given us the money to spare for your ticket, so it is for the best that you are not going. Perhaps it is to make my little one a patient child, brave enough not to grumble or complain when she is disappointed."

"I didn't mean to grumble, Mother -- it was my Nancy," says Gwen, holding her little doll tightly and nestling closer to her mother. "Nancy's cross because she can't get the shells and see the men shrimping. I don't think my Nancy's very well, Mother. Well people aren't fretful, are they, Mother?"

"They ought not to be, at any rate, Gwen. Put Nancy on her cushion, and let her have a good rest. Well, what did Beersheba's teacher say to you?"

"Oh, she kissed me, Mother, and asked was I going to Brighton with the little boys and girls? And I told her we hadn't any money to spare, because now Dad's ill we must be very 'nomical. You said so, didn't you, Mother, when I wanted a new pink sun bonnet?"

"Yes, dear," says Mrs. Capel. She colours as she understands that the child has confided their poverty to a stranger, and then she reproves herself for the feeling of false shame.

"After all, Mother," says Gwen, in her thoughtful, old-fashioned way, "my frock isn't new enough to go to the treat, and my shoes is breaking. It would cost more money than one shilling and nine-pence. And Dad says when we gets money again you must have new things, Mother, the firstest of all."

"What shall we have then, Gwenny?" says Mrs. Capel, smiling down at the face uplifted to her own.

"Oh, Mother, buns and jam sandwiches like Beersheba had at her party, and a lovely dress with beads all over the body for you, and fresh butter like Dad says he had to eat when he was a little teeny boy, and lived in such a nice place where there's cream and eggs and lots and lots of milk, and presents for Mr. and Mrs. Mullins and all the children, and a pram for my Nancy. And then, Mother, I'd like to give something nice to the little girls and boys that have ill papas, and papas and mammas up in heaven with God."

Just then Maurice Capel comes in smiling and cheery, and tries to lift Gwen to his shoulder, but the effort seems beyond his strength.

"I met some of our fellows from the Attican office," he says. "They had a lot of news. I've kept you waiting a long time, wifie, for your cup of tea. I should have asked two or three of them in, but I was not quite sure about the situation with the food. We'll invite Miss Nancy instead, won't we, Gwen? Your doll is a young lady of such delicate appetite that we may safely press the bread and butter upon her."

"And radishes, Dad," says Gwenny, "Nancy likes radishes. But it doesn't matter, Mother," she adds hastily, "because my Nancy must try to be more 'nomical."

Gwen says not another word about the treat she has longed in vain to share. She chats away to her father concerning Mr. Sexton and his other literary friends, her remarks bringing ever and again a smile of amusement to Mr. Capel's face. But her mother's heart aches secretly, for she feels the loss of her little daughter's treat, and Gwenny's many daily needs remaining unsupplied far more than the loving little child herself.
Chapter 8

"Is there any chance of a purchaser for my designs yet, Miss Gigins?" Mrs. Capel asks anxiously, entering the little bazaar where she is allowed to display her goods. She has left her paintings there five weeks, but however long those weeks have seemed to her, Miss Gigins knows it may be many more before she can dispose of the designs.

"Well, my dear," she says encouragingly, "I can't say we have sold them yet, but somebody is sure to come by one of these days and enquire about them. You must not lose heart, you know. They're sweetly pretty -- more than one of our travellers have said so -- and disposing of them is only a question of time, my dear."

Mrs. Capel appreciates the little woman's kindness, and will not add to the shopkeeper's own troubles by betraying the disappointment she feels.

"I hope business is better, Miss Gigins," she says gently, "and that the rent of your house is not to be raised, as you feared last time I was here."

"My dear, only this morning my landlord's agent has called to say I must pay more after my lease is up next quarter, and there's my sister that has fits to keep, and the new wool warehouse and fancy stationer's opened across the way. There's too much competition nowadays for business to be like it was once. Troubles never come alone, they say, and I'm sure it's true. But, after all, my dear, we know what they mean. They're just sent to bring us to the Master. Our times are in His hand, and these bewilderments that we can't meet alone bring us to His feet, and set us praying."

"If only we had more faith!" says Mrs. Capel wistfully. "What is one to think when one keeps on praying, and one seems unheard, unnoticed, forsaken?"

"What is one to think, my dear?" says the spinster lady earnestly. "Just think what the dear Master said, who was poor and troubled Himself, and who never found the road of life easy and smooth, anymore than we do: 'Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God?' And so we shall, my dear, and meanwhile we'll be trustful and uncomplaining."

It is sultry, thundery weather just now, and perhaps atmospheric influences have something to do with the fact that Maurice Capel seems weaker and more languid. He has little or no appetite, and it has become an effort to him to walk out even as far as the recreation ground.

"Dad used to lift me up and swing me round and play we're akkybats," says Gwen, in tones of grief, "but now if I sit on his lap he says I'm a very heavy girl. I'm not so very fat, am I, Mother?"

"No, darling, there is too little of you," answers Mrs. Capel. "Papa is very tired. This hot weather takes people's strength away, Gwen."

That same evening she shows her husband a letter she has written to Plas Craigllyn, and asks him if he thinks it will do, or should she write another? He holds her hand as he reads it, and she sees by the flush of hope upon his face that he longs for the further advice, of which the letter that has cost her so much seems to hold promise.

Dear Miss Capel,

You once requested that I should never attempt in any way to communicate with you, but I think you will not be offended at my doing so when I explain the reason of my writing. You are possibly aware that my husband has succeeded very well in his career as a journalist, and you have doubtless seen his articles in the Attican. Those on Welsh village life he posted to you, thinking they would interest you. I am very grieved to tell you that serious illness came upon him last year, and it has left great weakness and temporary loss of power in his right hand. He is urged to consult Sir Powell Finch, of Grosvenor Square, and to undergo a course of treatment which is beyond our means.

He is deeply anxious to take up his journalistic work again, and if you would in this extremity lend him the means to obtain this special treatment -- costing, we fear, not less than fifty pounds -- you would be repaid within a few months of his return to work. His literary friends have many burdens themselves, and are not too well off. Already many of them have shown us great kindness in the time of illness. My husband's thoughts have turned to you as one who will sympathise in his weakness, and if you will help him to seek the means of recovery, we shall always be grateful to you.

Yours sincerely, R. C.

"I thought I would not sign the family name," says Mrs. Capel, with a sad sort of smile. "It might vex your sister, Maurice, so I only put my initials."

"I think the letter will do famously, Rose," says her husband. "Now I will use my left hand to send her my love as a postscript, and shall we enclose one of Gwen's portraits -- the one she had taken last year? I always think there is a sort of quaint dignity in that portrait, reminding me of Dorothy herself. I should like her to see our treasure's face."

"Just as you like, Maurice," says Mrs. Capel. She has fought the heart-battle against pride and resentment, and she feels happier than she has done for many a day as she brings Gwen's portrait and places it in the letter that has opened the way for reconciliation. The words re-echo to her soul and make her contented to seem humbled before Miss Capel: "As far as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men."

"It has been hard for you to do this, sweetheart," says the invalid tenderly, "but I believe it was almost our duty now. My living depends on my health, and I must not be above accepting a kindness even from one whose bitterness has wronged us. Dorothy shall be repaid as soon as I can earn my former salary, and I believe it will gladden her own heart to have the opportunity of helping me back to health."

His wife has never once heard him speak harshly of his sister. "The law gave her all," he asserts, "and a man can earn his living better than a woman. She is welcome to the money, but I was fond of Dorothy all my life. She was mother and sister too, and I should like her to love the two I hold dearest. Let me see," he says brightly, as he surveys the familiar address, calling back memories of the old home garlanded with beauty of lake and mountain, "this is Tuesday evening. Dorothy will receive the letter on Thursday morning, and she is sure to answer by return. I might make an appointment with Sir Powell Finch for Saturday, surely. They say he did wonders for Sexton when he had writer's cramp, and for poor Philips when he feared he was losing his memory. I hope long ere Christmastime I shall be fit for harness again, my Rose, and then farewell to the cares and burdens that have given you such a tired, anxious look."

"I would not write to Sir Powell till you hear, love," says his wife gently. "Miss Capel may be away from home, or there may be unforeseen delay in the posts."

"We do have snow in those regions at funny times," says Maurice Capel, laughing. "Though we cannot get air enough here, Plas Craigllyn may be snowed up. Very well, dear, I will delay writing to the physician till Dorothy answers. It will not be long to wait. And directly things brighten with us, we will leave London behind and seek fresher air, for Gwen looks like a white lily this sultry weather."

Mrs. Capel goes out with him in the starlight to drop that letter into the adjacent pillar-box. Both of them seem to feel it carries with it the possibilities of kindlier feelings, sisterly interaction, the cessation of bitterness, hardness, and resentment.

A great peace has come to the heart of the wife since the time when, on her knees, she laid aside the pride that refused the thought of help from one who despised her in the past. She rejoices now that the very best advice will be within reach of her husband. For a moment the two stand by the pillar-box in the evening light. How little the passers-by realize that these two are breathing a silent prayer to speed on its way this olive leaf of peace.
Chapter 9

The hope of obtaining Sir Powell's advice keeps husband and wife cheerful during the waiting time that ensues. Mullins tells how he has "driven a-many to that very house, and they do say as how that there doctor's the top of the tree. Anyway, folks has to wait hours to see him, and it's three guineas for a few minutes' sight of him. There's reputation for you! A wonderful head that Sir Powell have got," so Mullins has "heard tell," and his admiration for the great physician who attracts to his street so many fares conveys a sense of encouragement to Maurice Capel and his wife.

The earliest they can hear in reply to the letter is Friday morning, but they are scarcely surprised that nothing reaches them then, because they could only have had an answer if Miss Capel wrote by return of post. Saturday they are both expectant, and the invalid becomes a little depressed when the postman leaves them nothing. There is no Sunday delivery, and Monday seems far off amid his weakness and pain on Saturday evening.

"Our letter must have miscarried," he declares, "or perhaps Dorothy is ill herself. I have never known her laid up for a day, but time may be telling on her strength, poor Dorothy. Or she may be coming here. I think it is quite possible. Fancy, Dorothy in London. She is not nervous, though, and she could take a cab all the way from Paddington. Give me the timetable, Rose. She might even be here this evening."

"Well, love, if she does come it is fortunate we have the good things Mr. Mullins' sister brought us from the country. We could give her quite a grand meal," says Mrs. Capel, trying to speak lightly to soothe his excitement. In her heart she shrinks from the very idea of facing Miss Capel, and devoutly hopes her answer will take the form of a letter rather than a visit.

"A grand meal," repeats her husband. "It will be so, indeed, if Dorothy visits us. I can picture the sort of hamper she would bring. One of the Plas Craigllyn hams -- none other are quite the same. Cream, eggs, butter from the dairy, cakes and jelly, a great stone jar of beef tea. Oh, I have witnessed her distribution of things like these in the village many and many a time. I should like to see the faces of Gwen and her friends, Dan and Beersheba, whilst we open one of Dorothy's hampers."

But when Monday and Tuesday come round, and still there is silence, Maurice becomes convinced that his sister is ill, and begins to reproach himself for not taking steps to ascertain her condition, even though she has refused correspondence.

On Wednesday, by the noonday post, Mrs. Mullins takes in a letter with the Plas Craigllyn postmark, and she bears it up to the parlour with a look of great interest and importance.

"'Nil desperandum,' says Mullins only last night to our Dan over his long-division sums, which he's apt for to get dispirited when Beersheba finishes her home lessons afore his are done. It's a long lane as has no turning, ma'am, and here's the letter at last as you've been expecting since Friday. And I'm wishing it may bring good news, and would Miss Gwen like to come along with me and see our Isaac a-walking across the kitchen on his own legs, bless him! And him only ten months old come tomorrow. Not that I lets him stand but a minute or two, the dear, for I can't a-bear to see them grow up bandy."

Mrs. Capel looks up with a grateful smile as she leads the child away. "Now, husband," she says, laying a calming hand on the invalid's, "I see this is addressed to you, as is quite natural. Perhaps it is private."

"Rose," he answers brokenly, "what is mine is yours. Read it, my dearest. I do not seem able to make out the words."

Miss Capel's writing is thin and angular, of the old school of feminine penmanship, and her letter is not very legible. It is a cruelly hard one for the wife and mother to read, though her gentle voice seems almost to soften the words as she utters them.

Maurice,

I never break my word nor change my mind. Never under any circumstances whatever will I hold communication with the person who addressed me on the 17th inst, telling me of the troubles and trials which in the course of Providence have fallen upon you. The wilful and imprudent are certain to find themselves in sorrow and difficulties. Nevertheless, I am willing to assist you at the present juncture conditionally. I have not been well myself, and my medical man recommends for me young company.

It has occurred to me that you must find your daughter Gwendolyn a great expense, and an added burden now that you are reduced to a condition of infirmity. I therefore propose to adopt her as my own, caring for her entirely as to board, apparel, education, etc., and trusting that I shall not in this instance nourish within my bosom a serpent of ingratitude and wilfulness. In return for your compliance with this desire of mine, I will write to Sir Powell Finch, whom I have met more than once at the Watkins, of Llangarnett, desiring him to consider you as his patient, and to spare no expense to secure your recovery, looking to me for all fees incurred.

On receipt of your reply, I will ask a friend of mine, now in London, and shortly proceeding to this neighbourhood, to bring the girl to Plas Craigllyn. It must, however, be distinctly understood that she is given up to me absolutely and entirely, and that no attempt is made to interfere with my authority over her.

I shall permit her to spend one week yearly with her parents, at such a period as I may see fit and convenient; but there must be no correspondence, nor any communication with her otherwise than the said annual visit. On no other terms will I carry out the project of adoption. Trusting the fruits of affliction may be used to eradicate self-will and sinful independence, I remain, your affectionate half-sister,

Dorothy Capel.

There is a long silence when the letter so anxiously expected has been read. Then Maurice Capel, pale faced and looking worn and faint, puts his arm round his wife and draws her beside him on the sofa.

"Forgive her, love," he falters. "This is the old, cruel prejudice. If only she knew you as you are. There, Rose, my precious wife, tear up the letter and let us forget it. After all, it is quite likely Sir Powell could do me no good."

"We need not answer it today, need we?" says his wife, who looks firm and composed, save for the shaking of the hands that she keeps out of sight.

"Answer it! What answer does a letter like that require? Throw it into the wastepaper basket, and I will get you to send a line for me to Sexton. I know he would revise an article I wrote with difficulty for the Attican. That will bring us in something till my hand gets better. I made very rough notes some time ago but he will understand them; and he is such a good fellow he will not mind the trouble."

"But, Maurice, she would bear all the physician's fees if... if...."

"If she robs you of your child, Rose! I forbid you to think of a notion so cruel. Am I brute enough to buy my medical treatment at the expense of such untold suffering for my wife? Could either you or I give up to her the very light of our eyes?"

All the mother's heart cries out against it, as she seems to picture her life destitute of her little daughter's love, and kisses, and manifold tender needs. But she knows it is becoming of urgent importance that good advice shall be obtained for her husband's case, and Sir Powell does not practise at any hospital where he could be consulted without a fee.

Then, too, she thinks of her delicate Gwen, white-faced, fragile, needing better air, better nourishment than just now her parents can give. How the little life might develop, and blossom into vigorous strength amid surroundings more helpful to its healthy growth!

"We will never let her take away our child," says Maurice Capel firmly, angry at the very suggestion that would separate from them the flower of their home. But the wife and mother remembers what such a surrender might mean to the two lives she holds nearest and dearest, and silently prays that she may be guided to what is best for them, even though she have to tread, like Abraham of old, the shadowed hill of sacrifice.
Chapter 10

"It is not as though she would be adopted into a home where the influences are hurtful, Maurice. It would be wicked in that case to let the child go from us, but you have often told me your sister is religious."

"A pretty sort of religion that cannot forgive and forget a fancied wrong!"

"Oh, love, do not let us begin to judge one another's Christianity. There are so many beams in my own eye that I dare not judge or condemn another. I fear I have thought and spoken as harshly of Miss Capel as she has of me, but I hope that is over now. I have been forgiven so much, that surely I can pardon even to seventy times seven. I was going to remind you, dear, that Gwen will have a religious training at Plas Craigllyn, otherwise we could not let her go. But knowing her aunt will be particular to educate her aright, and knowing she will have benefits and advantages with Miss Capel that you and I long in vain to give her -- ought we to refuse this offer, Maurice? The child is so weary and pale of late. She grows so fast now, and needs plenty of nourishing food. Remember, we shall have her one whole week in every year."

A fortnight has gone by since the receipt of Miss Capel's letter, and as yet it has remained unanswered. After long, troubled pondering in her heart, Rose Capel has determined to let little Gwen go to Plas Craigllyn, rather than see her suffer in health and her father likewise lack the help he needs, owing to their straitened means. Maurice Capel is not deceived by the brave pleadings of his wife to accept his sister's proposal.

"Anyone would think, to hear you talk, Rose," he says tenderly, "that you long to surrender your little daughter, and to place her within the care of another. But I know it is breaking your heart to give her up -- as if you would not hunger for that yearly week as one starving in a desert."

"So will you," she says, with eyes bright with the light of love. "You will count the weeks and months and hours till Gwen is beside you again. But we shall see her then strong and rosy, blossoming into healthy girlhood, and we shall be glad we let her go, for her own dear sake."

"I scarcely know what we ought to decide, Rose," he says. "I suppose we ought not to deny the child the advantages she will receive in my old home, but will these make up for her being away from her mother? I know Dorothy will do her best for Gwen, and the little thing can never be anything but loving-hearted, like her mother. But would she not pine for you, dear? It seems cruel to send her away among strangers."

"I will speak to her tonight, if you are willing," she answers. "If she frets at the idea, then the change would do her more harm than good."

So in their quiet evening talk, when Gwen, despite her five years (which constitute her "a big girl now" in her own estimation), has stolen to her mother's lap for a joint cuddle of herself and her beloved doll, Nancy, Mrs. Capel braces herself to paint the separation in glowing colours to her child, and to bring about that which, in her secret heart, she dreads so deeply.

"Gwenny," she says softly, pressing her lips to the wavy hair, "how would you like to go away and live with your Aunt Dorothy, papa's sister, in a beautiful house among the Welsh mountains? You will be close to lovely waterfalls and a deep, still, blue lake, where wild flowers, such as you have never seen, are growing on the banks. Aunt Dorothy's house is full of curious old things that you would never be tired of examining -- pictures of your grandparents and great-grandparents, and wonderful old clocks, and cabinets with strange things like you saw in the museum to which Dad took you once. Dad says the fuchsias and geraniums all around Plas Craigllyn grow into thick, shining hedges, and there are ferns like those you admire so much in the botany book. What a treat it would be for you to live there, Gwenny! Aunt Dorothy has written to us, and she wants her little niece to go to her."

"Oh, Mother," cries Gwen, her eyes shining like stars, "then I'd pick the flowers all day long like Dan and Beersheba did when they went for their treat to Epping. And would there be cake and buns and jam and mugs of milk like they gave Dan and Beersheba -- enough for me and Nancy?"

"There is always plenty in Aunt Dorothy's house, my darling. She has a dairy of her own, and you would have cream every day. You are so fond of cream, you know."

"Why, Mother, it's like a fairytale, and Aunt Dorothy's like the fairy in Cinderella. Would she give me a new dress, Mother? A smocked body like Beersheba's?"

"Plenty of new dresses, Gwen, and good boots to keep your feet warm and comfortable."

"And a pink sun bonnet like you couldn't buy me at Miss Gigins's, because it was too dear? She must be grand, Mother, almost as grand as Queen Victoria. When am I going to see her, Mother? Tomorrow?"

Despite her relief at the way Gwen receives the idea, there is a little heart-sinking felt just now by Rose. She had not expected Gwen would be so enraptured at the idea of going, so ready to commence the new life and the new experiences; for the child has never been away from her parents before. And then she blames herself for selfishness and ingratitude. How much harder would be the way before her if Gwen fretted at the thought of going to her aunt, and craved to remain with Mother and Dad.

"We shall have no difficulty with Gwenny," she tells her husband, when child and doll are tucked away in bed. "She is charmed at the prospect of Plas Craigllyn, and quite ready to go as soon as we can send her. You know the child has a great love of nature, Maurice. She has been so little in the country yet. How she will revel in the beauties of her new home, and enjoy the flowers and trees."

"Is she really willing to go, Rose? I expect you have shown her the bright side of the picture. Well, poor bairn, I would not have her unhappy in the prospect, since her father has lost the power to feed and clothe her as his heart desires. I will not ask you to write to Dorothy again, my Rose. If I feel equal to it in the morning, I will send a few lines with my left hand, telling her for the child's sake we accept her conditions of help."

But, later on, when Mrs. Capel returns to the little bed, she hears Gwen regaling Nancy with enraptured accounts of future swings, roundabouts, games at mulberry-bush and "Nuts and May," for the child's idea of Plas Craigllyn is chiefly derived from the oft-recounted Sunday school treat of Dan and Beersheba Mullins. She stoops to kiss the child and bid her sleep; and Gwen says suddenly, the thought having just struck her, "Mother, you're coming too? You and Dad is coming to Aunt Dorothy's?"

"No, my pet. Dad will stay in town and see a great doctor, who we hope is going to cure him, by the blessing of God. My Gwen must be a good little girl, and love and obey her Aunt Dorothy, and grow rosy and strong in the beautiful fresh air to which she is going."

"But I can't go alone, Mother. It's ever so far, isn't it? I don't want to go at all unless you come."

"My pet, your aunt will send somebody to take you all the way, somebody who will see you safely to Aunt Dorothy's house. What Mother has to think about now, you know, is to get Dad well and strong again. So you must be a brave girl, and make up your mind to be thankful and contented in the beautiful house where Dad lived when he was a little boy. You know, Gwen, Mother would dearly like to be with you if she could... but... but... you will be a brave child till we see you again."

"Never mind, Mother," says Gwen consolingly, lifting her face for the goodnight kiss. "I won't fret, and I won't be frightened, even though it's millions and millions of miles away. Gentle Jesus will come with me, won't He, Mother? And my Nancy."

"Yes, my own, the Lord Jesus will go with you and stay with you every hour. Dad and I will ask Him every day to take care of our Gwen."

"And when Dad is quite better, then I'll come back again, Mother? I'll see what red cheeks I can get at Aunt Dorothy's, and how fat I can get with the cream. Perhaps Dan and Beersheba won't know me in my new clothes. Oh, what fun it will be! I'm so happy, Mother, I don't know what to do. And my Nancy's so 'cited she keeps laughing under the bedclothes."

Mrs. Capel does not cloud the child's happiness by telling her that when she does return to her father and mother it will only be as a visitor for one short week. Henceforth her dwelling place is with the aunt who has it in her power to tend the fragile little life so liberally.

It takes Gwen's father a long, long time to write with his left hand the letter accepting Miss Capel's offer of adoption. His wife begs him to let her know that the child has been subject to bronchitis, and needs to continue the woollen clothing to which she has been accustomed. Countless messages and pleas on Gwen's behalf rise to her mind as the letter is addressed to the child's future guardian, but she knows Miss Capel would resent desires and directions as to the little one's wellbeing, and she can only hope that some trusty servant from Plas Craigllyn will come for Gwen, and receive with patience the little details she longs to impart.
Chapter 11

While she remains beside them, it seems as though Gwen's father and mother cannot bear her out of their sight. Rose Capel tries to make it a cheery time as they pack her picture books and toys, and buy little farewell keepsakes from Miss Gigins' bazaar for Dan and Beersheba; but sometimes she feels it must be all a dream. It cannot be possible the child is going out of her life. Once, Gwen confides to her she found "a great big tear on Dad's fuzzy beard, and nobody could be crying, even Nancy was smiling all over her face. Dad must have been nursing Isaac Mullins, because Isaac's always crying, and that's how the tear might have got on Dad's beard."

In due time another letter arrives from Plas Craigllyn. It is very short, and only announces that Gwendolyn will be fetched the following Saturday, also that Sir Powell Finch will be prepared to receive the first visit from his patient at noon the same day. In her heart Mrs. Capel is glad it is so arranged, and that her husband will be likely to be absent from home when Gwen's little voice is ringing Goodbye through the house. Gwen dances here and there with the news of her approaching departure, and reminds Mr. Mullins over and over again that he has promised to mend her little trunk. "You see, Dad can't do it," she exclaims, "and I'm to go in the train on Saturday, so I must begin my preparations. Dad would do it if his hand wasn't ill; so please come up and see to it, dear Mr. Mullins."

Dan and Beersheba are at first rather envious of Gwen's good fortune, especially as she tells them Dad says she will most likely have a goat of her own at Aunt Dorothy's. But they are too good-tempered little mortals to cherish such feelings long. They confide to each other triumphantly that, "It has all come through Sheba's letter to Gwen's auntie;" and they promise to write to Gwen as often as they can afford a stamp.

Gwen anticipates no difficulty as to stamps in her pictured fairyland, but she cannot promise much in the way of correspondence, being unable to write, and excelling as to printing chiefly in the letter O. As yet she has been so delicate that the doctor advised "no hurry about education."

Her father tells her she must make up for lost time when she looks like a sun-bronzed little milkmaid in the bracing mountain air. Mother-like, Mrs. Capel is anxious that her girl shall look her best in the eyes of Aunt Dorothy, and she inwardly decides that her own boots, of which she is beginning to feel rather ashamed, need not be sent to be soled and heeled at present. It takes her a long time to patch those boots neatly with her own patient hands, but she mends them so that she can still go out in them, and the money thus saved buys Gwen a remnant of grey woollen material, which Rose makes into a frock "with a smocked body," and a pretty cloak for travelling.

"Oh, do let me show it to the Mullinses!" Gwen cries in rapture, as she watches the evolution of the dress. A new dress with Gwen is quite an event in her life, so very few have come her way of late. "Mother, you are clever! A dressmaker made Beersheba's, and it hasn't dear little buttons like this. I think you're the very cleverest lady in all Europe and Asia, Mother."

Gwen's recollection of the divisions of the globe, as repeated by Beersheba during her home lessons, goes no further than this; but she gazes at her mother with tenderest admiration, and thinks how wonderful Aunt Dorothy will pronounce her mother to be when she admires the grey costume, and Gwen tells her, "Mother made it all out of her own head!"

Mrs. Capel remembers, however, that her landlady takes in a magazine giving patterns of children's frocks, and seeking a little guidance as to the bodice she knocks at the kitchen door one evening and asks Mrs. Mullins for a sight of the paper. They talk for a while concerning the dress, and then the landlady tries to speak a comforting word to her lodger, for whom she is feeling with all the warmth of her motherly heart.

"My dear," she says, "it's not for me nor Mullins to interfere in your private family business, but you're looking that white and worried we're afeard you'll break down one of these days. It seems to me, for the child's sake, and maybe for your good gentleman's, you're giving up what you'll fret for sore when gone. Don't you think, my dear, if you was to try just now taking a little more nourishment, a beaten-up egg say at eleven, and a chop for your dinner now and then, instead of just a herring or a few vegetables?"

"You are a kind friend," says Mrs. Capel, colouring a little, "and I know you want me to make larger meals, but I have not much appetite just now, and there is no fear of my breaking down. I ought to be only thankful such a prosperous future has opened up for our child."

"I wish from my heart you could all have been together, though," says Mrs. Mullins impulsively. "There's no love like a mother's to understand a child's needs, and bring it up well and happy, so to speak. I lost mine twenty years ago, but I knows I can rise up and call her blessed every day of my life. I only wish I'd done more for her while I had her with me. But it's hard-hearted of me, ma'am, to keep on like this, seeing as how the Saviour above has brought this change to pass. It's all in His mercy and kindness, we're sure, and somehow even the trouble will turn out for the best. He'll be with little Miss Gwen, and He'll be with you, and there's nothing we can't bear, seeing as He never leaves us nor forsakes us."

"What could we do without Him?" cries Mrs. Capel. "He knows... He knows when it all seems dark, and there is no light anywhere, only our Lord and God Himself."

"That's true, my dear, and Mullins often reminds me He knows just when the light is a-going to break around us. He sees the shadows a-passing away, though we thinks somehow it's always going to be always night. I know it's dark with you and your good gentleman now, ma'am, but Him as went up the mountain with Abraham, and felt for him every step of the way, is Jehovah-Jireh this very hour. Seeing as He rules everything, I'm certain the days to come will be better than what we fears, or hopes, or even dares to pray for."

And Jehovah-Jireh sustains the heart that seems just now weak as the bruised reed, till even Maurice Capel is surprised at the quiet way in which his wife gets all things ready for the day the child must go.

Mrs. Mullins provides a festive breakfast when Saturday morning comes round at last. To Gwen it has seemed slow in arriving, for she has longed to array herself in the new dress and travelling cloak. Fortunately for her father, he is just a little nervous as to the great physician's verdict concerning his chances of restoration to health, and his thoughts are thus somewhat taken off the approaching departure of the little one, though his wife fears he will feel her absence all the more when he returns from Grosvenor Square and realizes Gwen has gone indeed, bricks, ball, picture book -- Nancy and all!

Nancy is arrayed for the journey in wonderful garb, devised from the remnant of a check table cover by the united efforts of Gwen and Beersheba. The doll waits patiently in her special corner of the room, while Gwen does full justice to the eggs and marmalade proffered by kind Mrs. Mullins, taking great care to keep her new dress well covered and not to spoil the grandeur of her appearance.

Mr. Sexton, one of Maurice Capel's literary associates, has offered to accompany him to Sir Powell's. The two set off about eleven, and Mrs. Capel manages to keep father and child bright to the last moment of parting, for she knows her husband must not be agitated to such a degree that he might forget half it would be important to tell the physician.

"When you see me again, Dad," is Gwen's farewell cry, "'I'll be so big and stout and strong, and my cheeks will be as red as a piano!"

"She means peony" her father explains to Mr. Sexton, and they go off looking amused. He turns to respond to the salutations of the little maiden, who kisses her hand from the window until they are out of sight.

"Oh, Mother," she shouts presently, "if there isn't a grand carriage coming down our street. Just see the nice footman dressed in blue and gold, like Nancy's weekday frock. And there's a beautiful lady sitting inside with a parasol with flowers growing all over it. Is it the Royal Family, Mother -- or is it, is it a circus? Perhaps there's a procession coming -- tigers, camels, and things! Oh, oh, it's stopping here. It can't be to fetch me, Mother! Oh, Nancy, Nancy, we're going to ride in a magnificent carriage like the Queen's!"

Mrs. Capel rises, calm faced and pale as the landlady's steps are heard ascending the stairs. Mrs. Mullins is the bearer of a card, with the name, "Mrs. Lloyd Griffith, Brynwyr Hall, Craigllyn," and she is followed by a stylishly-dressed lady who is polite, but rather distant in manner towards Gwen's mother.

Mrs. Capel comprehends this must be the Miss Humphrey of former years, whose family Miss Capel would fain have linked with Plas Craigllyn. To her she has doubtless been depicted as a mercenary and designing woman who entrapped Maurice Capel for the sake of expected wealth, one from whose influence it is kindness to remove little Gwen.

Mrs. Griffith explains that she is staying with friends in Hyde Park, and has driven over to fetch the child, as she and her husband return to Wales that afternoon.

"Come, dear, get your cloak. The little trunk is quite ready. We must not delay Mrs. Griffith," says Mrs. Capel quietly.

"I think the little girl is very much like her aunt about the forehead," says the visitor. "How nice it is to be going to your aunt, is it not, darling? I am sure you will be charmed with Plas Craigllyn."

Despite Mrs. Griffith's fashionable costume, Gwen suddenly shows signs of subsiding into tears, and murmurs brokenly that she would "rather stay with dear Beersheba, and Mrs. Mullins, and Mr. Mullins, and Dad and Mother." But Mrs. Capel gently produces the new cloak, and Gwen's eyes open widely in admiration of the ribbon at the neck. Rose knows the tears must come sooner or later, but she feels that for Gwen to break down before her, and to entreat to remain, will be almost more than she can bear. And the condition of Miss Capel's help must not be broken now. Has not Maurice already commenced to share the benefits of her payments as concerns Sir Powell?

Mrs. Griffiths looks more closely at Gwen's mother, whom she is surprised to find so quiet and ladylike in appearance. She had expected to find a vulgar-minded person, without self-control or any quality pertaining to a gentlewoman. She is discerning enough to understand what it costs Mrs. Capel to maintain towards Gwen such a calm, composed demeanour.

When the child runs down, after clinging to her mother to embrace the little Mullinses, she holds out her hand impulsively to her new acquaintance, exclaiming, "Don't fret about the child. Miss Capel will be good to her, and as I live near, I shall often see her. We will take good care of her at Craigllyn."

"God bless you," says Mrs. Capel, who is beginning to tremble as the goodbyes echo from below. "Please take her now, take her before her father has time to return. And when the sun goes in this evening, and the air seems chilly in the train, please put the little shawl I have sent with her right round her. She had bronchitis in the spring."
Chapter 12

"I'm ashamed of you, Beersheba, to make such a noise as that, when the poor lady upstairs must be in trouble beyond your comprehending. Leave off crying, do, and give that there piano-organ player a halfpenny off the dresser to go out of the street. I'd take her up a cup of tea," continues Mrs. Mullins, "but it strikes me the kindest thing is to leave her alone. There's only the Saviour can comfort a mother bereft of her child."

Beersheba, loudly sobbing on the kitchen stairs in lamentation for her departed playfellow, dries her eyes and replaces her handkerchief in her pocket, her curiosity suddenly awakened as to whether this particular piano-organ is the one that journeys in company with a red-capped monkey that turns somersaults beside it. An hour ago the sorrowful child was convinced that nothing could gladden or interest her anymore, lacking the company of Gwen.

Gwen, remembering the sobs on the stairs as she left home, is very sorry for Beersheba, and hopes she will not make herself ill with crying. Miss Mullins flies down the street with the halfpenny, eager to place it within the little brown hand of the monkey, and already half-consoled for her tribulations by the elegant bow with which her donation is received by Master Red-Cap.

There is deeper trouble, as Beersheba's mother understands, in the womanly heart bereaved of its treasure. For a few brief moments Rose Capel breaks down, and gives way to all the pent-up grief which she has hidden from her husband's eyes, and from Gwen's. There is none to see her now as she casts herself down on the horsehair sofa and buries her aching head in the cretonne cushion where Gwen's Nancy has so often been laid for repose. She pictures her girl enraptured with the handsome surroundings of the house in Hyde Park, whither Mrs. Griffith has taken her to lunch. She pictures her gazing with eyes full of excitement and interest at the many objects to divert her mind during the journey, and then, as indeed is the case toward eventide, she imagines the child growing worn and weary, dropping to sleep in the railway carriage, and turning round lonely and wondering, to sorrow for the faces left behind.

"Oh, I must not give way like this," she cries in self-reproach. "How selfish I am, when Maurice is even now with the clever doctor whose help seemed so utterly beyond our reach. God has been very good to us, and He will not desert us now, nor forget my little far-off lamb. Mrs. Griffith will be kind to her even if she frets on the journey. I could see she is fond of children, and she will be patient with Gwen. And her aunt will do her duty. I must not give place to anxious thoughts, for Maurice will miss her enough without my adding to his trouble. I must make haste and get something nice all ready for him. He will be so exhausted when he gets home."

She moves here and there, bathing her eyes, spreading a little tray with a white cloth, preparing refreshment for her invalid husband, while the consciousness that she is not standing alone beside life's bitter pool fills her soul with a great peace.

Sir Powell Finch takes a cheerful view of Maurice Capel's case, and his hopefulness imparts itself to the patient. He misses Gwen sadly, for she was wont to be his merry, talkative companion in many a ramble and saunter among the neighbouring streets and squares, and all kinds of remarkable confidences and questions were poured into his patient ear during the long period when he could do nothing with his pen. He remembers Gwen pausing in an account of what the lavender and poppies in the flower girls' baskets were saying to one another as they waited for new homes, to ask him suddenly, "Dad, where's my soul?

Another time she startled him by the discovery that she was picturing the "spirit" of which Beersheba told her she was possessed, as something comprised in a tin vessel like the methylated spirit her mother used for the stove. Strange workings of the little mind revealed themselves to him during their walks, and he often longs unspeakably for the sound of her young chatter, the music of the little feet, the clasp of the loving arms. But father and mother say little to one another now about the heartache that each is feeling. Both have done what they believe to be for Gwen's health and advantage, and they are thankful that at least she is free henceforth from the pressure of the poverty with which they are struggling.

"Gwendolyn has safely arrived, and I will communicate with you when a fitting season comes round for her annual visit of one week's duration, as previously arranged."

Such is the brief note Maurice Capel receives from his sister, but a letter, read and re-read, comes by-and-by from Mrs. Griffith to Gwen's mother, and it tells them Gwen is looking better already for the fresh country air, and has developed a most satisfactory appetite. "When I see her," says Mrs. Griffith, "she talks incessantly of 'Dad and Mother,' and is saving vast stores of cones, nuts, fern-roots and the like to enrich her parents and the Mullinses, of whom we hear countless anecdotes. Miss Capel is exceedingly proud of her, and the two are always together. You would like to see the little thing now, brown-cheeked and bright-eyed, running about the Plas Craigllyn grounds in a great white sun bonnet and the pretty dresses her aunt delights to give her."

Like to see her! Mrs. Capel thinks it would be a feast for her hungry heart, to look for a moment on the little face that belongs to her "baby". "Mine," she tells herself, "not Miss Capel's, though she has all to do for my treasure now." And then she reads the much-prized letter again, and rejoices that health and strength are coming to the frail little blossom which seemed sometimes as though it would droop and fade in London air.

"Sir Powell is really doing you good!" she cries triumphantly one day, when her husband takes a second help at dinnertime, which has not been the case for many a long day. "Sir Powell is curing your sleeplessness and your want of appetite, and I am sure your hand is improving under his massage system. Oh, Maurice, every day you grow more like your old self now."

"I begin to believe I am taking a turn," he answers. "I can walk as far as Canal Street now without stopping to rest, and for me that is a long way, you know. A couple of months ago I thought there was nothing left but for me to be pole-axed."

"Oh, Maurice!" she says, smiling, "don't talk like that. However weak you may be, your life will never be useless. Indeed, I am beginning to think that more of life's work than I ever supposed is done by those we look upon as invalids and feeble. But I cannot be thankful enough that health is returning to you, dearest. My only fear is you will begin Attican work long before you ought, and so throw yourself back again."

"No fear of that, Rose. Sir Powell forbids me to attempt mental work till he gives me leave. I long to be earning something again, but his idea is for me to get a long country change before I go back into harness. I must not be too proud to seek admission into some convalescent home by-and-by. I wonder if they let one's wife go as well, for I cannot get on without you, my little nurse and comforter."

Rose flushes, for no praise is so sweet to her as that of her husband, but she is of the opinion they will not want her at a convalescent home. "Yes, Maurice," she says resolutely, "all the doctors have prescribed country air for you, and you must have it when Sir Powell thinks you are strong enough to travel. Some plan will yet open for us to go away together, and if not, it will do you good to be rid of me for a few weeks. I should busy myself painting a portrait of little Isaac. I do want to give Mrs. Mullins something for all her kindness to us."

"No, you must come too, Rose. You need a change as much as I do, or more. Well, darling, we must make this a matter of prayer. Country air seems an impossibility while I earn nothing, but there is nothing too hard for the Lord who hears and answers prayer."

It occurs to Mrs. Capel, thinking over the urgent advice that the special medicine prescribed by Sir Powell should be accompanied by change of scene and purer air, that she might be able to obtain a post as caretaker in some country home during the absence of the owners, and in this way they would only have the expense of the railway travelling. She remembers that Mr. Mullins' sister spent some weeks at Scarborough in this way, and greatly benefited in health by the arrangement.

"Or I might fill the post of a country district nurse for two or three months," she thinks, "while the regular one takes a holiday. I still hold my certificates, and I should have tried for work before, only Maurice has scarcely been able to spare me. Now I think I could leave him a few hours each day without anxiety. I must find out which part of the country would suit him best. Sir Powell said it must be mild, yet bracing. I will go and talk it over with Miss Gigins, for it was she who heard of the post for Mr. Mullins' sister."

Accordingly she puts on her warm jacket that afternoon, and goes down to the fancy bazaar where she is half inclined to fear Miss Gigins has taken leave of her senses, for that good lady rushes out of the little parlour behind the shop and takes her into an enraptured embrace.
Chapter 13

"My dear, I was just coming over to you, as soon as my girl Sarah Jane came in from an errand and could mind the place for a while. Of course, my poor afflicted sister can never be left alone, you know. There's good news for you, Mrs. Capel, dear. Didn't I tell you those pretty views would find a buyer at last? If it isn't Mr. Armsden, the traveller from Morris and Grover's! Sure money, my dear, a most substantial firm. Mr. Armsden knows talent when he sees it."

"Oh, Miss Gigins, are my designs really sold? Oh, will there be enough, do you think, for my husband to get into the country?"

"My dear, for all rights in the series he offers ten pounds. The firm will write to you. I have given your address, and he has taken the designs for Mr. Grover to see. But you told me to arrange the sale for you, and I accepted the ten pounds on your behalf. And not a penny commission will I take from you for keeping the views on sale. You're looking very sadly, Mrs. Capel, and the sooner you get a breath of country air the better."

"Oh, Miss Gigins, we really can go now. I came to talk it over with you, and see how I could manage a change. The doctor says my husband must have it, and all the while every difficulty was vanishing, and the whole thing was becoming easy and possible. Oh, if I had only known!"

"We never do know, my dear, the cheer and gladness that are ahead of us. It's always 'better further on' for those that look for help and guidance to the Master. There's many and many a stone of difficulty that seems never to be rolled away by all our thought and trying, but bless the Lord, when we get right up to it we find it is rolled away. And we needn't have feared nor dreaded the difficulty that just turns out to be another victory along life's road."

Rose Capel's face is bright with thanksgiving as she treads the homeward way, and the first bit of extravagance prompted by the ten pounds is a little fresh butter for Maurice's tea, and some buns for the Mullins children. She almost takes a little cake in the shape of a mouse with a crisp, curling tail for Gwen, before it strikes her with a sudden, sharp remembrance that she can plan no more treats for the child now in the home of plenty.

"Why, Rose, has your ship come home?" asks her husband, meeting her on the doorstep, and surveying the bag of buns. "My appetite is certainly better, but I don't know that I am equal to all those!"

"They are not for you," she says merrily. "I got them at the bazaar, Maurice. Eight for sixpence. They are a treat for the children downstairs. For you, I have a quarter of a pound of the butter you liked so much the day Mr. Sexton came here to tea. Yes, Maurice, our ship really has come home, and what do you think it is bringing? Ten whole sovereigns."

"And not a penny too much either for your Welsh views, Rose," says her husband, who has a great and partial opinion of her deserts. "I am very glad, darling, and very proud of you, but I wish I could have bought them myself. Now you must choose a nice dress for yourself, and some sort of shawl for outdoor wear."

"Oh, Maurice," she laughs, "people don't wear shawls nowadays."

"Well, cloak, or dolman, or cape, or jacket, or whatever you choose to call it. But get yourself some pretty things, wifie. It is ages since you have had anything new."

She does not argue with him at present, but when tea is over, and all is quiet save for Beersheba trying "Hold the Fort" with variations of her own on the harmonium downstairs, she steals up to him, saying, "Now, Maurice, one thing I have absolutely decided today, so do not attempt to shake my resolution."

"Then I had better yield to the inevitable," says her husband. "Pray, upon what point is my little woman so unchangeable?"

"Concerning the ten pounds, Maurice, or rather the nine pounds nineteen, for I spent nearly a shilling of it in advance. That money is to send you into the country. Now, don't be silly, Maurice. What do I want with new dresses just now? Once you get quite well, you will be able to buy me plenty of dresses." She uses the plea that she thinks will prove most persuasive.

He answers impetuously, "Wait and see what I will get you, Rose, once I go back into harness and begin to succeed a bit, instead of being nothing but a bundle of infirmities."

"The important thing for you just now," she says earnestly, "is country air. And, Maurice, we can both go together as you wanted. This money will last quite a long while. Here is the paper Mrs. Mullins lent us this morning. I see there are seaside boarding houses advertising at fifteen shillings a head, but you would rather have rooms. Here is someone in the Isle of Wight advertising two furnished rooms at half a guinea weekly; and here is a place at Cromer----"

"Rose," he says hesitatingly, "if I am really to leave London, there is only one place I care about. Oh, how lovely it would look this autumn weather!"

"Well, dear, where is it? Do you mean Bournemouth, or somewhere in Devonshire?"

"I mean my old home, wifie -- dear old Plas Craigllyn."

Mrs. Capel turns white. Not for a moment has it occurred to her that they can possibly go there, but in a moment her heart begins crying out for a glimpse, a passing glimpse of her child, though such a sight may mean, under the circumstances, more pain than gladness.

"Maurice," she falters, "I don't think you must want that -- for many reasons. It is so expensive to go to Wales."

"But my ship has come home, too," he says, pouring a little golden stream of sovereigns into her hand. "I wanted to delay the surprise, but you get all my secrets out of me. That good fellow, Sexton, not only set my article shipshape from my roughly scrawled notes, but hunted out of my desk a manuscript of mine that he thought appropriate to the present state of affairs in Ireland, and today he met me with payment for the work. Our united funds, seeing you bought the buns and the butter -- you little spendthrift -- amount to seventeen pounds nineteen shillings. I know a cottage on the borders of Craigllyn where we could get, for a mere trifle, rooms that look right out on glorious mountain of Cader Idris."

"But, Maurice, would it be quite right of us to go there -- quite honourable? Miss Capel has made us understand she wishes to keep Gwenny apart from us."

"I shall not go near the house," he answers. "We shall see nothing of Gwenny, unless by mere accident. The grounds at Plas Craigllyn are large, and no doubt the child plays chiefly therein. I have no intention of intruding in my old home, or of staying in the neighbourhood beyond two weeks or so. After that, we can see Llangollen again, as in our honeymoon, Rose, and quaint Dolgellau and sunny little Barmouth. I thirst for the scenes of the homeland again. If I can only breathe the mountain air of old, I shall gain new strength -- I feel it."

He looks out from the lodging house window, pausing in his strides across the room, as though already his longing eyes can see the crimson blossoms and the gorse on the hillsides near his childhood's home, the pines rising still and dark where torrents are sounding.

Rose Capel has not the heart to attempt to dissuade him further from revisiting the places loved of old. She has never seen Craigllyn, and she half loves, half dreads the very sound of the name; but two weeks will soon speed by, and if the "homeland" strengthens her husband she will always be thankful they stayed amid the mountain air.

"It must depend upon Sir Powell," she tells him. "We must not go hat far if he thinks the distance beyond your powers."

The physician considers a return to his native air would greatly benefit the patient, but he must be careful not to attempt too much at first in the way of rambles and mountain climbing. "Get an easy conveyance, and drive here and there," he says. "You will thus get the invigorating, tonic air without the fatigue of over-walking."

Maurice Capel thanks him for his counsel, and promises to see him, all being well, two months later. Meanwhile he will pursue his treatment, for Rose has been trained as to massage, and has had an interview with Sir Powell concerning the treatment of her husband's arm and hand. "I don't think seventeen pounds nineteen shillings, minus travelling expenses, will stretch to many drives in our Welsh tour, though," he says to his wife.

But she has found out that they can avail themselves of a railway excursion, and thus go much more cheaply than they supposed, besides vacating their present rooms in time for the new lodgers (the desirable Jotkinses), who have applied to Mrs. Mullins for accommodation.

"Which nobody will ever seem quite the same as yourself and your good gentleman, ma'am," says Mrs. Mullins in the fullness of her heart. "And what them children will do without your kind notice of them. and Mr. Capel's bits of fun, I'm sure I don't know. In lodging house life it's come and go, and many I've seen packing for departure out of these here rooms, but never so sorry as when you tells me it's goodbye at the end of the week. Not but what I'm glad you're going among the green fields at last, for I know it's what the medical man thinks best for your good gentleman. And dearly do I love the country myself, and goes regular every Whitsuntide to Greenwich Park by steamboat to feast my eyes on the beauties of Nature, as the saying is, ma'am. In all sincerity I hopes the two of you will have your health where you're going."

The admiration of the Mullins family over Mrs. Capel's painting of baby Isaac is beyond description. All the family connections gather to gaze and wonder over the production. Maurice tells Rose she has idealized Isaac's expression a little, for he never looks quite so cherubic as depicted by her; but Mrs. Mullins declares "it's the very image of the angel, bless him, and with one dear little shoe half off and a red apple in his hand, just as natural as life."

Messrs. Morris and Grover have paid for Mrs. Capel's designs, and she feels so rich that she longs to buy a little gift for Miss Gigins, but prudence bids her beware. She decides, while lodging at Craigllyn, to paint her kind friend a view in the neighbourhood, wreathing it with a text of comfort.

"Are you planning to tell your sister you will be near her soon, Maurice?" asks his wife, hesitating a little.

"Not I," he answers. "Her letter announcing Gwen's arrival evidently closed the correspondence between us. She expressed no desire to see me, and no particular anxiety about my health. I have offended her, I suppose, beyond pardon. As concerns my marriage, I did what I liked \-- and I like what I have done," he adds, smiling away Rose's sorrowful expression.

Mr. Mullins is the cabman, of course, when the Capels finally drive away to the station. Prompted by the little Mullinses, half the street seems assembled to watch their departure, for they are favourites with the neighbouring children, and a sympathetic landlady from over the way audibly expresses the hope that "the poor gentleman may not be leaving this healthy and convenient locality to find his grave in the country, which is well known to be damp and rheumaticky."

Mrs. Mullins has provided a substantial looking basket containing many creature comforts for the journey, and Dan and Beersheba have bought from the market penny bunches of marigolds, which the travellers are to wear as keepsakes in memory of the twins.

Maurice Capel is fairly wearied out long before the noisy excursion train stops at the station nearest Craigllyn. The carriages are hot and crowded, and many a long "shunt" has tried the patience of the occupants. But when, at sunset time, a jolting little chaise is conveying them and their luggage on the road to Craigllyn, he forgets his fatigue, and presses his wife's hand in almost boyish excitement and delight.

The hills and mountains around are bathed in rainbow colouring, ever blending, deepening, varying, reflecting the glories of the evening skies. Fir trees clothe the hillside, rising one above the other in shadowy wealth of foliage. Myrtle weaves its garlands along the way, and in the distance shines a lake of sapphire blue.

"Listen to the waterfall!" Maurice cries in rapture. "That is Talyfras. Oh, this is happiness to hear the mountain torrents again! What are you thinking about, my wife with the earnest eyes? You look so quiet and pensive as you drink in all the beauty of my beloved Cymru."

"I was thinking," she answers, smiling up at him, "of part of that poem of yours written near Craigllyn long ago -- the one I found in your old diary. The lines came back to me as I looked across at the hills.

"Glorious hills that half in shadow,

Half in ruby splendour stand!

Witness of the Love Eternal,

And the gentle Father-Hand.

Land of music! Sweet your message --

Though the summer-prime be flown,

As the mountains stand unshaken,

So the Lord is round His own."
Chapter 14

Owen Williams and his wife Hannah, who let two rooms in their little farm cottage on the borders of Craigllyn, entertain the Capels hospitably, and spare no pains to acquaint them with the geography of the mountains and lakes around. They are newcomers to the farm, and are surprised to find "the gentleman from London" knows more about the rocks and valleys, the fishing and the walks about the district, than themselves, till it suddenly dawns upon them that his name is the same as that of the lady of Plas Craigllyn, from whom they rent the farm.

"Would it be a cousin?" Owen Williams asks his wife, over their supper of cheese and onions. "There were Capels Denbigh way, though. It's likely he'll be no relation to her at the Plas."

"Indeed, that's very true, Owen Williams," tells his wife; "for if these were cousins it stands to reason they'd be staying at the Plas, and not at Pontylyn Farm."

It certainly seems as if his native air is breathing new life into Maurice Capel. Early each morning he is out-of-doors, returning home with some marvel of wild flower or fern from his wanderings among the hills. October at Craigllyn is mild and balmy, and the cottage gardens are still bright with brightly tinted blossoms, and the porches are wreathed with smiling creepers.

Rose accompanies him in many of his rambles, and shares with enthusiasm her husband's delight in the picturesque vistas opening at every turn. She has received a small order for river views to adorn a booklet, and she is frequently painting quietly by the side of the rivulet running among the steppingstones not far from the farm.

At the end of the first week neither she nor her husband has obtained any glimpse of Gwen, concerning whom they say very little, but of whom their hearts are full. The farm is about a mile from the Plas, and Mrs. Capel is half pained, half relieved to find the days are speeding away, bringing them only visions of passing tourists, and neither sight nor sound of the little life for which her eyes are longing.

"Miss Capel has heard that Maurice is here," she thinks, "and she keeps Gwenny close to her side, lest we should attempt to regain the affection she is possibly trying to estrange from us. She must know we are here, for so many in the village have welcomed Maurice now, and only yesterday he had a walk with Mr. Griffith, of Brynwyr House. He would certainly let Miss Capel know he is in Craigllyn. It is all for the best, though, that she does keep Gwenny in the grounds. If once we saw our darling, how could I bear to part from her again?"

One day she is painting beside the clear water, leaping and singing over pebbles and rocks, and turning in its course the old wheel at the mill, when her husband approaches. He is conversing with a gentleman, whose acquaintance he has made upon the road. This is the new doctor of Craigllyn, an Englishman, settled amid the Welsh hills for the benefit of his wife's health. Noticing some stiffness in Mr. Capel's arm, he has been asking about it as they walked in the same direction.

As he studied under Sir Powell Finch they have glided into conversation interesting to both. He lifts his hat as Maurice pauses beside Rose, and the former is about to introduce her as his wife, when the doctor suddenly exclaims, "Nurse Laurel! Surely I cannot be mistaken."

"My wife was Miss Laurel," says Maurice. "Did you know her in the hospital?"

"I remember you very well, Dr. Haines," says Rose. "You were house surgeon when I was at St. Edwy's. Fancy your settling in this quiet little faraway retreat."

Dr. Haines had a very good opinion of "Nurse Laurel" at the hospital, finding her quick, peaceful, and capable. He is interested in the husband and wife, and admires the painting, smiling as Maurice informs him Rose keeps the wolf from the door while he is "lazy."

"I should have thought," he says, "with your recommendations, Mrs. Capel, you could have found more lucrative occupation in pursuing your own profession."

"My husband has not been well enough for me to go out nursing," she answers. "Perhaps when we go back to London I might be able to take some position where my training would be of use."

"Indeed," says Maurice. "Wales will send me back like a giant refreshed. I shall be at work in a few weeks now, and set the Thames on fire with my literary achievements yet."

Dr. Haines departs presently, saying his wife will call at Pontylyn Farm. He reminds his wife at lunchtime that he once took her over St. Edwy's, and she was charmed with the calm, sweet, womanly face of Nurse Laurel, now Mrs. Capel. It does not flash upon his discernment, till her womanly intuition flies to the conclusion that Maurice Capel must be the brother whom the mistress of the Plas disowns -- according to rumour -- so the lodgers at Pontylyn Farm are the parents of the pretty child whom Miss Capel has adopted.

But while the doctor is yet on his morning rounds, the longed-for vision has suddenly filled the heart of Rose Capel with rapture that is almost agony. Maurice is stretched upon the grass at her side, drinking in the beauty of the scene, and telling her how the old village wheelwright nearly embraced him in his excitement at recognising "young master," when they hear a sound that pales Mrs. Capel's face and makes her husband leap to his feet with an exclamation of delight. It is a child's voice singing among the trees a melody once familiar on the London barrel organs, and caught from Dan and Beersheba Mullins. How strange it sounds linked to the music of the merry stream among these distant hills.

"Ring, ting, that's what the bells say,

Ring, ting, a dear little thing;

She'll be my bride,

I'll buy the ring,

Servants to wait on her,

Ring, ting, ting."

The graceful composition of this poetry had often amused Maurice Capel, hearing it sung by Beersheba or by Nancy's Mother, as the doll was beguiled to sleep. Mrs. Capel had often wondered how she could prevent little Gwen from catching up the extremely sentimental lays popular in Prospect Row. But no melody had ever stirred her heart like the well-remembered ditty of their London lodgings, echoing now among the trees.

She seems voiceless, and her husband takes her trembling hand, saying, with a smile, "It's Gwenny!

The next moment they become aware of an elaborate perambulator, cushioned, and with a dainty canopy, wherein reposes a very small and ancient doll, the Nancy of old in the table cover dress, looking decidedly out of place.

Gwen is the possessor now of a French doll that crosses the room by mechanism, a baby doll with quite a lavish outfit, and a lady, lovely to behold, attired as a bride. But her heart aches at the thought that Nancy may feel herself neglected, and all the treats, and excursions, and tenderest words are for "my dearest Nancy."

Behind the perambulator dances along a little fairy in a pink zephyr trimmed with white embroidery, a dainty pink sun bonnet making a picturesque frame for the wavy hair, blue-black eyes, and merry little face. A chubby fairy, too, and heavy!

Mrs. Capel recognises the look of health with deep thanksgiving, and whispers to her husband, "Maurice, she must not see us behind this hedge. We ought not to attempt to communicate with her -- that is understood by Miss Capel. Oh, my darling -- my darling! Thank God I have seen you just once."

But little Gwen Capel has taken an interest in various artists round Craigllyn whose work she has inspected, and having caught a glimpse of a paint box and sketching block she draws nearer to the spot. The result is disastrous for poor Nancy. The perambulator, left to its own devices, rolls down the grassy slope, and Nancy is precipitated into the streamlet, down which she placidly floats with a cheerful smile into a refuge of rushes. The painting that forms Rose Capel's work today is likewise overturned, but what does that matter to the mother's hungry heart?

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" is all Gwen can cry, as her arms entwine Mrs. Capel, and she begins to sob in very fullness of joy. "Oh, my darling Dad, have you and Mother come to see me? Oh, and is Beersheba here, and Isaac? Nobody told me. Didn't auntie know? Oh, won't auntie be 'cited? Oh, Mother, there's plum pie for dinner, and cream and cheesecakes. I'm so glad I chose cheesecakes today. Come, come home. Auntie told me not to go further than the white gate there. I'm out alone, and I've taken a pudding in the perambulator to an old lady by the bridge. Come quickly home, Mother. Oh, I did ask Gentle Jesus to send me back quick to you and Dad. Isn't He nice to bring you all these millions of miles to see me and auntie?"

Even the French toys and worked dresses and cheesecakes have not made up to little Gwen for the love of father and mother, and the lack of their presence amid her fair surroundings. They recognise this with proud thankfulness as they listen to her enraptured chatter, and they comprehend, too, that Miss Capel has not revealed to her little niece that there is any family estrangement. Indeed, it would have been well nigh impossible to convince little Gwen that anyone should feel unfriendly towards her own beloved mother.

"We are not stopping long at Craigllyn, pet," her father tells her, seeing the mother can do nothing but hold the child in her arms. "I am already much better, you see, and we shall travel in Wales till I get quite well and strong. I wanted just to have a look at beautiful Craigllyn again. You can tell auntie you met us, and we are only stopping till Saturday."

"But, Dad, you'll come your own self? Auntie's got a pony chaise, and the pony's name is Dafydd, and I'll just run home with Nancy -- oh, Nancy's drownded -- but I couldn't save her life when I saw you and Mother. I'll run home ever so quick and get auntie to send the chaise, because I dare say you can't walk so far, my dearest Dad."

"Dad can walk much better now, my own," says Mrs. Capel; "but we shall not be able to come to Aunt Dorothy's, my Gwenny. I think you ought to go home now, for auntie may get anxious about you. One of these days you are coming back to see Dad and me, you know. We will think about that time, and we shall be so happy then. Dad will get poor Nancy now. See, she is lying among the reeds, and you must be busy getting her into dry clothes when you have taken her home."

"I don't want Nancy," cries Gwen, in great trouble of heart. "I don't mind if she's drownded. It's you I want, Mother -- my own, ownest Mother." And she clings to Mrs. Capel, resolved not to lose sight of her again.

"You were right, Rose," says Maurice Capel, in a low voice, to his wife, "for her sake and ours we ought not to have made this meeting possible. It is harder than I ever dreamed it would be. Don't try to speak, you look so faint, sweetheart. Let her cry a while, and I will get her Nancy."

In a few minutes Gwen is vividly describing poor Nancy's peril, and she is somewhat comforted as she asserts the rescue is "just like Moses among the bulrushes." Then he fetches the perambulator, and the tears dry as she exhibits its beauties and explains that it is a present from "kind, pretty Mrs. Griffith, who's got a little boy with a red head and freckles over his face, only auntie says I'm not to say so."

Gwen has been too lovingly trained to refuse obedience to her parents, and when they tell her she must go back to the Plas she lifts her head slowly from her mother's shoulder. Then the thought occurs to her that of course auntie will come down and coax them to visit her, and everybody at Craigllyn does what auntie wants.

"Yes, I'll go now," she says briskly. "You're at Owen Williams' farm, aren't you, Mother, where the little black pig lives that I gave an apple to once? Auntie's sure to bring me there directly we've had dinner, and I'll tell cook and Sally not to eat up all the pies, 'cause I do want some left for you and Dad."

Her father walks beside her till they come within sight of the lodge, at the entrance to the Plas. Then he returns to his wife, whose wistful gaze has been following them both, and he says tenderly, "I am sorry, Rose, that in my longing to see this place again I exposed you to the heartache you are feeling now. Shall we go away at once, my darling? It will be terribly hard for you and Gwen if you come into contact again."

"No, let us wait till Saturday," she answers gently. "We have to pay for the rooms till then, and it will save us money to stay out the week. I shall not see her again here. Miss Capel will prevent the risk of our meeting. I hope she will not be angry with Gwen for speaking to us today."

"No, dear, she is not so unjust as all that. It evidently never occurred to her we might be likely to visit Craigllyn, for she has given no instructions to Gwen as to avoiding her parents. That would be cruel. I am glad the child knew nothing of any estrangement. Craigllyn has been new life to me, Rose, but I do wish for your sake this had not happened."

"Oh, Maurice, I am thankful -- happy. I have seen her with my own eyes, and she looks so well, and rosy, and bright. Now I shall go away on Saturday quite contented."
Chapter 15

On the Friday night Mrs. Capel is packing in preparation for their departure to a well-remembered resort of her husband's. While her thoughts are at the great house among the hills, picturing her Gwenny fast asleep in the gloaming, Mrs. Williams asks her if she will come down to "the doctor," as her old hospital acquaintance is called for many a mile around, and in many a lonely dwelling.

Rose is rather sorry to be interrupted. She excused herself from a social evening at the village pastor's, where Maurice has been made welcome tonight, in order to get forward with the packing. But she knows what long distances the local doctor has to traverse, and concludes that he could not visit them earlier in the day.

"I am so sorry my husband is out," she begins, as she enters the sitting room.

Dr. Haines seems hurried, for he says quickly and earnestly, "Nurse Laurel -- I can't get out of the way of calling you that \-- I have come to ask you to do me a favour. I am sure your husband would approve."

"Certainly I will, if I can" she answers promptly. "Please let me know what it is."

"I have," says he, "to find a capable nurse at once. It is too late to telegraph to Aberminster, and I must ride over there, unless you will consent to fill the position. You can make your own charge, but a trained nurse is indispensable for my patient, and I would rather have you, whom I know and trust, than a stranger."

"I should like to come," says Rose frankly. "The fees would be a very great help, and it is most kind of you to think of me. But, Dr. Haines, we leave Craigllyn tomorrow, and I can give you no definite reply till I see what my husband thinks about it. Is it an urgent case?"

"I fear so," he says gravely, and very gently. "My patient is a little child, suddenly attacked by bronchitis."

Mrs. Capel turns like a white rose, and stays herself by the table. "Doctor Haines ... who is it?" she falters.

"The little girl at the Plas -- the child adopted by the maiden lady there," he answers. Then he takes her hand, and guides her into a chair.

"My dear child," he says, "be calm, or you will be wholly unfit to nurse. I think I have some Sal volatile with me. I must have a little water and insist on your taking a dose. I noticed the other day that you were looking far from strong. I fear you are overtired with your many duties. Do you feel better now?" he asks, when she has swallowed the restorative he has prepared.

"I am quite well now," she says, looking quiet and composed. "Dr. Haines, perhaps you have guessed it. My husband's sister has adopted our child. It is our only child who is in peril, and Miss Capel would never let me nurse her. Miss Capel has never acknowledged me."

"Nevertheless, you will nurse the little one better than any beside, and Miss Capel laid no conditions on me. She idolises the child, but she is herself unused to sickness, and she bade me spare neither money nor pains to bring back a trained and capable nurse. Have you your hospital uniform of old?"

"Only the cap and apron," says Rose, "and the cuffs. I brought them, thinking I might hear of a little district nursing if we settled in any village long."

"Put them on," he says, "and come with me. My conveyance is waiting outside. I will drive you at once to the Plas. Miss Capel will receive you as the nurse I introduce. I believe your presence will mean everything in the crisis the child is nearing."

"I must nurse her," she says resolutely. "My husband would say the same. You will see him and tell him, will you not, doctor? He will be so anxious about our little girl. Oh, I do hope this fresh trouble will not undo the good he has gained in this place! Take me in as the nurse. Surely it is not wicked to enter a house forbidden to me when my child is lying in peril. No strange hands shall nurse my Gwen!"

"Whether you explain your identity to Miss Capel or not, I leave for you to decide," says Dr. Haines. "I presume not to judge your private affairs, but I shall take none but 'Nurse Laurel' to the Plas."

Rose does not know how she secures her cap with the white band beneath her chin, or puts on the hospital apron with its useful chatelaine and the deep cuffs so familiar before her marriage. A closed conveyance is waiting outside, and very soon they are on their way, in the starlight, to the house of her husband's childhood.

A short time ago, the idea of crossing Miss Capel's threshold would have filled her with shrinking and dismay. But now she reckons nothing of anyone or anything at Plas Craigllyn save her one lamb, stricken sorely with the dart of her lifelong enemy, bronchitis. They are evidently expected, for the butler opens the door before the doctor can ring, and says his mistress is with "Miss Gwen, who's turning a bit light-headed."

"Are you able to go up?" the doctor says, in a low voice, to his companion.

"Yes, let us go now," she answers very calmly. Not a tremulous movement, not a falter in her voice betrays the agonized anxiety with which her heart is full, the intensity of longing that her help may not reach her child too late. The butler, who is greatly distressed at the sudden illness of his little favourite, is half-inclined to resent within him the "unfeelingness" of hospital nurses, who can "go upstairs like statues, even though poor little dears like Miss Gwen may be at death's door."

There are several people in the sickroom. Some of the women servants crying, and whispering amongst themselves that "the precious child is sinking fast. She was too good and too pretty to live. She's bound for sweet Canaan before the light of morning breaks;" and some of these warm-hearted Methodist spirits listen longingly to treasure what may be the departing child's last words. But they glide away as Dr. Haines approaches, and Maurice's sister turns round from the bedside of her treasured little niece.

"Mother, Mother!" moans the child feebly when she catches sight of Rose. "It's very hot, and I'm so thirsty, Mother. Can I go and play with Beersheba in the square where there's a fountain?"

"This is the nurse," says Dr. Haines, "certificated of course, Miss Capel, and quite used to children. I have been fortunate in being able to bring you one who has worked under me before. You may put our little patient with every confidence into her care. I cannot speak too highly of her professional ability."

"I am so thankful," says Miss Capel. "Nurse, have you had a bronchitis case before? Are you sure you know what to do?"

"Oh, yes," says Rose quietly. "I think I will change her poultice now. I can prepare one in the dressing room." And she gently stoops above the child, and puts back the hair, damp with perspiration, while she draws down the heavy clothes with which the little patient is overlade, and arranges them over her warmly but so that the pressure is light. All this time the mistress of the Plas is watching her with sharp, observant eyes, and the troubled heart to which little Gwen has become so precious feels her presence an untold relief.

"I am sure that woman will be a comfort to me," says Miss Capel, as she accompanies the doctor downstairs, when he has given Rose his parting directions for the night. "I cannot bear fussy, sentimental people, and she seems so extremely composed and businesslike. I suppose nursing is really quite a talent. Sally has been trying for an hour to get Gwen to sleep, yet did you see how she just opened her little heavy eyes and looked at the trained nurse, and seemed inclined to drop off quite peacefully? A widow, I suppose, poor thing. I noticed the wedding-ring."

Dr. Haines remarks that he will be over early in the morning, and emphasizes the fact that the nurse he has brought is extremely capable, and the case must be absolutely left in her hands. "Let her take the whole responsibility," he says. "There is a crisis approaching, if I mistake not, and good nursing is of vital importance, believe me. In many respects the nurse can be more useful now than the doctor."

"She shall have full control," says Miss Capel earnestly. "I will see that she is made very comfortable while at the Plas, I assure you, doctor."

And it is with a sense of great relief and confidence Miss Capel returns to the sickroom, and watches the child sleeping as far as her troubled breathing will permit. She stoops above the little one, lightly pressing her lips to the damp brow, and in her heart giving thanks that the little mind is at rest from uneasy wanderings. Then she draws nearer to "Nurse Laurel" who is standing beside her.

Rose sees a stately, dignified form in the black velvet she always affects in the evening, but older looking than Rose has pictured her, and with eyes and lips that give the troubled heart a sense of comfort -- so like they are in expression to Maurice's.
Chapter 16

"Now, Nurse," says Miss Capel, with the hospitality of her race, "you must ask for anything you need. The maid is just coming up to help you complete the arrangements for the night. Last night I sat up myself, and I was glad of a cup of tea in the early morning. I shall be vexed if you do not make yourself quite at home."

"You are very kind," says Rose quietly. "I should like a few lumps of coal wrapped round with paper, and a piece of wood to stir the fire, for it is most important the child should sleep, and we must keep in the fire."

"Oh, yes. Dr. Haines said the bronchitis kettle must be used, and you will want hot water for poultices. Sally will refill the scuttle, and I intend lying down in the dressing room, if you are quite sure you can keep awake through the night, Nurse."

"I am used to night nursing," says Rose. "Please take your rest, Miss Capel. The little one is safe with me."

"And what do you think of my little niece? Tell me candidly, Nurse. This is only an ordinary childish ailment, is it not? She will be running about in a day or two?"

Rose Capel is holding the little damp hand between both her own, and she calms the child's restless fingers by gentle pressure, as if to assure the little sufferer that help is near, as she answers, "Not in a day or two, Miss Capel. She is very, very weak tonight. She will need the greatest care."

"I cannot think how she caught cold," says Miss Capel, in a tone of grief. "I knew she was delicate, and since she came to me I have taken every precaution concerning her. Certainly this week she has been fretting a good deal, because I declined to visit some... some people she had met in the village, But that would not bring on bronchitis. The day before yesterday she spent a few hours at a neighbour's house, keeping their little boy's birthday. I think somehow she must have been exposed to draughts."

"Oh, when a child is subject to these attacks they come on very suddenly, and often without apparent cause."

"Subject to them, yes, I believe she has been so, poor little thing. I fancy she had rather a hard life of it till I adopted her as my own dear child. But good living and this bracing air will certainly strengthen her, do you not think so, Nurse? Ah, here comes Sally with your supper tray. Now, before we do anything else, let me see you drink some warm coffee. You look as though you need to be taken care of yourself."

She smiles kindly at Rose. Her eyes are dark, and her hair is as the raven's wing, whereas Maurice is fair, but still their expression is bewilderingly similar. Rose almost breaks down as she is established in the cosiest chair, and food is hospitably pressed upon her.

"What a traitor I feel," she thinks. "It is wrong of me to accept her kindness upon false pretences, and yet -- how could I let another take care of my Gwenny tonight? Oh, I wish she would go and lie down, and leave me alone with my darling. Gwen is sure to wake presently, and her head may be clearer then. She is quite likely to chatter away to me till Miss Capel sees who I am. I wonder if she would turn me out tonight."

It is a very long, anxious night, and one Rose never afterwards forgets. She watches the little one with tireless eyes, changing the poultices and administering the medicine left by the doctor. Still Gwen dozes on, taking the draughts almost mechanically in obedience to her mother's tender tones. The child is too ill to feel surprise that Mrs. Capel is at "Aunt Dorothy's." It seems to her quite natural that her mother's hands, her mother's voice, should minister to her now.

Only once during the night she speaks feebly, "Mother, Mother, give me my Nancy," and Mrs. Capel hunts Nancy out from a little cupboard full of toys. Even these whispered words are a great relief to her heart, for she has been dreading lest the sleep should gradually pass into coma.

Towards morning Gwen's breathing becomes easier, and her look is more natural. The poultices are not therefore changed so often, and Rose has more time for thought. "I must tell the truth," she decides, "and leave the consequences to God. Surely He will let me care for my beloved in her illness, but if not -- still I will not deceive Miss Capel. Whatever may be the result, I will not be under her roof by an acted falsehood. I will tell her in the morning. God will help me, whatever comes."

In the house of her adversary, her only child beside her in peril of her life, her husband alone and in trouble and anxiety on behalf of them both, the future clouded and dim with uncertainties, all she can do is to take, with feeble steps, the one sure road of prayer that leads to rest and light. She casts her every care upon that Love whereon each human heart may lean, and trusts the whole to Him in whom her whole soul believes, even though He has sent poverty and struggling and chill uncertainty as to home and daily bread.

The morning rises clear and beautiful, and Gwen smiles faintly in her mother's face as the birds begin to chirp amid the creepers climbing to her window. Rose Capel quietly feeds and refreshes her, passing a damp flannel over the hot little face, and softly brushing back the curling hair.

"How pretty you look, Mother!" she falters. "You've been and gone and put your nursing cap on that you used to wear long ago. Is it a game, Mother? Is Dad playing, too? Where's Dad? Oh, Mother, Mother, I want my dearest Dad."

Rose hushes her, afraid that she will wake her aunt. It is not long before Miss Capel, fresh and brisk, is in the sickroom, looking stately as ever in a black dress of some substantial woollen fabric of Welsh manufacture.

"Ah, she looks more herself," she says gladly, bending to kiss tenderly the little face that is once more quiet in sleep. "I can see to her now, Nurse. You go and lie down. You look more fit to be a patient than a nurse. Are you always so pale?"

"Miss Capel," says Rose, and her very lips seem to grow white as she reflects that she may in a short time be denied her child's sickroom, "I cannot stay here any longer unless you know who I am. Last night I made up my mind I must tell you. I am certificated as a nurse, as the doctor said, and I worked under him, but that was before my marriage. I am Maurice's wife. If you will only let me nurse Gwen now, I will leave your house directly she is well. I know you said I should never cross your threshold, but the child is in danger."

Miss Capel gazes at her for a while in stony silence. Could she but know it, she is exactly the reverse of the pretentious, ill-bred person her sister-in-law in obstinate prejudice has persistently pictured her! But Miss Capel is not one to surrender an antipathy lightly, and her tones are icy as she remarks, "I will not say, Mrs. Capel, that I did not have my suspicions during the night, for I heard you speaking to Gwen in a manner warmer than that of an ordinary nurse. I am glad you have had the candour to undeceive me. I suppose you have brought Gwen through similar illnesses before, and you are the best person to look after her now. But you must leave the Plas as soon as your duties are ended. This makes no difference of course to my decision, that acquaintance between us is impossible."

"That is understood," says Rose, a flush replacing the pallor. "Thank you very much for letting me nurse Gwen. Yes, my darling, mother is here!" she says yearningly, as Gwen one stirs and calls upon her name.

She supposes Miss Capel enlightened the servants, for they make errands to peep in, and survey mother and child with great interest and sympathy. To the old cook, Rose's husband is still "Master Maurice," and even to her mistress she has always been his warm and open partisan. She personally superintends Mrs. Capel's breakfast tray, and Sally lays upon it a dewy chrysanthemum, "For," says she, "the flowers cheer a body more than we can, and it's plain to see the poor lady will be childless in a few short hours."

Dr. Haines considers Gwen slightly improved when he pays his morning visit, but describes her condition as still extremely serious, and likely to become dangerous unless she is carefully guarded against a risk of chill.

"I am glad you have explained your identity to Miss Capel," he says to Rose, when Miss Capel is out of the room, and "Nurse Laurel" tells him of her confession. "I was certain you would do so, and you see she agrees with me that you are the best nurse for our little patient just now. Well, you have done wonders for the child already, but we must not begin to boast yet. I shall see her this afternoon. Meanwhile, watch her temperature and send for me at once if it increases."

Miss Capel is a great deal in the sickroom. It seems impossible for her to keep away from the child who has crept into her heart. She speaks but little to Rose, but watches her closely as she pursues her administrations for Gwen, and breaks into something like a smile when Gwen insists they shall both kiss Nancy, and suddenly enquires if Nancy were to die -- would angels take her to heaven?

"I wonder why the child talks like that," Miss Capel remarks presently. "Surely she must be very ill indeed to be speaking about heaven."

"Gwen is very fond of imagining the Happy Land of which she sings," says Rose. "She and her little friend, Beersheba, used to talk a good deal about heaven. There is nothing in her words to alarm you, Miss Capel. I feel sure she has passed through the worst of this attack. Young as she is, she loves her Saviour, and the thought of meeting Him would be a glad one to her. But I am sure she is gaining strength. Indeed, you need not be anxious."

"Sally thinks very badly of the case," says Miss Capel, her face quivering a little, "and she has seen a good deal of illness in her sister's family. Sally says she shows every sign of being near her end."

Rose Capel can scarcely bear to hear the words. She feels as if she must start up and call out or do anything rather than sit there quietly, but she knows she must still be the quiet, calm, self-forgetful nurse. "Miss Capel," she says, in a low, troubled voice, "if indeed you think Gwenny in danger, should not someone go for... for...."

"I suppose my brother ought to be here," says Miss Capel, "but a sudden summons might frighten him. Write him a note explaining how the child is, and Lloyd Jones shall take it."

Rose is turning to her little writing case, feeling unspeakably grateful for her words, when a sudden exclamation from Miss Capel causes her to look up, and the next moment she feels her husband's arm around her. He looks pale and anxious, and remarks to his sister rather abruptly that he must apologise for intruding, but he could not bear the suspense as to the child.

"Why, Maurice!" is all Miss Capel can say, "whatever have you done to yourself?"

The hardworking literary man, knowing cares and illness, is changed indeed from the merry lad of yore, and his sister looks so shocked that he forgets their estrangement, and gives her a hearty kiss as of old.

"You look dreadfully ill," she tells him. "You must have some beef tea directly. It is all right about your coming. Your wife was just going to write to you."

"My Dad!" murmurs Gwen rapturously from the bed.

Her father seats himself thereon, beguiling his little daughter's thoughts from her pain, and Rose's face takes such a look of happiness, seeing them together, that Miss Capel secretly begins to think Maurice's wife "really pleasant looking," which is a great mental concession for her to make concerning her sister-in-law.

After this, Maurice comes and goes at the Plas as he likes, the old cook waylaying him with nourishing dainties, and Miss Capel continually reproving him for his looks of illness, though in reality he is far advanced by this time on the road to health. He knows his sister well enough to see that her mind is softening towards him. She will converse with him as to Plas Craigllyn and their mutual friends, though of Rose she takes very little outward notice. Gwen's constitution is one that always mends rapidly, and her mother knows the child's added strength means the end of the temporary truce between Miss Capel and themselves.

"Well, I will not murmur nor complain," she says to herself, pillowing Gwen's head in her arms. "Whatever earthly gifts be denied us, Maurice and I have the great Giver Himself, and to Him we will cling, not for what He bestows, but for what He is. The Lord has been very gracious to let me tend my darling in this illness, and to surround her with comforts and plenty. His mercy endureth for ever, and He shall hear nothing from my heart but thanksgiving."

Chapter 17 (Last Chapter)

As Gwen improves, she has a variety of treasures to exhibit to her mother, and she often talks of the delights they will experience as to walks and ramble round Plas Craigllyn when she can get out of doors.

"But, darling," Rose says sometimes, anxious to save her child from keen disappointment in the future, "Dad and I must go back to London soon. You are to stay and keep auntie company, but Dad is talking about beginning his work in London again."

"No, Mother," says Gwen coaxingly, wreathing her arms round Mrs. Capel's neck, "I know Auntie Dorothy won't let you go away. They all love you, Mother, ever so much -- Cook and Sally and Lloyd Jones, the boy who cleans the boots, and all. Sally told me so. She said they didn't know whatever they should do without you if you left. But you need to stay, Mother. There's much nicer things to eat here than at Mrs. Mullins', and Dad does love the mountains. I tell you what, Mother. If you and Dad stay here, I'll get auntie one day to ask all the Mullinses here, and Miss Gigins, and Mr. Mullins' sister, and Mrs. Stevens that's got a little baby up in heaven, and we'll have such fun driving Dafydd in the pony chaise, and having picnics in Craigllyn Pass. Oh, I do want to take you and Dad to see old Jenny Coran and her sister Lizzie. They're great friends of mine, Mother, and I sing to Jenny, 'Oh, how He loves!' and lots of my hymns. Don't you think, Mother, if I pray God every day He'll let me keep you and Dad at auntie's? I do want right down in my heart for you to see Dafydd."

Mrs. Capel silently caresses the visionary little maiden. Her daydreams are sadder than Gwen's, picturing their coming separation, and the pressing cares of old for the portion of Maurice and herself.

"Auntie," cries Gwen, springing to meet Miss Capel, with Nancy in her arms the first morning she is allowed downstairs, "Sally says Mother's going away today, and I asked Mother, and she only gave me a sweetie and a kiss. What's Mother going away for, auntie? Am I going, too? I'd like to see Dan and Beersheba again, but this is ever so much nicer than London."

"No, my precious, you are my own little girl. You are going to stay with Aunt Dorothy always."

"Well, but, auntie, I'm Mother's little girl, too, and Dad's. I don't know how I can manage. You'll have to cut me up into two halves;" and Gwen hugs her aunt, much amused at the idea.

With slow, hesitant steps, Miss Capel proceeds to Rose's room, expecting to find her quietly engaged in packing. She is half afraid of what her calm, composed sister-in-law, whom she knows she has wronged and wounded, may say when she asks her to "forgive and forget;" for she has discerned that, though Rose struggles against it, there is as much pride in her own composition as in that of a Capel.

But the mistress of the Plas forgets all her hesitation and secret misgivings as she opens the door and finds Rose on the couch, her face hidden in the cushion, crying and sobbing. Never before, even through Gwen's peril, has her quiet self-possession been shaken, and Miss Capel is fairly frightened when Rose at her entrance tries to check the crying, but in vain.

"What is it, child?" she exclaims in alarm. "Don't cry like that. Is Maurice ill again? Has he met with an accident?"

"Oh, no," she gasps, "I never meant to cry. I thought you were out; but I'm so happy, I cannot help it. Oh, Miss Capel, such a wonderful thing has happened!"

Her sister-in-law begins to comprehend that these are tears of joy and relief, the reaction from the long tension of struggling and difficulty. She takes the letter Rose hands her. It is from a firm of solicitors in New York, and informs her that she has inherited the property of an uncle unheard of for years -- a retired officer who emigrated to the States. His investments are equivalent to about two hundred pounds a year. To Rose it means a fortune, for with the certainty of sufficiency she begins to dream of the presence of her child.

"Oh, Miss Capel," she says, between her sobs, "I have not seen Maurice yet, for this has just been left by Owen Williams, and Maurice has been out among the hills since quite early. But now we shall always have enough for Gwen, and Maurice will soon be back at work. There is no fear of Gwenny's wanting for food now. You will let her come back to London with Maurice and me?"

"I cannot do that," says Miss Capel slowly. "The child has brought me new life, new health, new strength. My life was dark and lonely before she came -- dark, perhaps, because I have been unjust to Maurice concerning the inheritance, possessing myself of all my legal rights and trying to forget his need. Gwen in her simple, childish love and brightness is the sunshine of Plas Craigllyn. We all love her here. I cannot give her up."

Rose is silent. She begins to think she is selfish to crave the child back from the blessed work of gladdening this lonely life; but the property bequeathed to her seems almost valueless if Gwen passes out of her daily road again. "Oh, Miss Capel," she falters, "my mind is bewildered today. Let me speak to Maurice. I know you love Gwenny, and you are good to her beyond all words. But now God has sent us money, and we can provide for all her needs."

"You are not wealthy, though," says Miss Capel. "Dr. Haines tells me Maurice ought not to think about work under another year. You need not tell him that, but I see the sense of it myself. His illness has pulled him down dreadfully, and I may as well tell you I intend without delay to settle a certain portion of what his father left upon him. I cannot bear to think what you two have endured. My dear, do you think I could let it go on?"

Rose opens her eyes in surprise at Miss Capel's sudden change of tone. There is something in her sister-in-law's face that makes her put aside the frigidity of the past with one sudden, clinging kiss -- so similar those dark eyes look to Maurice's, and so gentle is the touch of the outstretched hand.

"Rose, I have nursed a wicked prejudice, and sacrificed you and Maurice for my pride. I refused to know you and to understand you as you are. It was not till Gwen came to me, and her loving little ways and trustful obedience, and constant talk concerning you began to shake my prejudice, that I understood what a good mother had been caring for Maurice's child. Why, there is Maurice! Wipe your boots, Maurice, and come and sit down, and never mind this silly child's tears. She says they are only tears of happiness. Do you know she has come into a fortune?"

"I am very glad to hear it," he answers, not at all surprised to see Dorothy holding Rose's hands, for it is a spectacle he has been anticipating now for some time. "I, too, have good news, wee wifie. I have had a letter asking me to resume my former post on the Attican next month, if possible."

"Then," says Miss Capel, "you will write back and say as time goes on you will send them contributions from your own study at Plas Craigllyn, for I am very proud of you as an author, Maurice. I know by heart some of the Welsh poems you made up when a boy. But your rest time is by no means over yet. I have been telling Rose that you must take a fair share of our father's property now. I am tired of looking after the whole thing. You must help me, Maurice, for I am getting an old woman. You and Rose shall have the rooms looking out to your favourite mountain, Cader Idris in the distance, and the Plas must be your home henceforth. So no more on that subject. Now, you must not refuse me this, Maurice. And Rose, stay with me and help me to be a better Christian, little sister."

"I always knew you were a brick, Dorothy," says her brother after a pause. "I see by Rose's face I shan't get her away from you, and I am not going to be banished from my wife any longer. So we will come to the old home, Dorothy."

The two women sit silent with clasped hands, the heart of each tremblingly thanking the Lord for the new, sweet gift of a sister's love. Just then Gwen rushes in to discover if her mother really means to depart and leave her behind.

On being assured to the contrary, she begins in her rapture a jubilant skip round the sofa, holding her precious doll. She returns to squeeze herself into her mother's lap, saying, "Now I needn't be cut into pieces at all. We'll all be together, and I'll be all your little girls. Auntie, and Dad, and you, Mother. You'll all three be able to share me now -- me and my sweetest Nancy!"

THE END

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More Christian books than those shown here are available in non-fiction and fiction, for adults and younger readers. The full list of published and forthcoming books is on our website www.whitetreepublishing.com. Please visit there regularly for updates.

White Tree Publishing publishes mainstream evangelical Christian literature in paperback and eBook formats, for people of all ages. We aim to make our eBooks available free for all eBook devices, but some distributors will only list our books free at their discretion, and may make a small charge for some titles -- but they are still great value!

We rely on our readers to tell their families, friends and churches about our books. Social media is a great way of doing this. Take a look at our range of fiction and non-fiction books and pass the word on. You can even contact your Christian TV or radio station to let them know about these books. Also, please write a positive review if you are able.

## Christian Non-fiction

Four short books of help in the Christian life:

_So, What Is a Christian?_ An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

_Starting Out_ \-- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

_Help!_ \-- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

_Running Through the Bible_ _\--_ a simple understanding of what's in the Bible _\--_ Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate on God's many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord's loving arms.

Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.

As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

116 pages 5x7.8 inches

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

_"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary."_ A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.

The author says, _"In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."_

In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.

This book was written shortly before the author's death in 1985. _The Simplicity of the Incarnation_ is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

160 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

In a fascinating look at real people, J Stafford Wright shows his love and scholarly knowledge of the Bible as he brings the characters from its pages to life in a memorable way.

Read this book through from A to Z, like any other title

Dip in and discover who was who in personal Bible study

Check the names when preparing a talk or sermon

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – no one is spared. This is a book for everyone who wants to get to grips with the reality that is in the pages of the Bible, the Word of God.

With the names arranged in alphabetical order, the Old and New Testament characters are clearly identified so that the reader is able to explore either the Old or New Testament people on the first reading, and the other Testament on the second.

Those wanting to become more familiar with the Bible will find this is a great introduction to the people inhabiting the best selling book in the world, and those who can quote chapter and verse will find everyone suddenly becomes much more real – because these people are real. This is a book to keep handy and refer to frequently while reading the Bible.

"For students of my generation the name Stafford Wright was associated with the spiritual giants of his generation. Scholarship and integrity were the hallmarks of his biblical teaching. He taught us the faith and inspired our discipleship of Christ. To God be the Glory." The Rt. Rev. James Jones, Bishop of Liverpool

_This is a lively, well-informed study of some great Bible characters._ Professor Gordon Wenham MA PhD. Tutor in Old Testament at Trinity College Bristol and Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Gloucestershire.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

314 pages 6x9 inches

Note: This book is not available in all eBook formats

Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

There is an increasing interest and fascination in the paranormal today. To counteract this, it is important for Christians to have a good understanding of how God sometimes acts in mysterious ways, and be able to recognize how he can use our untapped gifts and abilities in his service. We also need to understand how the enemy can tempt us to misuse these gifts and abilities, just as Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.

In this single volume of his two previously published books on the occult and the supernatural ( _Understanding the Supernatural_ and _Our Mysterious God_ ) J Stafford Wright examines some of the mysterious events we find in the Bible and in our own lives. Far from dismissing the recorded biblical miracles as folk tales, he is convinced that they happened in the way described, and explains why we can accept them as credible.

The writer says: _When God the Holy Spirit dwells within the human spirit, he uses the mental and physical abilities which make up a total human being . . . The whole purpose of this book is to show that the Bible does make sense_.

And this warning: _The Bible, claiming to speak as the revelation of God, and knowing man's weakness for substitute religious experiences, bans those avenues into the occult that at the very least are blind alleys that obscure the way to God, and at worst are roads to destruction._

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

222 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

Howell Harris

His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

Howell Harris was brought up to regard the Nonconformists as "a perverted and dangerously erroneous set of people." Hardly a promising start for a man who was to play a major role in the Welsh Revival. Yet in these extracts from his writings and diaries we can read the thoughts of Howell Harris before, during and after his own conversion.

We can see God breaking through the barriers separating "church and chapel", and discover Christians of different denominations preparing the country for revival. Wesley, Whitefield, Harris. These great 18th century preachers worked both independently and together to preach the Living Gospel. This book is a vivid first-hand account of the joys, hardships and struggles of one of these men -- Howell Harris (1714-1773).

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

From the Streets of London

to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by

Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

(A printed copy is available directly from Brother Clifford)

This is the personal story of Clifford Edwards, affectionately known as Brother Clifford by his many friends. Going from fame to poverty, he was sleeping on the streets of London with the homeless for twenty years, until Jesus rescued him and gave him an amazing mission in life. Brother Clifford tells his true story here in the third person, giving the glory to Jesus.

Seven Steps to

Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

How is your Christian life going? Finding it hard and not sure why? Wherever you might be, _Seven Steps to Walking in Victory_ is a very short book to help you see where you are in the Christian life, and help you keep on the right path to the victory that comes through walking closely with Jesus — _to live the Christian life you always wanted to live!_

English Hexapla

The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Published to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the Authorized King James Version of the Bible, this book contains the full text of Bagster's assembled work for the Gospel of John. On each page in parallel columns are the words of the six most important translations of the New Testament into English, made between 1380 and 1611. Below the English is the original Greek text after Scholz.

To enhance the reading experience, there is an introduction telling how we got our English Bibles, with significant pages from early Bibles shown at the end of the book.

Here is an opportunity to read English that once split the Church by giving ordinary people the power to discover God's word for themselves. Now you can step back in time and discover those words and spellings for yourself, as they first appeared hundreds of years ago.

Wyclif 1380, Tyndale 1534, Cranmer 1539, Geneva 1557,

Douay Rheims 1582, Authorized (KJV) 1611.

English Hexapla -- The Gospel of John

Published by White Tree Publishing

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Size 7.5 x 9.7 inches paperback

Not available as an eBook

### Roddy Goes to Church

Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

**No, not a children's book!** An affectionate, optimistic look at church life involving, as it happens, Roddy and his friends who live in a small town. Problems and opportunities related to change and outreach are not, of course, unique to their church!

Maybe you know Miss Prickly-Cat who pointedly sits in the same pew occupied by generations of her forebears, and perhaps know many of the characters in this look at church life today. A wordy Archdeacon comes on the scene, and Roddy is taken aback by the events following his first visit to church. Roddy's best friend Bushy-Beard says wise things, and he hears an enlightened Bishop . . .

Bishop David Pytches writes: _A unique spoof on church life. Will you recognise yourself and your church here? ... Derek Osborne's mind here is insightful, his characters graphic and typical and the style acutely comical, but there is a serious message in his madness. Buy this, read it and enjoy!_

David Pytches, Chorleywood

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

46 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches paperback UK £3.95

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

"I go to prepare a place for you." This well-known promise from Jesus must cause us to think about the reality of heaven. Heaven is to be our home for ever. Where is heaven? What is it like? Will I recognize people there? All who are Christians must surely want to hear about the place where they are to spend eternity. In this abridged edition of William Branks classic work of 1861, we discover what the Bible has to say about heaven. There may be a few surprises, and there are certainly some challenges as we explore a subject on which there seems to be little teaching and awareness today.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

Roger and Janet Niblett were just an ordinary English couple, but then they met the Lord and their lives were totally transformed. Like the Bethlehem shepherds of old, they had a compulsion to share the same good news that Jesus Christ had come into the world to save sinners. Empowered by the Holy Spirit they proclaimed the gospel in the market place, streets, prisons, hospitals and churches with a vibrancy that only comes from being in direct touch with the Almighty and being readily available to serve Him as a channel of His grace and love. God was with them and blessed their ministry abundantly. Praise God! (Pastor Mervyn Douglas, Clevedon Family Church)

The story of Roger Niblett is an inspiration to all who serve the Lord. He was a prolific street evangelist, whose impact on the gospel scene was a wonder to behold. It was my privilege to witness his conversion, when he went forward to receive Christ at the Elim Church, Keynsham. The preacher was fiery Scottish evangelist Rev'd Alex Tee. It was not long before Roger too caught that same soul winner's fire which propelled him far and wide, winning multitudes for Christ. Together with his wife Janet, they proceeded to "Tell the World of Jesus". (Des Morton, Founder Minister of Keynsham Elim Church)

I know of no couple who have been more committed to sharing their faith from the earliest days of their journey with the Lord Jesus Christ. Along the way, at home and abroad, and with a tender heart for the marginalised, Rog and Jan have introduced multitudes to the Saviour and have inspired successive generations of believers to do the same. It was our joy and privilege to have them as part of the family at Trinity where Janet continues to serve in worship and witness. Loved by young and old alike, they will always have a special place in our hearts. (Andy Paget, Trinity Tabernacle, Bristol. Vice President, International Gospel Outreach)

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Also available as a paperback

(published by Gozo Publishing Bristol)

paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

New Abridged Edition

William Haslam

(1818-1905)

You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon! Well, this is man -- William Haslam. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851. He later wrote his autobiography in two books: _From Death into Life_ and _Yet not I_. Here, in _Leaves from my NoteBook_ , William Haslam writes about events and people not present in his autobiography. They make fascinating and challenging reading as we watch him sharing his faith one to one or in small groups, with dramatic results. Haslam was a man who mixed easily with titled gentry and the poorest of the poor, bringing the message of salvation in a way that people were ready to accept. This book has been lightly edited and abridged to make reading easier today by using modern punctuation and avoiding over-long sentences. William Haslam's amazing message is unchanged.

Original book first published 1889

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

New Edition

This book will confirm (or restore) your faith in the Gospel records. Clearly the Gospels were not invented. There is too much unintentional agreement between them for this to be so. Undesigned coincidences are where writers tell the same account, but from a different viewpoint. Without conspiring together to get their accounts in agreement, they include unexpected (and often unnoticed) details that corroborate their records. Not only are these unexpected coincidences found within the Gospels, but sometimes a historical writer unknowingly and unintentionally confirms the Bible record.

Within these pages you will see just how accurate were the memories of the Gospel writers -- even of the smallest details which on casual reading can seem of little importance, yet clearly point to eyewitness accounts. J.J. Blunt spent many years investigating these coincidences. And here they are, as found in the four Gospels and Acts.

First published in instalments between 1833 and 1847

The edition used here published in 1876

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing _Home and Group Questions for Today_ Edition. At the end of each chapter are questions for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because: "From many earnest hearts there is rising a cry for more power: more power in our personal conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil; more power in our work for others. The Bible makes the way to obtain this longed-for power very plain. There is no presumption in undertaking to tell _how to obtain Fullness of Power in Christian life and service_ ; for the Bible itself tells, and the Bible was intended to be understood. R. A. Torrey (1856-1928) was an American evangelist, pastor, educator, and writer whose name is attached to several organisations, and whose work is still well known today.

"The Bible statement of the way is not mystical or mysterious. It is very plain and straightforward. If we will only make personal trial of _The Power of the Word of God_ ; _The Power of the Blood of Christ_ ; _The Power of the Holy Spirit_ ; _The Power of Prayer_ ; _The Power of a Surrendered Life_ ; we will then know _the Fullness of Power in Christian life and service._ We will try to make this plain in the following chapters. There are many who do not even know that there is a life of abiding rest, joy, satisfaction, and power; and many others who, while they think there must be something beyond the life they know, are in ignorance as to how to obtain it. This book is also written to help them." ( _Torrey's Introduction._ )

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

Musings on Life, Scripture

and the Hymns

by

Marty Magee

Samuel, Mephibosheth, and a woman on death row -- people telling of our Savior's love. A chicken, a dinosaur, and a tarantula -- just a few props to show how we can serve God and our neighbors. Peanut butter, pinto beans and grandmother's chow-chow -- merely tools to help share the Bread of Life. These are just a few of the characters in Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends.

It is Marty's desire to bring the hymns out of their sometimes formal, Sunday best stuffy setting and into our Monday through Friday lives. At the same time, she presents a light object lesson and appropriate Scripture passage. This is done with the format of a devotion book, yet it has a light tone and style. From Ebenezer to Willie, Marty's characters can scarcely be contained within the pages of this whimsical yet insightful volume.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Also in paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

ALSO BY MARTY MAGEE

Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

# A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

Will a purple bedroom help Marty's misgivings about Christmas?

As a kid, Martha Evans didn't like Christmas. Sixty years later, she still gets a little uneasy when this holiday on steroids rolls around. But she knows, when all the tinsel is pulled away, Whose Day it is. Now Marty Magee, she is blessed with five grandchildren who help her not take herself too seriously.

Do you know the angel named Herald? Will young Marty survive the embarrassment of her Charley Brown Christmas tree? And by the way, where's the line to see Jesus?

Twenty-Five Days Around the Manger goes from Marty's mother as a little girl awaiting her brother's arrival, to O Holy Night when our souls finally were able to feel their full worth.

This and much more. Join Marty around the manger this Advent season.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

The Gospels and Acts

In Simple Paraphrase

with Helpful Explanations

together with

Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing presents a paraphrase in today's English of passages from the four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- relating Jesus' birth, life, death and resurrection in one continuous narrative with helpful explanations, plus a paraphrase of events from the book of Acts. Also in this book is a brief summary of the Epistles and Revelation. For readers unfamiliar with the New Testament, this book makes a valuable introduction, and it will surely help those familiar with the New Testament to gain some extra knowledge and understanding as they read it. Please note that this is _not_ a translation of the Bible. It is a careful and sensitive _paraphrase_ of parts of the New Testament, and is not intended to be quoted as Scripture. Part 2 is a short introduction to the whole Bible -- _Running Through the Bible_ \-- which is available from White Tree Publishing as a separate eBook and paperback.

**Translators and others involved in foreign mission work, please note:** If you believe that this copyright book, or part of this book, would be useful if translated into another language, please contact White Tree Publishing (wtpbristol@gmail.com). Permission will be free, and assistance in formatting and publishing your new translation as an eBook and/or a paperback may be available, also without charge.

_Superb! I have never read anything like it. It is colloquially worded in a succinct, clear style with a brilliant (and very helpful) running commentary interspersed. I have found it a compelling read -- and indeed spiritually engaging and moving._ Canon Derek Osborne, Norfolk, England.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

### Faith that Prevails

The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each of the seven chapters are questions by Chuck Antone, Jr. for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because _Smith Wigglesworth, often referred to as the Apostle of Faith, putting the emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, writes, "_ God is making people hungry and thirsty after His best. And everywhere He is filling the hungry and giving them that which the disciples received at the very beginning. Are you hungry? If you are, God promises that you shall be filled."

_Smith Wigglesworth was one of the pioneers of the early Pentecostal revival. Born in 1859 he gave himself to Jesus at the age of eight and immediately led his mother to the Lord._ His ministry took him to Europe, the US, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, the Pacific Islands, India and what was then Ceylon. _Smith Wigglesworth's faith was unquestioning._

_In this book, he says, "_ There is nothing impossible with God. All the impossibility is with us, when we measure God by the limitations of our unbelief."

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

### The Authority and

###  Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

When we start to think about God, we soon come to a point where we say, "I can discover nothing more about God by myself. I must see whether He has revealed anything about Himself, about His character, and about the way to find Him and to please Him." From the beginning, the Christian church has believed that certain writings were the Word of God in a unique sense. Before the New Testament was compiled, Christians accepted the Old Testament as their sacred Book. Here they were following the example of Christ Himself. During His ministry Jesus Christ made great use of the Old Testament, and after His resurrection He spent some time in teaching His disciples that every section of the Old Testament had teachings in it concerning Himself. Any discussion of the inspiration of the Bible gives place sooner or later to a discussion of its interpretation. To say that the Bible is true, or infallible, is not sufficient: for it is one thing to have an infallible Book, and quite another to use it. J Stafford Wright was a greatly respected evangelical theologian and author, and former Principal of Tyndale Hall Theological College, Bristol.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

The Bible Psalms. Do you see them as a source of comfort? A help in daily living? A challenge? Or perhaps something to study in depth? _Psalms, a Guide Psalm by Psalm_ will meet all these requirements, and more. It is an individual study guide that can be used for daily reading in conjunction with your own Bible. It is also a resource for group study, with brief questions for study and discussion. And it's a Bible commentary, dealing with the text of each Psalm section by section.

eBook only

eBook ISBN **978-0-9957594-2-8**

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Christian _and_ happy? Do these two words fit comfortably together? Is our Christian life a burden or a pleasure? Is our quiet time with the Lord a duty or a delight? _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ was first written by Hannah Whitall Smith as monthly instalments for an American magazine. Hannah was brought up as a Quaker, and became the feisty wife of a preacher. By the time she wrote _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ she had already lost three children. Her life was not easy, with her husband being involved in a sexual scandal and eventually losing his faith. So, Christian _and_ happy? An alternative title for this book could have been _The Christian's Secret of a Trusting Life._

How often, Hannah asks, do we bring our burdens to the Lord, as He told us to, only to take them home with us again? There are some wonderful and challenging chapters in this book, which Hannah revised throughout her life, as she came to see that the truth is in the Bible, not in our feelings. Fact, faith and feelings come in that order. As Hannah points out several times, feelings come last. The teaching in this book is firmly Scripture based, as Hannah insists that there is more to the Christian life than simply passing through the gate of salvation. There is a journey ahead for us, where every step we take should be consecrated to bring us closer and closer to God, day by day, and year by year.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

eBook Coming October 2017

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

How are we to live out our Christian lives every day? This book isn't about everyday (ordinary) religion, but about a _living faith_ that changes our lives day by day. Hannah Whitall Smith had to live her life based on her trust in Scripture and the promises of God. In 1875, after the loss of three children, and her husband suffering a mental breakdown after being accused of infidelity, she was able to write _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ , in which she showed that it is possible to find peace with the Lord, no matter what life throws at us, through trusting in His promises.

In 1894, after the death of yet another child, with her three surviving children professing atheism, and her husband losing his faith, Hannah's trust in the Lord Jesus is still so strong that she is able to write in her introduction to her Scripture-based _Every-Day Religion_ , that the purpose of the book is, "To bring out, as far as possible, the common-sense teaching of the Bible in regard to every-day religion. ... How to have inward peace in the midst of outward turmoil."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

## Christian Fiction

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

With modern line drawings

Living the life of a wealthy man, Kenneth Fortescue receives devastating news from his father. But he is only able to learn incomplete facts about his past, because a name has been obliterated from a very important letter. Two women are vying for Kenneth's attention -- Lady Violet, the young daughter of Lady Earlswood, and Marjorie Douglas, the daughter of a widowed parson's wife.

Written in 1905 by the much-loved author Mrs. O. F. Walton, this edition has been lightly abridged and edited to make it easier to read and understand today. This romantic mystery story gives an intriguing glimpse into the class extremes that existed in Edwardian England, with wealthy titled families on one side, and some families living in terrible poverty on the other.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

with modern line drawings

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

With modern line drawings

May Lindsay and her young stepsister Maggie are left penniless and homeless when their father the local doctor dies. Maggie can go to live with her three maiden aunts, but May at the age of nineteen is faced with a choice. Should she take the position of companion to a girl she doesn't know, who lives some distance away, or accept a proposal of marriage from the man who has been her friend since they were small children?

May Lindsay makes her decision, but it is not long before she wonders if she has done the right thing. This is a story of life in Victorian England as May, who has led a sheltered life, is pushed out into a much bigger world than she has previously known. She soon encounters titled families, and is taken on a tour of the Holy Land which occupies much of the story.

Two men seem to be a big disappointment to May Lindsay. Will her Christian faith hold strong in these troubles? Was she right in the decision she made before leaving home?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

This new abridged edition of a classic story that has sold over an estimated 30 million copies, contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, with some passages sensitively abridged to allow his powerful story to come through for today's readers. Nothing in the storyline has been changed.

A homeless man staggers into a wealthy church and upsets the congregation. A week later he is dead. This causes the Rev. Henry Maxwell to issue a startling challenge to his congregation and to himself -- whatever you do in life over the next twelve months, ask yourself this question before making any decision: "What would Jesus do?"

The local newspaper editor, a novelist, a wealthy young woman who has inherited a million dollars, her friend who has been offered a professional singing career, the superintendent of the railroad workshops, a leading city merchant and others take up the challenge. But how will it all work out when things don't go as expected?

A bishop gives up his comfortable lifestyle -- and finds his life threatened in the city slums. The story is timeless. A great read, and a challenge to every Christian today.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Also available in paperback 254 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

What is inside the fascinating house with the locked door and the shuttered windows? Satan wants an experiment. God allows it. John is caught up in the plan as Satan's human representative. The experiment? To demonstrate that there can be peace in the world if God allows Satan to run things in his own way. A group of people gather together in an idyllic village run by Satan, with no reference to God, and no belief in him.

J Stafford Wright has written this startling and gripping account of what happens when God stands back and Satan steps forward. All seems to go well for the people who volunteer to take part. And no Christians allowed!

John Longstone lost his faith when teaching at a theological college. Lost it for good -- or so he thinks. And then he meets Kathleen who never had a faith. As the holes start to appear in Satan's scheme for peace, they wonder if they should help or hinder the plans which seem to have so many benefits for humanity.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

206 pages 5.25 x 8.0 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

What would happen to the Christian faith if it could be proved beyond all doubt that Jesus did not rise from the dead? This is the situation when, at the end of the nineteenth century, eminent archaeologists working outside Jerusalem discover a tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, with an inscription claiming that he took the body of Jesus from the first tomb and hid it. And there are even remains of a body. So no resurrection!

As churches quickly empty, some Christians cling to hope, saying that Jesus lives within them, so He must be the Son of God who rose from the dead. Others are relieved that they no longer have to believe and go to church. Society starts to break down.

With the backing of a wealthy industrialist, a young curate puts together a small team to investigate the involvement of a powerful atheist in the discovery. This is an abridged edition of a novel first published in 1903.

Guy Thorne was the English author of many thrillers in the early twentieth century, and this book was not intended specifically for the Christian market. It contains adult references in places, but no swearing or offensive language. Although it was written from a high church Anglican viewpoint, the author is positive about the various branches of the Christian faith, finding strengths and weaknesses in individual church and chapel members as their beliefs are threatened by the discovery in Jerusalem. White Tree Publishing believes this book will be a great and positive challenge to Christians today as we examine the reality of our faith.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

Published jointly with North View Publishing

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

Pansy is an orphan who is cared for by her aunt, Temperance Piper, who keeps the village post office and store. One day Pansy meets wealthy Mrs. Adair who offers to take her under her wing and give her a life of wealth in high society that she could never dream of, on condition Pansy never revisits her past life. When they first meet, Mrs. Adair says about Pansy's clothes, "The style is a little out of date, but it is good enough for the country. I should like to see you in a really well-made dress. It would be quite a new sensation for you, if you really belong to these wilds. I have a crimson and gold tea gown that would suit you delightfully, and make you quite a treasure for an artist." This is a story of rags to riches to ... well, to a life where nothing is straightforward. First published in 1891.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

For several years in the peaceful English village of Meadthorpe, the church and chapel have existed in an uneasy peace while the rector and the chapel minister are distracted by poor health. Now a young curate arrives at St Simeon's, bringing high church ritual and ways of worship. Gildas Haven, the daughter of the chapel minister is furious to discover the curate is enticing her Sunday school children away. The curate insists that his Church ways are right, and Gildas who has only known chapel worship says the opposite.

Battle lines are quickly drawn by leaders and congregations. Mary Haycraft writes with light humour and surprising insight in what could be a controversial story line. With at least one major surprise, the author seems to be digging an impossible hole for herself as the story progresses. The ending of this sensitively told romance is likely to come as a surprise.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

"It seems, Miss, your father drew out that money yesterday, and took it all out in gold. The Rector happened to be in the Bank at the time, but was on his way to town, and could not stop to talk to your father just then, though he wondered to hear him say he had come to draw out everything, as treasurer of the fund." Amaranth Glyn's comfortable life comes to an end when the church funds disappear. Her father, the church treasurer who drew out the money, is also missing, to be followed shortly by her mother. The disgrace this brings on the family means Amaranth's marriage plans are cancelled. Amaranth is a competent artist and moves away with her young brother to try to earn a living. There are rumours that her parents are in France and even in Peru. Caring for her sick brother, Amaranth wants life to be as it was before the financial scandal forced her to leave her family home and the garden she loved.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

eBook coming October 2017

### Una's Marriage

### Margaret Haycraft

Una Latreille inherits the St Pensart's estate which has been in the family since the Norman Conquest. Unfortunately the estate is now bankrupt, and although still in mourning, Una's only hope of living in the style to which she has been accustomed is to marry a wealthy man, and quickly. Several suitors have disappeared after learning of the debts, and the one man who still expresses any interest in Una is Keith Broughton. He started work as a mill hand, and is now the young and wealthy owner of a large woollen mill. But how can she possibly marry so far beneath her class? Reluctantly, Una agrees to marriage on condition that there is no physical contact between them, and certainly no honeymoon! She also insists that she will never, ever suffer the indignity of meeting anyone in his family, or put one foot inside the door of his mill. This book was first published in 1898 by SW Partridge and Co, publishers of both Christian and secular books. Although there is no openly Christian message in this story, unlike the majority of Margaret Haycraft's books, it deals sensitively with the true nature of love -- as well as being an extremely readable story.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-5-9

eBook coming November 2017

### Miss Elizabeth's Niece

### Margaret Haycraft

"You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct." Trevor Stratheyre, from a wealthy and aristocratic English family, impulsively marries Maisie, a servant girl he meets while touring the Continent. Maisie's mother had died at an Italian inn, leaving three-year-old Maisie to be brought up by the landlord and his wife. She now helps as a maid at the inn and cares for the animals. Maisie is charming and affectionate, but when Trevor brings her back to Stratheyre in England as his bride, to the large estate he is expecting to inherit, it is clear that Maisie's ways are not those of the upper classes. When she tells titled guests at dinner that she was once herding some cows home and one was struck by lightning, trouble is bound to follow.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

eBook coming December 2017

### The Clever Miss Jancy

### Margaret S. Haycraft

Miss Orabel Jancy is indeed clever, and she knows it. The oldest of widowed Squire Jancy's six children, all living at home, Orabel is the author of several scientific books, and has many letters after her name. To Orabel, education and intellectual pursuits are everything that matter in life. She is secretary of a women's intellectual club that teaches that women are superior to men, and the members have all agreed to remain single because men would hold them back in their academic goals. However, when Orabel was born, a deathbed promise was made with a friend that Orabel and the friend's son, Harold Kingdon, should be given the opportunity to marry. Nobody thinks to mention this to Orabel, and she only learns of the arrangement when she is grown up and Harold Kingdon is already on his way from India -- to propose to her! Even before Harold arrives, Orabel decides she cannot possibly marry a lowly military doctor, when she is so intelligent. As soon as they meet, the feeling of dislike is mutual. But Orabel's younger sister, Annis, who never did well in academic subjects, is also of marriageable age, and would dearly love to settle down with the right man. Their younger brother and small sisters view the developing situation with interest.

The Squire had never found courage to broach the fact of the offer to Orabel, who looks as though her blue eyes would wither the sheet of foreign notepaper in front of her.

"You know, Orabel," puts in Annis, "we _did_ hear something long ago about papa and mamma promising somebody or other out in India should have a chance to court you."

"Oh, _do_ say 'yes,' Orabel," pleads a chorus of little sisters. "It will be so _lovely_ to have a wedding, and Phil can be a page and wear a fancy dress."

"Can he?" growls Philip. "I'd like to catch myself in lace and velvet like those kids at the Hemmings' last week. Orabel, I think you ought to send him your portrait. Let him know, at least, what he's wooing."

With these words Philip beats a prudent retreat, and Orabel gives utterance to such tones that Annis, trembling at her side, is almost in tears.

"Has it come to this," Orabel asks, "that I, the secretary of the Mount Athene Club, should be affronted, insulted by a letter like this? Am I not Orabel Jancy? Am I not the pioneer of a new and emancipating system? And who is this Harold Kingdon that he dares to cross my path with his jests concerning infantile betrothal?"

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

eBook coming January 2018

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his wife and children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father's murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing's most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

## Books for Younger Readers

### (and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

The day Daniel Talbot brought home a stuffed duck in a glass case, everyone thought he'd gone out of his mind. Even he had his doubts at times. "Fancy spending your money on _that_ ," his mother scolded him. "You needn't think it's coming into this house, because it isn't!"

When Daniel, Emma, Charlie and Julia, the Four Merlins, set out to sail their model paddle steamer on the old canal, strange and dangerous things start to happen. Then Daniel and Julia make a discovery they want to share with the others.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 182 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

Anna's mother has opened a transport café, but why do the truck drivers avoid stopping there? An accident in the road outside brings Anna a new friend, Matthew. When they get trapped in a broken down truck with Matthew's dog, Chip, their adventure begins.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

5x8 inches 140 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

When Ryan's American cousin, Natalie, comes to stay with him in England, a film from their Gran's old camera holds some surprise photographs, and they discover there's more to photography than taking selfies! But where are the Seventeen Steps, and has a robbery been planned to take place there?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

5x8 inches 132 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the West Country in England where they set out to make some exciting discoveries. Have they found the true site of an ancient holy well? Is the water in it dangerous? Why does an angry man with a bicycle tell them to keep away from the deserted stone quarry?

A serious accident on the hillside has unexpected consequences, and an old Latin document may contain a secret that's connected to the two strange stone heads in the village church -- if James and Jessica can solve the puzzle. An adventure awaits!

eBook ISBN: eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

5x8 inches 196 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the Derbyshire Peak District in England, staying near Dakedale Manor, which has been completely destroyed in a fire. Did young Sam Stirling burn his family home down? Miss Parkin, the housekeeper, says he did, and she can prove it. Sam says he didn't, and he can't prove it. But Sam has gone missing. James and Jessica believe the truth lies behind one of the old iron doors inside the disused railway tunnel.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

eBook and paperback coming October 2017

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica's Aunt Judy lives in a lonely guest house perched on top of a crumbling cliff on the west coast of Wales. She is moving out with her dog for her own safety, because she has been warned that the waves from the next big storm could bring down a large part of the cliff -- and her house with it. Cousins James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are helping her sort through her possessions, and they find an old papyrus page they think could be from an ancient copy of one of the Gospels. Two people are extremely interested in having it, but can either of them be trusted? James and Jessica are alone in the house. It's dark, the electricity is off, and the worst storm in living memory is already battering the coast. Is there someone downstairs?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

**Paperback ISBN:** **9781-5-211370-3-1**

$5.99 £4.95

### Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

Mary Jones saved for six years to buy a Bible of her own. In 1800, when she was 15, she thought she had saved enough, so she walked barefoot for 26 miles (more than 40km) over a mountain pass and through deep valleys in Wales to get one. That's when she discovered there were none for sale!

You can travel with Mary Jones today in this book by following clues, or just reading the story. Either way, you will get to Bala where Mary went, and if you're really quick you may be able to discover a Bible just like Mary's in the market!

The true story of Mary Jones has captured the imagination for more than 200 years. For this book, Chris Wright has looked into the old records and discovered even more of the story, which is now in this unforgettable account of Mary Jones and her Bible. Solving puzzles is part of the fun, but the whole story is in here to read and enjoy whether you try the puzzles or not. Just turn the page, and the adventure continues. It's time to get on the trail of Mary Jones!

eBook ISBN: **ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7**

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

5.5 x 8.5 inches

156 pages of story, photographs, line drawings and puzzles

Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

Travel with young Christian as he sets out on a difficult and perilous journey to find the King. Solve the puzzles and riddles along the way, and help Christian reach the Celestial City. Then travel with his friend Christiana. She has four young brothers who can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Be warned, you will meet giants and lions -- and even dragons! There are people who don't want Christian and Christiana to reach the city of the King and his Son. But not everyone is an enemy. There are plenty of friendly people. It's just a matter of finding them.

Are you prepared to help? Are you sure? The journey can be very dangerous! As with our book Mary Jones and Her Bible, you can enjoy the story even if you don't want to try the puzzles.

This is a simplified and abridged version of Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition, containing illustrations and a mix of puzzles. The suggested reading age is up to perhaps ten. Older readers will find the same story told in much greater detail in Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition on the next page.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

5.5 x 8.5 inches 174 pages £6.95

Available from major internet stores

Pilgrim's Progress

### Special Edition

Chris Wright

This book for all ages is a great choice for young readers, as well as for families, Sunday school teachers, and anyone who wants to read John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in a clear form.

All the old favourites are here: Christian, Christiana, the Wicket Gate, Interpreter, Hill Difficulty with the lions, the four sisters at the House Beautiful, Vanity Fair, Giant Despair, Faithful and Talkative -- and, of course, Greatheart. The list is almost endless.

The first part of the story is told by Christian himself, as he leaves the City of Destruction to reach the Celestial City, and becomes trapped in the Slough of Despond near the Wicket Gate. On his journey he will encounter lions, giants, and a creature called the Destroyer.

Christiana follows along later, and tells her own story in the second part. Not only does Christiana have to cope with her four young brothers, she worries about whether her clothes are good enough for meeting the King. Will she find the dangers in Vanity Fair that Christian found? Will she be caught by Giant Despair and imprisoned in Doubting Castle? What about the dragon with seven heads?

It's a dangerous journey, but Christian and Christiana both know that the King's Son is with them, helping them through the most difficult parts until they reach the Land of Beulah, and see the Celestial City on the other side of the Dark River. This is a story you will remember for ever, and it's about a journey you can make for yourself.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

5.5 x 8.5 inches 278 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

An exciting story about the adventures of two angels who seem to know almost nothing -- until they have a vision!

Two ordinary angels are caring for the distant Planet Eltor, and they are about to get a big shock -- they are due to take a trip to Planet Earth! This is Zephan's story of the vision he is given before being allowed to travel with Talora, his companion angel, to help two young people fight against the enemy.

Arriving on Earth, they discover that everyone lives in a small castle. Some castles are strong and built in good positions, while others appear weak and open to attack. But it seems that the best-looking castles are not always the most secure.

Meet Castle Nadia and Castle Max, the two castles that Zephan and Talora have to defend. And meet the nasty creatures who have built shelters for themselves around the back of these castles. And worst of all, meet the shadow angels who live in a cave on Shadow Hill. This is a story about the forces of good and the forces of evil. Who will win the battle for Castle Nadia?

The events in this story are based very loosely on John Bunyan's allegory The Holy War.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

5.5 x 8.5 inches 216 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

Once upon a time there were two favourite books for Sunday reading: _Parables from Nature_ and _Agathos and The Rocky Island_.

These books contained short stories, usually with a hidden meaning. In this illustrated book is a selection of the very best of these stories, carefully retold to preserve the feel of the originals, coupled with ease of reading and understanding for today's readers.

Discover the king who sent his servants to trade in a foreign city. The butterfly who thought her eggs would hatch into baby butterflies, and the two boys who decided to explore the forbidden land beyond the castle boundary. The spider that kept being blown in the wind, the soldier who had to fight a dragon, the four children who had to find their way through a dark and dangerous forest. These are just six of the nine stories in this collection. Oh, and there's also one about a rocky island!

This is a book for a young person to read alone, a family or parent to read aloud, Sunday school teachers to read to the class, and even for grownups who want to dip into the fascinating stories of the past all by themselves. Can you discover the hidden meanings? You don't have to wait until Sunday before starting!

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

5.5 x 8.5 inches 148 pages £5.95

Available from major internet stores

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

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