

### About the Book

Sybil Agmere, an orphan, is taken in by a loving mother with four children and a strict grandfather. The mother's brother left the family home in disgrace many years before, never to be mentioned again. Sybil calls the mother her aunt, and is concerned when the brother reappears. The grandfather changes the inheritance in his will, but Sybil, at the age of eleven, reasons that if she can destroy the latest will, justice will be done. Her aunt will inherit, and all will be well. As the years go on, as Sybil sits in the family home, she sees that destroying the will is bringing nothing but trouble, yet she cannot admit to what she did. And even if she did admit it, the past could never be changed. After being persuaded into an engagement with a most unsuitable man, Sybil sees any hope of happiness fade away. Surely it is too late to undo the years of injustice and of wrong. There are wrongs no repentance can set right.

Sybil's Repentance

### Margaret S. Haycraft

1855-1936

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published 1892

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2018

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-04-9

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Sybil's Repentance 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.

### Table of 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

More Books from White Tree Publishing

About White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger 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 currently 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 later 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. Eliza Kerr is another Victorian writer whose stories deserve to be republished, and White Tree Publishing is releasing several of her books in abridged form.

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.

£100 in 1892 may not sound much, but in income value it is worth £12,000 pounds today (about US$15,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 16 chapters in this book. In the last third 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. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

For God hath pardoned all her much,

Her iron bands hath burst;

Her love could never have been such

Had not His love been first.

Jesus, by whose forgiveness sweet

Her love grew so intense,

We, sinners all, come round Thy feet:

Lord, make no difference!

From "The Woman That Was a Sinner"

George MacDonald (1824–1905

Chapter 1

The Squire's Bible Class

A FOGGY, sunless Sunday afternoon. In many Sunday schools the gas has already been kindled; in many a domestic circle heads nod cosily over improving book or magazine, in others walnuts and grapes are in process of demolition, and in several households boys and girls, tired of the dreary hours, are secretly wishing the day that should be brightest at an end.

"Why can't we go to Sunday school?" the children at Beech Glen often ask their mother. Not that they care about Bible study, but they would like the pleasant walk to and fro, instead of surveying nature only through the high wire blind of the dining room; and the girl who comes from the village to help on Saturdays says, "There's lots of fun when teacher ain't looking. My, I wouldn't miss Sunday school for anything. There's Polly Finch at the sweet-stuff shop brings peppermint cushions every week for all our class."

But when Sunday school is suggested, Mrs. Agmere always replies decisively, "Oh, no, my dears, I could not think of such a thing. There is always such a mixture at the school, and there is no knowing what you might get."

Perhaps Dora is the only one who understands the meaning of the "mixture" alluded to. She is quite aware that she is Miss Agmere, of Beech Glen, and she realizes that gentility has its drawbacks as well as its privileges. So the little group this particular Sunday are committing to memory hymns and verses, and a portion of a juvenile catechism, while waiting for grandpa's Bible Class, held every Sunday afternoon. They betray great anxiety to recite their hymns to Mrs. Agmere, as mamma never finds out when they repeat old ones; but none of them would dream of reciting to grandpa as new, hymns which they have "got off" before.

Grandpa, old as he is (and the children vaguely associate the squire with Martin Luther, and Cromwell, and Fox) has a quickness of discernment, and a sternness of aspect, before which the conscious evil-doer tearfully succumbs. Sybil, aged eleven, endeavouring with hot cheeks, and a sick headache, to learn without a misplaced word the moral poem descriptive of the sluggard, flashes indignation in the direction of Dora and Jasper, who are about to carry a recitation to indulgent Mrs. Agmere for the seventh time.

"It's as bad as telling a lie!" she exclaims, gazing with horror in her dark eyes at her cousin, dainty in velvet and lace. "We Agmeres ought to remember the motto of our family over there on the bowls and cups, 'Trust my truth.' How can you deceive Aunt Phyllis so? Look, Jasper, it would not take you long to learn this one with the picture of the children robbing the orchard."

"What's it like?" asks Jasper lazily.

"Why should I deprive my neighbour

Of his goods against his will?

Hands were made for honest labour,

Not to pilfer or to steal."

"Why, that isn't poetry at all -- it doesn't even rhyme. Steal and will don't rhyme, now do they, Sybil?"

"Aunt Phyllis told me all poetry does not rhyme," says Sybil, faithfully championing Dr. Watts. "There is some kind of poetry called blank verse. I dare say this verse is that sort. And whether it rhymes or not, you ought not to repeat an old piece, pretending it is new. If I couldn't learn a new one, I'd tell Aunt Phyllis truthfully, and I know she would let me off."

"She would," says Dora, wiping her eyes, "but grandpa has made a rule there is to be no excusing now, because mamma always was excusing us. Whatever is left over from Sunday's lessons must be repeated to him on Monday, he says."

"I say, Twinnies, do stop that noise! Girls' tongues are always on the wag, I declare," cries Jasper, pushing back his blond hair impatiently, as he flings a pellet of paper in the direction of the eight-year-old lassies, May and Lilias, who are learning their catechism aloud. "What do we learn all this stuff for? I'm going into the army as soon as I can, and there won't be any exams about hymns and catechisms. What's the good of it all?"

"Why, to make us converted," says Sybil. "I don't know how we get converted, but I'm sure it has something to do with our lessons."

"What is it to be converted, Sybil?" asks young Lilias, leaning her head against her cousin.

Sybil looks puzzled for a moment, but hers is an active brain and she soon settles the question. "Why, poacher Jim Blake was converted," she answers. "Cook told me so, and he was in agony days and nights; but now he always comes to chapel. It's when you feel like him and like Martha Matthews."

"Martha Matthews died in the storybook," says Lilias uncomfortably. "She had consumption, and she was always coughing; but she said pages and pages of beautiful things. I'd never be able to talk like she did, Sybil."

This kind of conversation is not uncommon amid the juveniles of Beech Glen. The little Agmeres have been bred and trained in an atmosphere of religion presenting a dark and severe side alone. Argumentative tracts, many of them written by the squire himself, are everywhere about Beech Glen, and the children devour everything in the way of reading they can find. They possess no other literature except a few missionary records, and The Life of Martha Matthews, an eloquent and marvellous child who died young.

The children are not unhappy. The beautiful grounds afford them the fairest of playgrounds. Jasper greatly admires his tutor, Mr. Drury, and the youngest girls are taught by the most kindly of instructresses -- the widowed Mrs. Agmere. Still, amid a constant round of religious meetings, and continually listening to the debate of pastors and deacons at their grandfather's table, it is natural that the children's ideas should be much occupied with matters of theology, and such points are often discussed by them, especially during the long hours of the Sabbath.

More than once they have "improved" the death of someone in Market Wickham by holding a schoolroom service, in which occasionally bitter feelings have been caused by Sybil's habit of extolling her dearly loved birthplace, India, in prayer or sermon, and depreciating Britain and British things at an opportunity when her cousins cannot well silence her.

"I wonder," remarks Dora presently, putting aside her hymnbook with an air of weariness, "if Uncle Dick was ever converted."

"Oh, no," replies Jasper. "Sarah told me he was frightfully wicked. He used to smoke and say bad words, and he spent grandpa's money like dirt, Sarah said. And he married somebody who used to act a fairy in a theatre. Grandpa cast him off, you know. Sarah said Uncle Dick wrote him a terrible letter, and nobody dares ever to mention his name. But Sarah Ann says she's sure Uncle Dick must be dead now. He hasn't been heard of for years."

"I wonder if he was ever sorry he was wicked," says May softly.

"I think," says Sybil, "he must be the young man grandpa wrote about in that tract, A Harvest of Transgression. Wasn't he grandpa's pet boy once, Jasper?"

"Yes, Sarah Ann said grandpa was bound up in him. He used to come down to dessert when he was little, and say a lot of chapters out of the Bible, and everyone said he would be a clever man like grandpa, and a famous minister. But he went away to college, and he turned out quite wild, and cook says grandpa has got stricter and severer ever since. But cook says it has turned out all for the best for ma, that Uncle Dick offended grandpa, because he was the eldest son, and he would have had Beech Glen. Cook says grandpa's sure to give ma all his money now."

"Oh, but poor Uncle Dick, I do wish he'd repented," says Lilias, with a quiver of her lips.

At this moment the heavy step of Mr. Agmere is heard in the passage, and the children sit straight up in prim, uncomfortable positions, ready for the class. The squire is rather out of humour today. He has been arguing a doctrinal point with a deacon, a stranger in Market Wickham, whom he invited home to dinner, and he is inclined to suspect his guest, who has just left for a visit to the Sunday school, of laxity in the matter of Church discipline. The gentleman in question has been urging pity and patience towards the feeble of the flock, with whom the squire would fain deal with summary judgment.

He looks sterner even than usual as he calls upon the children for their repetitions, and dismay is soon apparent upon every little face. Jasper becomes sulky, and Dora tearful, when, being found unready, they are sentenced to copy out before breakfast tomorrow the hymn:

Lo! on a narrow neck of land,

'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand,

Secure, insensible.

Sybil stumbles through the fate of the sluggard, but fails in her chapter of Proverbs, and is told to repeat it daily in playtime through the week. Lilias and May, by aid of brotherly whispers from Jasper, recite their catechism to the squire's content, and he rewards them by telling them he sees they are able now to manage a longer piece in future.

Then Mr. Agmere removes The Life of Martha Matthews from the table, seeing that Sybil is interested in the well-thumbed picture of the dying girl warning her playmates with uplifted finger. He commences, in sepulchral accents, to read a chronology in Genesis, together with copious notes upon each verse from a thick commentary, of which a heavy volume is always present at the class.

The squire has the help and well-being of these children at his heart, and he feeds upon such commentaries himself with unfading relish; but he has not the remotest idea how unsuited to young hearts and lives are his methods of instruction. Dora and the twins fall fast asleep; Jasper is busy with his penknife on the leg of the table; but Sybil is honestly listening, and trying to understand the explanations that only seem adapted to bewilder her.

Mr. Agmere is reading from the commentary, section 17, a paragraph that appears to the children interminable, when, greatly to their astonishment, the class is suddenly interrupted. A knock is heard at the dining room door, and the old butler hurries up to the squire, too agitated for his usual decorum of manner.

"Please, sir, there's a gentleman here. A London parson. And he wants you to go up to town with him directly."

"A clergyman!" exclaims the squire. Pronounced Nonconformist as he is, he has very little to do in an ordinary way with the clergy. "There must be some mistake, Stubbs. Make my compliments to the gentleman, and ask him if he is not wanting the Rectory. I am sure he cannot be enquiring for me. And, another time, do not interrupt me while I am engaged in the instruction of these young people."

"Begging your pardon, sir," says Stubbs tremulously, "it's you as the parson wants immediate. He says there's no time to lose. Master Dick have taken a bad turn today. He's sick in some London hospital, and he's a-craving every moment for to see you, Squire."

The children gaze mutely at their grandfather as he staggers half blindly to his feet, looking wan and feeble. The words, "My son -- my son," fall brokenly from his lips, and even as the children think, "He will never see Uncle Dick again; did he not cast him off for ever?" the love of the father triumphs, and the squire's heart turns to the wanderer.

### Chapter 2

A Family Group

THE rest of the day is so out of the ordinary that the children, while feeling they ought to be sorry Uncle Dick is so ill, cannot help enjoying their new experiences. Nobody remembers to rebuke them for mounting the chairs to witness grandpa's departure over the wire-blinds.

They watch the dog-cart driven off rapidly, yet not before the "London parson" nods and smiles at sight of the young faces, and the squire is observed by Sybil's keen vision to look older and weaker than is his wont. Mrs. Agmere, roused from her customary afternoon nap looks troubled and depressed. Sybil, who adores her, longs to render her comforting service, and prepares a pile of buttered toast at the dining room fire. Between this toast and the relaxation from lessons, the young ones find it almost impossible to regret their grandfather's unexpected absence.

Mrs. Agmere decides it is too foggy for the evening service, so they have a happy hour of hymn singing at home; and Jasper, who tires first of the music, coaxes some nuts out of the old nurse, Sarah Ann, and settles himself to enjoy a rattlesnake adventure in a missionary gazette.

Mrs. Agmere has a sweet voice, and leads the children in hymn after hymn. Sarah Ann, who remains indoors, tells her fellow servants at supper, "It were beautiful to hear the dear lambs singing 'Beautiful Zion,' and 'Around the throne,' and 'I thank the goodness and the grace.' 'Tis a pity master keeps such a tight rein over them dear children. It never answered with Master Dick; and Master Jasper, bless him, have such a will of his own already that a body wonders how things will be when he's squire of Beech Glen."

"Master Jasper won't be squire," says Stubbs shortly. "Master Dick's only just in the prime of life. Why shouldn't he pull through his illness and get reconciled to his father, like that there prodigal son in the parable? Even if Master Dick is took, maybe he's got a family growing up around him; and it's proper as a child of his should be heir -- not Master Jasper, as is poor Master Thomas's son."

"Poor Master Thomas" was Squire Agmere's second son, who died seven years ago from the effects of a railway accident, leaving his wife and family with but a very slender provision beyond their expectations from the head of the family. Hitherto the squire had made his son a yearly allowance. Now has he installed his daughter-in-law over the household of Beech Glen, and it seems to her four children that they have lived under grandpa's guardianship, and in the fine old Manor House all their lives. Sybil is only a distant connexion of the Agmeres.

Her father, an officer, died in India before she was born, and her mother only lived to see her child a few months old. Sybil was brought up by a widowed aunt, residing near Calcutta -- a lady of cold and somewhat selfish disposition, whose property took the form of an annuity, and who at the last commended Sybil by letter to the squire, as the most prosperous Agmere of whom she was aware.

Fortunately for the little girl, brought over to England by the captain of a sailing vessel and his wife, Mrs. Agmere took the orphan child at once into her motherly heart, and pleaded so hard that Sybil should be as one of her own, that the squire, who had been consulting acquaintances connected with orphanages, agreed that the little waif from India should find a home at Beech Glen.

As time went on, he found Sybil to be quicker and more intelligent than the rest, and he looked forward to the time when he should have trained her into his right hand as to his literary work and correspondence. The child was too wilful, impulsive, and passionate not to need correction again and again; but she had attached herself to "auntie," whose love was the first she had known, with such a strength of devotion that Mrs. Agmere's word, which had very little weight with Dora or Jasper, was as a law to the little stranger.

This Sunday evening, when the music is over, they all gather round the fire with a delicious sense of freedom, rendered perfect when Sarah Ann enters to carry May and Lilias to their couches, and is dragged into a chair by Jasper, and there constrained to make one of the cosy group.

Mrs. Agmere is tormented on Sunday evenings by a sense that Beech Glen is an advantageous resort for burglars, should any of the fraternity chance to hear that the menservants have gone out to worship, and the watchdog is subject to the infirmities of old age. Such dangers, however, are an added delight to the children, who boast valiantly of what they would do should the talked of robbers appear. Sybil trembles a little at the turn of the conversation, and puts herself in front of Mrs. Agmere, who softly strokes the dark, soft curls of her little defender.

"Will Uncle Dick come here to live, mamma?" asks Dora presently, in rather an anxious tone. She has a notion that Uncle Dick has been living in some very poor place among very common people, and what will the Singletons or the Traceys think of her possessing such an uncle as this? The wandering sheep of the family may be received with open arms by parental affection, but the young ones are wont to look with disfavour and distrust upon the family reception of the prodigal.

Little Lilias is too young to consider that the arrival may be any disadvantage. "I hope he'll come here," she says decidedly. "Uncle Dick's been so miserable, and grandpa's been so angry with him. I'll give him my white kitten."

"'Tisn't yours," says May. "Cook said it was to be between us, and I won't divide my kitten with Uncle Dick."

An argument seems impending, when Mrs. Agmere remarks, "Grandpa will do as he thinks right about asking your uncle here. I have never seen him, and most people thought he had died. But grandpa, I know, has never forgotten him, and I believe has been grieving and longing for him all these years. I only hope the meeting tonight may not be too much for him. I know the news he heard today thoroughly startled and shook him."

"Ay, ma'am, that's what I think. Who knows what a shock may mean at the master's age?"

Sarah Ann shakes her white head forebodingly, and Mrs. Agmere, seeing the children look a little frightened, remarks, "We must look on the bright side, however. 'Master Dick,' as everyone called him, was evidently a great favourite in Market Wickham. There will be general rejoicing if he and his father come back at last from London together, side by side."

"Ah, bless him, he were always a bonny lad," says Sarah Ann, wiping her eyes. Then, after a pause, she adds, "I did hear for certain as how he had lost his wife. I wish I had seen her. Folks said she were a pretty young creature, and there was nothing agin her except that she took a part in a theatre. I know naught as to any family. Have you heard of children, ma'am?"

"I believe there is none," says Mrs. Agmere. "I think he would have acquainted his father with the fact had any child been born to him."

"Dear me, ma'am! The master have returned letter by letter unopened. I did use to wish I could see what were in poor Master Dick's letters."

"Well, I hope my poor brother's troubles may be ending now, and that his later years may be peaceful ones. Children, get your reading," Mrs. Agmere adds, noticing how wide open are their ears. "Let me have my favourite chapter, the fourteenth of John."

Next day there comes a brief note from the squire, stating that his son is now in a private room at the hospital, and has a special nurse. The doctors seem to think the illness is in decline, but the symptoms are complicated and they will not yet hear of removal. The patient can speak very little, "but he knows me," writes the father, "and I never leave his side. Please God, I will never be parted from my boy again."

Mrs. Agmere had expected some account of the patient's mental sufferings, and his father's allusions to the remorse and retribution which are the fruits of disobedience; but the letter is short and written as if with a shaking hand, and the words that impress her most are these: "Please God, I will never be parted from my boy again."

So "Uncle Dick" is coming to Beech Glen! She wonders a little nervously what sort of a companion he will make for Jasper, and it is not possible for her to stifle the anxiety as to the change the return of the eldest son may make in her own prospects and those of her children. Jasper has always been considered the heir, and she has long had plenty of money and accustomed herself to think of Beech Glen as her future home for years to come. Mr. Richard Agmere, now left a widower, and with no children -- changed, sedate, respectable, and, perhaps, a leading member in time to come of the Market Wickham cause -- will be nearly certain to marry again; and two Mrs. Agmeres cannot reign at Beech Glen.

The poor lady begins to feel worried and unhappy, till she remembers all these things are in other hands than her own, and there is God who cares about her children's future more than she does herself.

"I will not be so silly as to worry over what is coming," she says aloud, not noticing Sybil buried in a book by the fire. "If only Jasper can go to Woolwich. He has set his heart on entering the army. Perhaps even if Dick gets all the money, he will help in my boy's education."

"Auntie, what money will Uncle Dick get?" asks Sybil, coming forward with a consoling kiss for the troubled face.

"Hush, Sybil, I did not see you there. I was talking to myself. I am sure I am glad and thankful -- I ought to be, and I am \-- that poor Uncle Dick is spared to come to his father's house again."

Sybil is silenced, but her sharp little brain has a way of putting two and two together, and she gradually reasons out that Uncle Dick's reconciliation with his father may mean some money loss and cause great worry to "auntie." Henceforth, indignation and dislike fill the child's heart against the unknown uncle, and she is justly scolded by Stubbs and Sarah Ann for more than once expressing the wish that Uncle Dick had gone right away across the sea, and never come back again to worry auntie about getting rooms straight for him, or anything else.

"Wicked people shouldn't have nice rooms with hothouse flowers," Sybil says decisively, peeping in at the apartments that are always now in readiness for the patient. "Martha Matthews in the storybook was a young Christian, and she only had an attic. I don't think it's right to indulge people that have been bad, and give them auntie's own sewing room."

But one day she is conscience-stricken and inwardly rebuked when she finds her aunt crying over a black-bordered letter, and the children are by-and-by allowed to read it, too; and then softly whisper among themselves, "Uncle Dick will not need the best rooms now. He will never come here now. He is dead."

### Chapter 3

The Beggar Boy

THE blinds are drawn down at Beech Glen Manor on the day that poor Dick Agmere is laid to rest in a London cemetery. The children are too agitated to hold the schoolroom service, which has been customary on such occasions. When old Mr. Oliver, the plumber in Market Wickham, and an old member of the chapel, passed away, Dora and Sybil persuaded Jasper to preach, which he did, with considerable signs of the squire's fluency and dignity.

Jasper has plenty of brains of his own, and is never averse from taking the lead on any public occasion. And when the old coachman, Jebbs, died last year, the girls held their prayer meeting, lasting, with hymns, nearly an hour. Jasper was ashamed that he could not then hold forth; but old Jebbs had taught him to ride, and was associated with the thought of breezy dashes over the common and along the country roads; and Jasper, to his own astonishment, felt choked when he tried to improve the occasion by discourse.

The children considered solemnity appropriate to this day of the funeral. Jasper sets himself to learn a double portion of catechism against his grandfather's return. Dora, to the depression of all, practises the "Dead March," as arranged in her instruction book. Sybil reads the deathbed scene in Martha Matthews aloud to her aunt, while the twins tie black bows upon their cats, and question the maids on the subject of funerals in general, till cook silences them with bread and butter and brown sugar.

As the day wears on, and Mrs. Agmere becomes more composed and begins to look in the railway timetable for the probable time when the squire will return on the morrow, all attempts at juvenile tribulation are dropped, and there is a general disposition to make the most of these few hours before the reins of government are again taken up by the resolute hand of the squire.

Sybil is silenced by decorous Dora when she ventures to propose a round game, such as "Earth, Air, Fire, and Water," but no objection is raised to "Happy Family," a quiet amusement in which enquiry is made for Mr. Bung the brewer, Mr. Potts the painter, etc. These individuals, by gradual stages, make way for "Proverbs," "How Do You Like It?" and, finally, on Mrs. Agmere being wanted by Stubbs, for Jasper's favourite game of "Alligators," -- a wild and glorious romp in which imaginary divers from the table to the floor are pursued by a hungry alligator -- i.e. Jasper emerging from beneath the table. Sybil's Eastern experiences have introduced this game, which has become highly popular at Beech Glen.

Tonight they are at the height of enjoyment, and Sarah Ann, a little scandalized by the noise, apologises to cook by the fact that "nobody can't be young but once," when Sybil, scurrying back to the tabletop in consternation with a shriek of "alligators!" is suddenly struck dumb, and pauses literally on one leg, experiencing a sudden impulse to possess herself immediately of a hymnbook.

Cushions and chairs are in all directions -- is not Lilias perched on one of grandpa's own portly volumes for a rock of safety? And has not Jasper torn his new black jacket in the wildness of his efforts to obtain a captive? In the midst stands the squire himself, looking alarmed at the scene, and the condition of his sedate dining room.

Dora is the first to find speech, and then Sybil hurriedly collects the cushions, and slips out to tell auntie. Grandpa has been vexed sometimes when things have not been quite ready for him, and Mrs. Agmere, as a result, has fretted herself into a nervous attack. On the mat Sybil comes into collision with a boy -- a beggar boy, she decides, with some suspicions as to his connexion with the burglars so long expected by Mrs. Agmere. She takes him impulsively by the collar and drags him into the dining room. He passively submits. He looks too cold, too ragged, too dirty, too sullen to resist the onslaught of the little tigress.

"Grandpa," pants Sybil, "there's robbers in the house! They've put this boy through first, and he's let them in. Haven't you, you bad, wicked boy -- coming here after grandpa's silver? But I've got him tight, grandpa. Have him locked up."

"Let him alone, Sybil. This boy has a right to be here."

Sybil's hands drop from the rags, and she stares open-mouthed at the squire. The boy takes no notice of any of them, but goes up to the fire and warms his blue, chilblained hands, the other children shrinking from him in considerable discomposure. A vague notion crosses Dora's mind that the shock of Uncle Dick's death may have injured grandpa's reason. Something is certainly different with Squire Agmere. Even May and Lilias perceive he is not quite so awe-inspiring, nor on such a far-away pedestal of greatness and goodness as of yore. He has not uttered one word of blame or punishment as to the romp in the dining room, and he sinks feebly, wearily into his armchair, looking at the beggar boy with a great sadness in his eyes.

Lilias does what she has never dreamed of doing before. She clambers right into her grandfather's arms and kisses his forehead, and, ere she can shrink away abashed, the old man is smoothing the waves from her brow, and holding her in the arms that seem to have lost their strength.

"Mother, grandpa's here, and he's most peculiar, and he has brought a tramp," cries Dora, flying in agitation to the steward's room where Stubbs and Mrs. Agmere are discussing the question of a young page who persists in reading in bed. This young gentleman devoutly promises to commence his slumbers at any hour Mrs. Agmere may desire, and to confine his studies within reasonable limits of time. Stubbs lets him off with a lecture as to the vanity of "book-laming," and the reminder that he has risen to be butler, though he never could get rightly beyond two syllables of reading.

Mrs. Agmere hurriedly returns to the dining room and orders refreshments for the squire, gazing aghast at the "tramp," and sending the children off to the schoolroom.

"Dick, speak to your aunt," says Squire Agmere, laying a gentle hand upon the boy's torn sleeve. "Phyllis, this is my poor Dick's boy -- this is my grandson."

"How shocking!" exclaims Mrs. Agmere involuntarily. It is only natural that the frightened mother should think of her own little brood, and wonder where this ragged little fellow has been brought up, and if he is fit to associate with the children of Beech Glen.

"This is my fault," says the squire, fingering the rags, and speaking in broken tones. "I did not know Dick had a child. I might have known, had I cared. I drove him out of my heart. I was too proud to own that I suffered in his loss, that my heart was breaking for my first-born child. My son has suffered poverty, want, sickness, hunger. May God forgive me, Phyllis. Before he died, he regained his speech a little, and told me how he and his wife had struggled on. She is gone. I fancy losing her must have broken him down at last. He told me their only child was on the streets -- a match-seller, an errand boy -- anything for a crust! Think of that, Phyllis!

"Will Heaven ever forgive me for all the letters I sent back unopened to this boy's parents year by year? God has forgiven Dick -- the tired lad has gone home -- but is there mercy for a heart of stone like mine? My dream was to put Dick in the ministry. I could not stand the spoiling of my plans, and this is what I have wrought! Today I made search for the child. Some old woman, a drunkard, I believe, had given him shelter when they took Dick to the hospital. Would you believe it, he calls her 'gran,' and cried today to leave her? And when I bought him an overcoat to hide his rags, I found he had taken it off and given it to her to sell for gin!"

"Rum," corrects Dick, listening with a sulky look on his dirty little face. "She don't take no gin; but the coat didn't go for no rum neither, so there. 'Twere the rent as gran hadn't got no money for. She's got rheumatics in her hand, and I didn't ought for to have left her alone."

"I brought him away directly," says the squire, his melancholy increasing as the grammar employed by his grandson strikes him more forcibly. "I told him his father wished him to be as a son to me, and then he consented to come. He is quite neglected, Phyllis. What are we to do with him? I am not sure even that his mind is clear," and the squire looks doubtfully at the shivering child.

"Let Sarah Ann dress him in some of Jasper's things," says Mrs. Agmere a little reluctantly, but unable to resist the mute appeal of the blue hands and chilblains.

"I have asked Potter to call tomorrow," says the squire. "This boy is undoubtedly Dick's son, and I admit his claims upon me. I may yet live to atone in uplifting this child for my harshness to Dick and to the poor girl who is gone. Be good to him, Phyllis. You have taken Sybil into your heart. Make room for this outcast lad."

Mrs. Agmere is silent for a while. Her mind's eye, more anxious on her children's behalf than on her own, sees their future prospects despoiled and changed by the advent of Dick Agmere. It is hard for her not to cherish some little resentment against the miserable-looking intruder, but her gentler nature conquers. Her voice trembles a little as she says, earnestly, "I will be good to him, father," -- using a title only employed on rare and solemn occasions.

Jasper, fortunately, is in bed, or might dispute Dick's right to the garments that hang so loosely on him. The child comes down to supper, surveying his serge suit as though calculating its possible price if disposed of at the store for his gran. He is uncertain as to the use of knife and fork, and in his bewilderment amid his new surroundings he nearly spoils the serge trousers by an overflow of soup. Finally he falls asleep at table, and Stubbs makes light of the burden and bears him from the room.

"How old is he?" asks Mrs. Agmere, thinking that, now the dirt is washed away, it is a beautiful, delicate face that gradually sinks to oblivion upon the tablecloth.

"Ten or eleven," says the squire. "They had other children older than Dick, but they never lived beyond infancy."

"He is a good looking boy," says Mrs. Agmere. "He will not be fit for Mr. Drury yet. Sarah Ann will be able to teach him his letters. I suppose he has had no sort of education yet."

"Only at a ragged-school," says the squire, with a shudder. "I believe some Church people have got up a ragged-school down in those parts; I don't know what ideas the boy may have. He seems moping about his poor father and for gran. I told him not to call her that. She is no relation at all, and the poor thing is only a charwoman. I will say this, Phyllis. The Church of England is by no means without brave, good men: that is evident. I can never feel bitter against the clergy again. It was a parson who got my Dick into the hospital, and who persuaded him to tell him all his history with a view to getting help for him; and then at last, you know, judging a father's heart from his own -- he has many little children -- he undertook to come here and tell me of Dick's state and fetch me to his bedside. I begin to think, Phyllis, there may be good in every rank of believers, call them what you will."

Mrs. Agmere looks at the squire a little anxiously. His words flow quickly, but she does not like the trembling excitement of his manner. She persuades him soon to seek rest, and then she sits down by the fire, and the former disquiet comes back to her heart as to what provision the future will hold for her high-spirited Jasper, and comfort-loving Dora, and delicate twin daughters, and for wayward, impulsive Sybil.

Jasper, she owns reluctantly to herself, has never been a favourite with the squire. The lad is a little selfish -- the mother tells herself it will wear off in time \-- and when his plans have crossed his grandfather's, his sullen fits have been an annoyance to all the house. The twins have been indulged a little now and then with an extra apple or stray penny, but Mrs. Agmere feels the very strength of the squire's remorse will deepen young Dick's claims upon him, and it is more than likely that he may make a new will, recognising his eldest son's only child as his heir.

"How mercenary I am getting!" thinks the mother, reproaching herself for these sordid calculations. "It is a pity the squire did not definitely settle some of the property upon my poor Thomas, or get him into some appointment. There is nothing for us to depend upon in reality beyond my own little income. But, there, grandpa will be just to my children, and riches are not the best blessing life holds, after all."

And then Mrs. Agmere goes softly upstairs and kisses goodnight to one young sleeper after another, finding her way at last to the squire's dressing room where by his orders a bed has been prepared for Dick. She thinks the boy must have cried himself to sleep. His eyes are red, and the pale face is stained with tears. She stoops and kisses him too, and he moves restlessly on the pillow with the words, "Gran ... I can't get none to tell me ... ain't father no better, gran? And if he's better, why don't he come to Clogs Alley? Father promised as how he'd come home at last."

### Chapter 4

How Dick Is Welcomed

THERE is dissatisfaction, open and secret, among the young Agmeres when it is understood that the "tramp" is Cousin Dick. Dora's nervous thoughts fly to the Traceys and the Singletons. She hopes nobody will call, for "this common boy talks dreadfully," and Dora feels sadly ashamed of the awkward, ill-bred relative who must, sooner or later, be made known to their friends.

Jasper is proud enough, too, in his way. He is "hail, fellow, well met!" with all the boys about the place, who, on their side, never forget their deference to him as the young squire, and think "Master Jasper" a fine, free-spoken young gentleman with "nothing stuck up about him." But to be expected to receive with open arms of kinship a sullen, defiant looking boy, who says "ain't" and "dunno," and calls food "victuals"....

Sybil's quick eyes perceive new worry on auntie's face, and she is prepared to dislike Dick vehemently as the cause. May and Lilias, however, think it rather romantic that a tramp should have been adopted into the family circle, and Lilias tells Sarah Ann softly of a story a minister once related in chapel: how a household, praying for the coming of Christ, had set a place for the Master at the board, and how there came that evening a ragged, outcast boy timidly asking for bread. The father led him to the waiting place, and accepted the little wanderer as sent into their midst by the Lord, and in His stead.

"Tis a beautiful tale, Miss Lilias," says Sarah Ann, with a more tender look than hitherto towards Dick, who would please her better had he chanced to resemble the Agmeres rather than his lost mother; "and I don't doubt there's truth in it, too. And there's nobody yet, I'm confident, that has cared for the wanderer, but the blessing of God have come into the house along with him, too."

For some time the squire has been wont to breakfast alone in his study, and today Mrs. Agmere retreats from the table with a severe headache when the meal is still in progress. The young folks, left alone, for the most part stare at Dick, not knowing quite what subjects of conversation to choose. The boy settles the matter by crying quietly with his head down on the table, much to the disgust of Jasper who has all the masculine objection to tears.

"Cry, baby, cry!" he begins directly, imitating the sound of sobs so pathetically that the twins, despite their compassion, are constrained to laugh. Dora secretly draws a comparison between handsome, sturdy, dauntless Jasper, and Dick. She is proud of her fine-looking brother, and can scarcely believe this awkward-looking Dick to be an Agmere at all.

"I believe he's just imposed himself on grandpa," she whispers, her ideas hovering round a romance concerning mistaken identity -- a novel surreptitiously lent to her by an under-housemaid. "I don't believe he's our cousin at all. Somebody has put him up to pretending he is, so as to get what he can out of grandpa."

Sybil scarcely heeds her at the time. Her indignant eyes flash remonstrance towards Jasper, whom she rightly suspects of attempting to stop the tears by a secret kick beneath the table.

"Let him alone, Jasper," she cries, pushing her cousin aside. "He's dreadfully unhappy. It's a shame to tease him."

"He hasn't got the spirit of a fly," grumbles Jasper. "Geoff Tracey would have showed fight in a minute. I give the fellow up. I leave him to you girls. Good day to you, Miss Dick Agmere. And, Sybil, you stop bothering me. You speak when you're spoken to."

A vicious little pinch draws an involuntary cry of pain from Sybil. She is used to such attentions when Jasper is cross, and forgets them as soon as the pain is over, but today the pinch has a more serious result.

"Coward, to wallop a little gal!"

They all turn round startled at the words. Dick has risen, and avenged the pinch by a peculiar twist of his foot, whereby Jasper is on the ground. The boy is up again in an instant, his face on fire, and the two are in close, fierce combat -- Jasper, to the horror of everybody, getting decidedly the worst of it. All the girls, Sybil included, are hanging on to Dick, harassing him by indignant pulls and pushes, and encouraging Jasper by loud exclamations of sympathy. They are too anxious about him to desert him, or they would run for help; but suddenly they are startled by a familiar footstep in the room, and the squire himself draws the boys asunder.

"Oh, grandpa, that dreadful Dick -- he has half killed Jasper!" sobs Dora, throwing her arms around her brother, who ungratefully bids her "get away."

"Jasper kicked him." The words trembled on Sybil's lips, but she says nothing, though her anxiety for justice causes her hands to work nervously as she awaits the squire's decision.

"Boys, boys! And your fathers loved each other so."

This is all the squire says. He paces sadly to and fro, thinking, perchance, how his younger son Thomas had pleaded and interceded again and again for Dick, till he dared no longer utter his name. The squire often suspected that Thomas secretly impoverished himself by helping Dick, till at last the elder brother seemed to sink out of sight and knowledge.

"Well, grandpa," says Jasper, with one hand to his swollen eye, "and so will we love each other. I've never had anybody to fight with yet, nearer than Singleton House. The stable-boy won't fight, and the girls only scratch like cats. I'm glad Dick has come to Beech Glen now. I say, come outside and show me that leg-twist, won't you?"

But Dick, who bears a secret grudge against the squire for the withdrawal from gran and the familiar associations of Clogs Alley, has subsided into moroseness. He stands looking into the fire and wiping the blood from his check. Mr. Agmere sends Jasper to be tended by Sarah Ann, and imperatively forbids Dick to fight.

"You must forget all these wild, evil ways now you have come to make your home with us," he says impressively. "Do you hear me, Dick?"

"I ain't deaf, is I?" is the sullen response.

The children look aghast to hear such words addressed to grandpa. They almost expect that bears will emerge from the woods and make an end of impertinent Dick, but the squire only resumes his troubled walk, glancing at the boy from time to time, and once uttering the words which sink into the heart of one little listener at least, "It is sometimes beyond the power of mortal man to undo an evil. There are wrongs no repentance can set right."

In Dick, the squire sees the fruit of his hardness of heart, of his persistent refusal to stretch forth any helping hand towards the parents who were sinking down in real sickness and need. He will clothe, aid, educate the little fellow now; but to shape the rough material will be a work of tireless patience, and the squire has been sorely conscious of late that he is, in truth, very old, very feeble. He shuts himself in his study, and there amid his shelves of theology and his piles of pamphlets and tracts he sinks upon his knees, and prays for this untrained child as in all his life he has never prayed before -- prays from a broken heart conscious of offence and helplessness and need -- prays with a new, sweet sense of how strong the Father is, how pitiful even to our mistakes, our hard-heartedness.

Mr. Potter, the squire's old friend and solicitor, comes over from Market Wickham this afternoon. He has expected the summons ever since it reached his ears that Dick the elder, long since supposed to be dead, had been heard of again by his father. When Mrs. Thomas Agmere was first left a widow, with her four little ones around her, the squire made a will leaving her all his property, and utterly ignoring any suggestion of Mr. Potter's that, even if Dick be dead, he might have left some family. Mr. Potter suspects he will have to draw out a codicil shortly, or perhaps make a new will altogether.

"I want to consult you about Dick," says the squire, when the child has been reluctantly interviewed, and has retired, leaving an impression on the lawyer's mind that he is a good deal sharper than, in his ill-humour, he chooses to appear. "What is to be done about his training? All I can get out of him is, 'I want to go back to Clogs Alley. Are you sure father said I was to be a son to you? I don't want to be, but if father really did say so, I'll try to stop here.' He does not like me, Potter. I dare say his poor mother -- and rightly enough -- spoke of me often as harsh and cruel. I am a stranger to the child. It is my own fault, which makes it a greater trouble."

"Could you not send him to some preparatory school? The influence of ladies might soften and refine him."

"Then you don't think him fit to mix with Phyllis's children?"

"Well, I think till he is a little more trained and disciplined...."

"Yes, Potter, you are right. It is not fair to Phyllis to put down a little heathen in the midst of the other children. Phyllis and the young ones must have Crag End Farm. I will get everything put straight for them there. I will see about her allowance."

"Do you mean that Mrs. Thomas is to leave Beech Glen."

"I don't see what else to do," says the squire a little fretfully. "Everyone seems to feel Dick is not good enough to mix with the children. Well, they must go to Crag End Farm. They will be happy enough there; and truly, Potter, they enjoy themselves better away from me. I do not think I understand children. I get on better with grown people. As to sending Dick to school, I tell you he shall never leave me. I must get to know him, and he must learn to love and trust me. I will be gentle, patient, indulgent with him, Potter," says the squire, almost pleadingly. "I will teach him to read and write, and the first principles of religion. And when he has mastered these, I will engage a first-rate tutor for him. He is only eleven years old. His career is all before him yet. Surely there is hope in his very youth?"

"Let us hope he will do honour to the good old name of Agmere," says the lawyer heartily. "At any rate, your efforts on his behalf will bring their own blessing, even should the child prove ungrateful. But, my dear sir, Beech Glen has been Mrs. Agmere's home so long, and her hopes for Jasper...."

"I have never said a word to lead her to hope Jasper would be my heir. As my will stands now, all goes to Phyllis, but her delicate health has long warned me to alter it somewhat. Before I found Dick, I should have been inclined to treat Lilias the most liberally of all. I will be just, however, to all, and they shall never want; but Dick is now, of course, my heir. Will you draft another will for me? And I want it brought here tomorrow."

Mr. Potter reappears next day, and surmises as to his visits are rife among the household, and approach very near the truth. Mrs. Agmere is laid up just now with nervous headache, and Dora and Sybil nurse her together; Sarah Ann keeps the twins quiet, and Jasper is away on a visit at Singleton House. Mrs. Agmere is too unwell for the squire to mention the subject of leaving Beech Glen to her, and he decides, as soon as she seems herself again, to offer her the choice of leaving or remaining. If she accepts Dick as a companion for her children, there will be no need for a separate home; but she must understand that there can be no question of the squire ever parting from the newly found child again. Dick's place is at Beech Glen, whoever else may have to give way to the changed circumstances.

Meanwhile, the boy seems to spend his time making mud pies in the kitchen garden, and chalking hieroglyphics meant for DICK upon the fences. He is no longer lonely, for several garden-boys have accepted him, to the squire's annoyance, as undoubtedly one of their order, and aid and abet him in playing "cock-shy" with stones among the trees in the avenue.

For a certain portion of each day Dick has to sit with his grandfather in the study, learning the rudiments of grammar, arithmetic, etc. These the poor squire is conscious of presenting in their most unattractive aspects, but he is jealous of anyone else getting better acquainted with Dick than himself, and securing a better hold on the boy's affections.

The "little gals," as Dick classes his four feminine relations, see very little of the newcomer, and devoutly hope he will be sent to school. "It is a very great trial to mamma for grandpa to take up the idea of befriending common boys like this," explains Dora to her friends; and Sybil's animosity to the boy increases daily, for she is sure his arrival is connected with auntie's neuralgic sufferings.

One morning, the squire is reading aloud to Dick, whose eyes have wandered, half in dread, half in admiration, to the mastiff stretched by the fire. The old gentleman is impressively delivering a chapter of Little Arthur, conscious all the while that Dick is thinking of anything and everything except the ancient Britons, when suddenly his tones seem to run together, the words get all confused, and Dick, looking up hastily, sees his grandfather fall heavily forward. The sound brings Stubbs running in. "Oh, the poor master, he's had a stroke!" cries the old butler tremblingly, and he sends a peal through the house that brings even Mrs. Agmere from her sofa.

"I never touched him. I never hurted him," asserts Dick, who has been sorely frightened by the fall.

"No, no, 'tis a fit," says Stubbs. "'Tis to be hoped Charles will find the doctor in. It's all right, ma'am -- now don't you take on so. Wilson and me, we'll take the master to his bed."

The seizure turns out to be of a very serious nature. Dr. Mould says at first the squire may not recover his senses, but after some hours he does so, and is able to mumble a few directions, amongst which they catch the name "Potter."

"Mr. Potter's in London, sir, I know," says Stubbs. "His man told me so yesterday. We could telegraph for him."

The old gentleman makes a sign for pen and paper, but his shaking hands refuse to write.

"Shall we telegraph for Mr. Potter?" asks Stubbs, hanging over him. They think he makes an affirmative sign, and his lips struggle to form the word "Dick."

"Here I am, grandpa," says a boyish voice at his side. Dick, awed and anxious, has crept in from the dressing room, and his little hands go now of their own accord to clasp the thin, shrunken fingers.

Stubbs looks at the two -- the childish face so near to the gray, worn, aged one. "Yon's our young squire," he thinks, seeing how the old man's eyes shine as he tries to draw the little fellow nearer. And Mrs. Agmere recognises the fact as well, and is just a little surprised that the sick man does not ask for Jasper, for whom she has hurriedly sent.

The minister from Market Wickham chapel comes up late that evening to read and pray with his senior deacon, and to obtain some glimpse of Mr. Agmere's state of mind. The good man is rather long-winded, and the squire shows signs of impatience, which give good Mr. Dymok an impression that all is not right with his soul.

"Are you at peace, brother?" he asks anxiously, bending over the pillow.

"There is no peace to the wicked," moans the squire indistinctly. "I thanked God I was not as other men. I have been hard, self-righteous, narrow. Go, Dymok, go! I tell you I am lost!"

He seems to fall back into unconsciousness, and the minister goes downstairs, bidding Mrs. Agmere call him again when his dear friend awakes. But the waking is otherwhere. With closed eyes the old man lies. Is he drifting back to his boyhood, to his sunny infancy? Or is he teaching his own little children again? "Around the throne of God in Heaven," \-- mumbled and gasped, the words are yet caught by those around, and Dick lifts up an eager face.

"That's my hymn," he says. "They learned it me at the ragged-school. Does grandpa want me to sing it?"

"Yes; sing it, dear," says Mrs. Agmere, for she sees the creeping shadow across the quiet face.

Dick lifts up his voice, and fills the room with the glad, victorious strain, and the watchers see the tremble of a last, loving smile that leaves a great calm behind it, as, to the music of a "bairn's hymn," the fiery, clever controversialist enters rest.

"Because the Saviour shed His blood

To wash away their sin:

Bathed in that purple, precious flood,

Behold them white and clean,

Singing glory, glory, glory!"

### Chapter 5

The Missing Will

THE funeral sermon has been preached at Market Wickham chapel to an immense congregation, filling even the forms brought in from the schoolroom to be placed along the aisles. Mr. Dymok has traced squire Agmere's career from the time when he was challenged, as a giddy youth at college, by an open-air discourse from the text, "Flee from the wrath to come."

The squire had often told the minister of the remorse, repentance, and sufferings he experienced for never-to-be-forgotten weeks before he understood the fullness of the Divine redemption; and Mr. Dymok would fain conjure his hearers to undergo precisely the same state of feeling which preceded the squire's conversion, wherein he surely makes somewhat of a mistake, for there are those among his audience -- especially the children growing up in the families where the Lord is loved -- who will probably not be led within the kingdom by the way of similar conflict. No two natures, no two lives are precisely alike. Why should certain most excellent preachers and teachers expect just the same sort of conversion in every case, or speak as if they did so?

Little Lilias Agmere, listening open-mouthed in her mourning garb to Mr. Dymok's discourse, will probably never know the weeks of alarm and unrest that the minister is now describing, but with all her childish faults pricking sharply enough at the little conscience, she cannot remember a time when "gentle Jesus" was not dear to her, and when she did not want to please Him.

The rector of the parish church makes allusion likewise to the death at the Manor House. To the loss of both, there has somehow been a great gulf fixed between the rectory and the manor; but standing on the brink of the Jordan, such past differences are laid aside, and in memory of the squire who is gone, and who will be laid on the morrow in the Dissenters' burial ground attached to the chapel, they sing in the parish church:

"When our heads are bowed with woe,

When our bitter tears o'erflow,

When we mourn the lost, and dear,

Jesu, Son of Mary, hear."

Monday morning dawns, cold, gray, and wintry. The children edge close to each other around the schoolroom fire, hearing strange steps and voices about the house, and watching the flakes of snow that by-and-by begin to drift slowly down from the clouded sky to veil the branches and the ground as with glistening, stainless wreaths. Dick is standing alone by the window; a feeling of desolation, of friendlessness, possesses the little heart. He longs, with yearning unspeakable, for the freedom of Clogs Alley, the sympathising talks and plans when gran was short of money, the cosy suppers of bread and saveloy or fried fish when he or the old lady had been earning a few pence.

And then he thinks of his lost mother, and the father whom he idolised, and the tears rush to his blue eyes. But he brushes them away with the corner of his superfine black sleeve, for experience has taught him that tears in boyish eyes are matter for juvenile contempt. Since his grandfather's death, Dick's existence at the manor has been more trying to him than ever.

The past few days have been too solemn for a fight with Jasper, with whom there seems to be no other ground of fellowship, nor has it been possible to play leapfrog or cockshy with the boys employed in stables and gardens. Mrs. Agmere, though always kind and gentle towards him, has been too busy and too wearied out to attend to him beyond a few kind words when they meet, and the children seem to consider his advent as the beginning and cause of all the tears and sorrowful looks pervading the household.

"I can't be a son to him, like father said, now he's gone," thinks Dick in perplexity, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "I wonder, would daddy want me to stop with these here swells now grandpa's gone and died? I'm sure I dunno how gran's getting on without me, nor little Billy the puppy, neither." And he presses his face against the pane, heeding nothing of the carriages that one by one are setting down sympathetic friends at the manor, and seeming to see, with his loving, wistful eyes, the little garret where he has so often coaxed a blaze from the few embers of the firewood gran has bought, and where the old woman, who has been such a faithful friend to his parents and himself, may be needing him, and fretting now for the willing help of her little companion.

Sybil, after lying awake half the night in a nervous, excitable condition, to which her brain is subject at times, and which has been strongly affected by Mr. Dymok's funeral sermon -- attended by all the juveniles, in company with Sarah Ann -- Sybil has somehow discovered in Dora's cupboard this morning the romantic story of love and adventure lent to little Miss Agmere by Julia, the second housemaid.

Sybil has lost herself in its contents, and while perusing the first page with a guilty sense of an act inappropriate to the day, she has now become so entranced as to forget the sombre preparations which are going forward for the funeral at half-past twelve. Ensconced within the deep window seat of the library, where the thick curtains cover her snugly and hide her little form from disturbing intrusion, she is suddenly startled by the voice of Mr. Potter.

"I scarcely think the squire could have destroyed the will, as you suggest, Mr. Drury. He was extremely anxious for its execution, and very fidgety about its safety. You know his peculiarity about keeping his business papers himself. Now, had I kept the old will, I should have brought it here and seen it destroyed. I urged him to remember to do so, but somehow he omitted the act, and in consequence the old will stands unless the new one he signed be forthcoming. I found the former will in the secret drawer of his cabinet at once. He has shown me the place many a time, but I have searched everywhere for the latest one in vain. If I cannot find it, I shall explain after luncheon the fact of its existence. It would be such a shock to Mrs. Agmere to lose Beech Glen and the rest of the property were she unprepared for this last will, whereby little Dick inherits."

Sybil shrinks more closely within the curtain. She is dreadfully frightened to find herself present at a business conversation, and yet she listens intently with parted lips and a paling face. What is this talk about wills? And what does Mr. Potter mean about auntie losing Beech Glen?

"Then this is how it stands," says Mr. Drury. "The only will that can be found, leaves all to Mrs. Agmere. The will that you are seeking in vain will enrich this boy Dick at her expense. Well, Mr. Potter, as the poor squire's protégé \-- for the old gentleman, crotchety as he was, proved a good friend to me -- I will aid your search to the best of my power. We had better have Stubbs in to help. He understands these shelves and cupboards better than I do. But, between ourselves, I hope the poor old gentleman did destroy his last will. I do not like the idea of despoiling Mrs. Agmere for the sake of this little waif, who will probably make ducks and drakes of the property if he turn out as wild as his father."

"Mrs. Agmere would, of course, enjoy a just provision," says the lawyer, a little stiffly, for Mr. Drury's manner seems more flippant than in the squire's lifetime when he always appeared the very perfection of a sedate, accomplished schoolmaster. "But I cannot deny that it will be much to her disadvantage if the last will be forthcoming. I am appointed Dick's guardian, and I trust I should train him better than to make ducks and drakes of his inheritance, should he succeed thereto, poor little man!"

Stubbs by this time has answered the bell, and the three search silently everywhere for the will the poor squire was so eager to arrange and sign. They then go upstairs to look through some of Mr. Agmere's clothes, lest it should have been overlooked when Mr. Potter examined the pockets a day or two ago. Sybil creeps out from her hiding-place, forgetting "The Woes of Eugenia" (to the subsequent confusion of Julia upon its discovery by Mrs. Agmere, who, however, is "managed" as usual by diplomatic Dora, and pardons the embarrassed damsel).

Sybil's hands are clasped in her excitement. She feels as if some blow is about to fall on auntie -- poor auntie, who looks ill and worried enough already, and perhaps has some foreboding that Beech Glen is to belong to Dick. Is Dick to reign here, amid all the beautiful paintings and flowers and the lovely rooms for which auntie makes such grand crochet antimacassars and netted curtains and dainty mats? And is auntie to go into some poky little place with the children, and perhaps see them starving for bread?

"Of course, if grandpa made a will leaving things to Dick, he would quickly regret it and tear it up," she argues to herself, standing with a beating heart in the midst of the davenports, cabinets, and drawers, and almost at peace again as she reflects how earnest and yet how vain has been the search for what she now calls the "unjust will."

"Grandpa would never want auntie to be poor. He knew her ever so much longer than he knew Dick, and Dick can live with us, and so he'll never want cither; only he mustn't take away money from my ownest auntie. I won't tell Dora and Jasper. They would only tease and worry auntie with questions. It is sure to be all right. Grandpa's torn up that last will, and auntie will always live here and take care of us, and she's sure to adopt Dick, and he'll love her too, and leave off saying 'ain't,' and leave off being a vulgar boy."

Sybil is so solemn and thoughtful for the rest of the day that good Mr. Dymok singles her out for praise as specially impressed by the need of preparation for death; and he prays with the children ere he leaves the manor \-- at least, with four of them, for Dick is not visible, and is supposed to be "about the stables."

The squire, borne to his rest amid waving of plumes and a long train of carriages, has never unbent much towards his grandchildren, and their thoughts of him are chiefly associated with repression and with tasks. Yet each one cries a little tonight to understand that nevermore the stately step will resound along the hall, nor the aged face look in upon them at lessons or play. Lilias reminds the others that grandpa once brought a tin of London mixture home for them to share when he had been away travelling.

Meanwhile, the state of business matters at the manor has somehow reached the servants' hall, and thence it permeates to the juveniles. They soon understand that Mrs. Agmere is rendered very rich by the only forthcoming will, but that Dick -- the little uncouth, despised Dick -- will be squire of Beech Glen in the future should another and later will be found. Jasper feels indignant at the notion of Dick's "robbing" his mother, and reserves a private cuff for his cousin when he joins the group.

As the evening steals on, however, a new anxiety possesses the household. Stables and gardens have been vainly searched for Dick. Where can he be? Mr. Dymok has kindly offered to conduct evening worship, and Dick ought to be present as usual. Jasper suggests he has fallen in the pond, where he himself has, ere this, had many a temporary ducking, and servants go hither and thither with lanterns, grumbling at the cold and fruitless errand that draws them from their snug supper table.

At last some of the household are gathered for evening worship. Mr. Dymok reads the fifteenth chapter of first Corinthians, the chapter that speaks of triumph and immortality; but there is one whose longing thoughts are all of the earth, earthy. A girl in her heart is beseeching and praying that "Grandpa might have torn up that will, and that nobody ever may find it, and that all the money may be auntie's, and Dick may never get Beech Glen away from her."

And, in his prayer, the good minister remembers the lost boy, and prays the Good Shepherd to have this little wanderer safe in His keeping. The petitions go up together that night.

Even as they rise from their knees, a servant brings Mrs. Agmere a paper she has picked up in the hall -- a leaf torn from Dick's copy-book, whereon is painfully inscribed in pencil: "Mum, I've runned away from ere. I can't be a son to noboddy now, like daddy said I were to. Noboddy can't catch D. I. C. K. -- P.S. I loves Jim, the donky-boy. Giv Jim my Arther's histry-book."

### Chapter 6

"The Fundamental Principles"

FOR grandpapa's sake," says Mrs. Agmere, wiping her eyes and looking troubled and perplexed, "the boy must be found." She is interviewing Mr. Potter, and he assures her that already searchers are at work with a view of tracing Dick Agmere.

"I shall never let him drift back into need," says the lady. "He is my nephew, and though it may be better for him to live elsewhere till somewhat more cultured, I shall consider it my duty to provide for his education and to interest myself in his future. Perhaps the influence of friends may, in coming years, secure some appointment."

"And, pardon my reminding you, madam, there is yet the strong possibility that the boy's future will be even more important than you kindly propose," says the lawyer, a little dryly. "It seemed to me that Mr. Agmere had set his heart on the succession of this lad to his property. I cannot entertain the notion that he changed his mind and destroyed the will he was so particular to execute. It is far more likely he placed it in some secure corner that we have somehow contrived to miss. With your permission, my clerk and myself will continue the search for the missing document, all over the house for the next few days."

"Certainly," is Mrs. Agmere's reply, spoken tremblingly, but with an earnestness that cannot be insincere. "I desire nothing but justice, Mr. Potter. I have no doubt that my father-in-law remembered my children's claims upon him even in this later will; and, should the present one stand, I will do my best to help little Dick Agmere."

Everyone at the manor and many at Market Wickham understand why Mr. Potter and his head clerk are so frequently at Beech Glen. Panels are sounded, boards tried here and there. Cupboards are rummaged, and piles of papers overturned; yet to the general relief there are no signs forthcoming of the document so lately drawn up in Mr. Potter's offices in the High Street.

Mrs. Agmere has ruled well and wisely at Beech Glen -- a little too leniently, perhaps, as concerns her own children, but on the other hand she has seen them subjected to authority often stern and dogmatic and unsparing from the disciplinarian whose rule they will know no more. Servants and tenants know little of the child, Dick Agmere, and they would fain retain the gentle widow at their head. As for the children, Jasper and Dora already begin to overawe the Singletons and Traceys by fabulous accounts of the riches into which "mamma" has come, and Sybil and the twins decide it was dreadfully ungrateful of Dick to run away directly he had received such a nice glossy suit of mourning, and it is "just like darling mamma" to say that she will take care, however naughty he is, that he shall never starve.

One morning, Sybil has been dressing a bridal doll for May, and she has enthroned the fair lady called Evangeline upon the dining room sideboard whilst she runs off for the muslin Sarah Ann has promised her for the veil. On her return she is horrified to behold Jasper's terrier, Judy, making eager leaps towards the lovely Evangeline, whose streaming golden hair suggested a fine frolic to the dog.

At last, with one successful bound, Judy is on the sideboard and Sybil in hot pursuit. Evangeline is saved, but as Judy leaps down to escape chastisement, a pile of books is knocked over. Sybil carefully replaces them, thinking, with a swelling of her tender little heart, how annoyed grandpa would have been to see any of his books thus heaped on the floor.

As she stoops to lift a heavy volume of the Fundamental Principles of Evangelical Religion, a paper flutters out. There is clear, thick writing at the back, and her startled eye is caught by the words, "The Last Will and Testament." Sybil utters a cry, and quivers from head to foot. She takes up the volume and finds that the fall has caused the loose stitches in the black cover to give way. Did grandpa put that paper within the cover, and set those straggling, irregular stitches with black thread himself? Surely, surely this paper cannot be the one that Mr. Potter failed to find. Did he not mention that he had examined many book covers and linings, and come across copious notes and jottings and papers of texts?

Surely God would never be so cruel as to take away auntie's money and give it to that tramping boy Dick. He must not, shall not rob auntie. If grandpa wrote such an unkind will, he could not be right in his head; and Stubbs said he wanted Mr. Potter at the last, no doubt, to tell him he never meant that unjust will at all. Besides, Dora thinks Dick was just as likely to have been an impostor, and not the squire's grandchild at all; and Jasper says he deserves to starve, since he was so thankless as to run away when he had good food and shelter at Beech Glen.

These thoughts course hurriedly through Sybil's brain, but just at this moment May comes into the dining room and cries out in rapture at the appearance of Evangeline. Sybil hastily shuts the paper within the pages of the volume and goes on piling up the books, with her back towards the child.

"And won't you soon make Dolly's veil?" asks little May, twining grateful arms round her cousin's neck.

"Don't kiss me. Don't kiss me, May -- I'm wicked." Sybil draws aside with a shudder. Evil voices seem whispering temptation to the aching heart.

"That you're not!" cries May indignantly. "But you do look so white, Sybil. I think you ought to have a powder. I shall just go and tell mamma you are ill."

By the time Mrs. Agmere comes in, Sybil is so faint and tearful that her aunt settles her upon the couch. Oh, if auntie would only spread the shawls upon some other sofa, and not just opposite the sideboard where Sybil's gaze seems fascinated by the ponderous volume that holds auntie's loss and disappointment.

Mrs. Agmere seems in better spirits today, and looks fair and sweet in her new black dress with a bunch of white chrysanthemums in the front. Mr. Drury has stayed to lunch today as it is raining, and he keeps up such an animated conversation that Mrs. Agmere forgets the grief and worries of the past weeks, and Sybil, lying quietly on her sofa, helped to the daintiest morsels of chicken, looks with a bursting heart around the happy group, and shivers with fear lest Mr. Drury should turn over the volumes on the sideboard and draw out the paper now reposing between the pages.

"I know what I will do," she thinks at last, with a sensation of glad relief. "Auntie always says Jesus hears us when we pray, and I know He did take Lillie's toothache away one night when I asked Him to. I will go upstairs after dinner and ask Him not to let this paper be the lost will at all. Just some of grandpa's composing. Tracts or something like that. The writing on the back won't matter if it's only Bible references inside. I'll go and pray this first, and then I won't mind opening the paper."

She smothers the rising thought of what she will do if this should really be the document enriching Dick. Sybil is old enough, sharp enough to understand what she ought to do -- take the paper to her aunt, who would then acquaint Mr. Totter with the discovery.

But she adores her aunt, and is a coward at the notion of returning the tenderness lavished upon her with a shock like this. Sybil is filled with the idea, though not shaped into actual words, that she can arrange Mrs. Agmere's future and the future of her cousins better than the Almighty God and Father of us all Himself. No, she will not decide how to act should this prove to be the will. She will fall on her knees and pray that it may turn out only one of grandpa's many rough copies of new tracts, on some similar paper.

The rest go out for a drive. Mr. Drury accepts a seat into Market Wickham, where he lodges and receives pupils to read with him in the afternoon. Mrs. Agmere and her children pass the time in shopping and visiting, bidding Sybil try to sleep, and wake up to see what auntie will bring her from the town.

As soon as she is alone Sybil slips to her knees, and with tears and cries she prays that the lost will may never be found -- that it may not be this "unjust will" which is inside the Doctrines of Religion. She is so sure the Lord hears prayer, that she is quite prepared, when she crosses the room, to find those glaring words, "The Last Will and Testament" obliterated, or having no connexion with the interior contents of the folded paper. Her arms ache as she lifts down the heavy volume. Her lips feel dry and her hands icy cold as she holds that paper at last.

"The Last Will and Testament of Richard Agmere, Esq., of Beech Glen, Market Wickham. Dated 11 November, 18 -- ."

She unfolds the paper, and the characters within seem to dance before her eyes. She reads, "I Richard Agmere" at the commencement, and presently she sees the words, "my dearly-loved grandson Richard Agmere," and, indeed, the whole paper seems to be full of "the said Richard Agmere," whom she understands well to mean that common, cross boy, Dick.

Did God not hear her prayer then? Does He not care about her agony? Does He not know how she loves her aunt, and how good and sweet auntie is, and how bad and vulgar Dick is? It is cruel, unjust to take away Beech Glen from auntie and give it to a boy like Dick. But Dick will never get it away from auntie, unless this paper is found.

Sybil turns hot and cold. She is old enough to go through all the fierce struggles of a conscious temptation. She looks at the bright blaze in the grate, and covers her eyes, and rushes towards the door, to carry the paper to the safe keeping of Sarah Ann. And then she returns, and stands on the rug, thinking of the comfort and happiness that will be auntie's if she stays on at Beech Glen, of the brightening days they are all knowing now, and how much better-tempered towards their mother Dora and Jasper always are, when they can get all they want. Why should they all, who have lived so long at Beech Glen, have to turn out of their home because the money is to go to a street-boy who used to sell papers and lights?

"He won't know how to take care of Beech Glen," thinks Sybil, "and auntie makes such beautiful fancy-work that everybody admires for the rooms. I believe it will break her heart if she has to go."

Sybil knows nothing of "auntie's" daily pleading that she may be prepared for whatever awaits her, that the Lord will choose for her and the children, whether as to little or all of the property, because His will is best. By earnest prayer, by communion with the Lord of love, Mrs. Agmere has reached the peace which could never be destroyed if she had to quit Beech Glen tomorrow; but of this Sybil does not think. She pictures only the whiteness of the tearful face, the fretting of the children, the lamentations of the servants, were the happy household broken up.

"What can I do? What shall I do?" Sybil asks herself tremblingly again and again, twisting the paper in her hands. She does not ask, "What would God have me to do?" She knows the answer full well, and stifles the voice of her conscience. Just then Judy, stretched on the rug, awakens from a nap, all ready for a game; Sybil lifts her hand impatiently to bid her lie down, and Judy darts up at the paper, taking it as a signal for play. Judy tears everything procurable to bits, and this habit Sybil knows right well; yet she stands immovable, watching the dog run off with the paper, and pulling it into shreds beneath the table. A footstep is heard in the hall, and Sybil darts at the pieces, and throws them all hastily into the glowing fire.

"Well, dearie," says Sarah Ann, "so you are not asleep? I brought you down such a beautiful orange. Bless the child, to think of her getting down one of the poor squire's clever books to read. 'Tis a religious book, too, and wonderful edifying, I don't doubt," says Sarah Ann, glancing at the open volume, and looking at Sybil with respect as an embryo Martha Matthews of storybook fame.

Sybil takes her advice and tries to get a nap. The room is darkened, and Judy frisks out after Sarah Ann, who is seldom proof against uplifted paws soliciting biscuits.

"I did not destroy the paper -- it was all Judy's fault," thinks Sybil restlessly, running over to the fire and finding no trace of the torn fragments. "But I must not -- dare not -- tell Mr. Potter now. It would be no use now the will is gone, and perhaps they might put me in prison for not stopping Judy." And she shivers with dread at the thought.

"At any rate, Beech Glen is auntie's now, and she will give Dick all the money he wants." Sybil tries to console herself with this thought, but she is too fidgety and troubled to sleep. Somehow, she cannot help recalling the look in grandpa's eyes as he turned them upon little Dick, and the solemn tone of the old man's voice as he said, "There are wrongs for which no repentance can entirely atone."

"Sybil! Sybil! Just see what mamma has bought for you! You'll let me make tea out of the teapot this evening, won't you, Sybil, because I'm bigger than you are?"

Dora, coming forward in delight, draws from beds of cotton-wool a beautiful tea set, all roses and gold, and she is astonished that Sybil answers only by a burst of tears.

"You must see Dr. Mould tomorrow, Sybil," says Mrs. Agmere anxiously. "I should like you to get to bed at once, and put off the tea party with this new set till another day. Your hands are quite cold, my dear. Dora, ask Sarah Ann to put a hot bottle in Sybil's bed. She will be coming up presently."

Sybil retires to rest amid general sympathy, brightened only by admiring inspection of the new tea set. She kneels down as usual beside her little white bed, but she kneels in silence. For the first time in her remembrance her heart feels "dry as dust," and she rises up frightened, hardened, feeling desolate and evil; for God seems far, far from her, and she cannot pray.

### Chapter 7

"Fortunate Mrs. Agmere"

THE orchard trees have blossomed anew around Beech Glen. Winter is past and gone, and the roses, creamy, pale, and "royal dusk," are drinking the summer dews again, and smiling in the sunlight. The girls have lightened their mourning. They go about now in white dresses with black ribbons, and it seems to them a long, long time since they sat solemnly round the dining table, and listened to the old squire's dissertations and lengthy exhortations.

In the Market Wickham burial ground a handsome monument will shortly stand, commemorative of the Squire Agmere who preferred not to rest with his fathers in consecrated ground. Poor old gentleman, he was as particular in his bigotry to avoid the vicinity of the parish church, as certain other Market Wickhamites, to prevent themselves being contaminated after death by contact with the ashes of Dissenters.

In the chapel, the schoolchildren in the gallery have lately found a new object of interest in a tablet let into the wall above the pulpit. Herein the squire's virtues are described at length by his fellow deacons in terms to which the deceased, who had nothing of the Pharisee about him, save where his denomination was concerned, would have strongly objected, could he have been consulted on the matter. The tablet is read likewise, Sunday by Sunday, by the young Agmeres, who know by heart the original verse composed by the Rev. Mr. Dymok:

WE MOURN HIS EXIT FROM THESE EARTHLY SCENES,

WHO TOWERED SO HIGH AMONG HIS FELLOW BEINGS;

OUR BROTHER OWNED A READY WRITER'S PEN,

RESPECTED BY ALL MARKET WICKHAM MEN.

The children quite coincide with these expressions of esteem and lamentation, but unconsciously to themselves they enjoy life a great deal more than before the poor squire was taken. And they would find it very hard to go back, if they could, to the old days of Spartan-like discipline.

Sybil is gradually escaping from the memories of that wintry afternoon when she stifled the voice of conscience, and did evil that the good nearest to her own desires might come to pass. At first she was really ill, tortured by an agony of remorse, and again and again she was on the point of confessing to Mrs. Agmere, or Mr. Potter, or Mr. Dymok, during some ministerial visit, the act she had perpetrated; but added to her anxiety on her aunt's behalf there now existed the dread of having incurred some unknown terrible penalties from the law for concealing the discovery of the will.

Sybil comes to see that she has been doubly guilty -- guilty of destroying all traces of the paper -- guilty, as the months go on, of smothering the pleading of conscience. Nevertheless, she repeats supplications night and morning, and learns her hymns and verses more readily than languid Dora; but her thoughts and interests have gradually become filled up with her lessons, her amusements, and, far beyond these, the concerns of the family into which she has been adopted, and slowly but surely she is even learning to forget that she has brought about an injustice and a wrong.

There can be no doubt that Mrs. Agmere will be eventually recognised by all as the owner of Beech Glen. There have been difficulties about her succession, but everyone is coming to the conclusion that the latest will was torn up by Squire Agmere. No doubt he changed his mind on deeper consideration of the matter.

Mrs. Agmere has begged Mr. Potter to provide liberally for little Dick's education, and Mr. Drury has offered to take the boy for a time as a resident pupil. But here another difficulty has arisen -- Dick Agmere has disappeared beyond the lawyer's energetic search. Mr. Potter has to resign himself, at last, to the force of circumstances, and acknowledge that the squire's hopes for the boy seem destined never to find fulfilment.

Mrs. Calligan, employed at a laundry, is brought from the vicinity of Covent Garden down to Beech Glen to give all the information possible as to the missing boy. "It were this way, you see, my lord and my lady," says the good woman, addressing herself to Mrs. Agmere and Mr. Potter. "When the little chap got back to Clogs Alley, half frozen with the cold \-- for he'd had to sell his jacket and waistcoat for victuals, when he were that unthankful as to cut and run from your ladyship's house, which there is many would be glad of the chance; and I've seven myself, and buried three, and can speak from a feeling heart"

"Oh, he got back to Clogs Alley, did he?" asks Mr. Potter.

"Yes, your worship; and old Mrs. Muggins, what had looked after his poor mother at the last, and what he called 'gran,' were on her last legs then with the shivers and rheumatics. She were turned eighty, and did ought to have gone upon the parish, poor soul! She and Dick were that pleased to see one another, it brought the tears to a body's eyes, it did. He said a gentleman of the name of Mr. Stubbs had told him once, when he arst him, that the clothes he had on was his own, for his granddad had giv them all to him. So very soon he sells his shoes and his little flannels what he had on for to get nice victuals for his gran. But, bless you, the old lady didn't last long. She went off like the snuff of a candle, with Dick's arms around her. And didn't the little chap take on! The parish buried Mrs. Muggins, and Dick followed the hearse, and I'd have gone, too, but my Polly were down with the colic, and groaning dreadful. And, after that, goodness knows, my lady, where little Dick have got to. I've heercd him say as no gentlefolks should get him along of them again, and he wanted to go for a clown in a travelling show. So likely as not, your worship, he have followed some Punch or some circus; and it's my opinion as it's no more use a-looking for him than trying to find a needle in a bundle of hay. Billy, the puppy, have gone, too. Dick saved him when some boys was a-going to hang him, and he thinks a sight of Billy. No, the little chap's clean gone off, my lady, Billy and all -- with many thanks, your lordship, for the sovereign and the bit of good dinner as I've had under this here roof; and there's many a children as might pay to adopt better than young Dick, which my Samuel Henry he have took a prize in the British School, and plays the fife beautiful, and a Good Templar, too, your worship."

Time seems to prove Mrs. Calligan's utterances to have been prophetic. It is no use to look for Dick Agmere, though travelling showmen and circus proprietors are repeatedly sought out and questioned.

"What's the good of looking for him?" asks Jasper. "He was only a common sort of chap, and if you did have him taught, it would only be taking him out of his proper place, mamma."

"My dear, he is your poor uncle Richard's child, remember."

"Yes, but he was always among common people, you know," says Dora; "and I know he could not bear the lessons poor grandpa used to teach him, so he never would have prized education; and we should all have been horribly ashamed of him as our cousin. So I am not at all sorry that he has vanished out of sight."

"A very fortunate woman," say the neighbours of Mrs. Agmere, remembering her as a physician's deprived daughter before she married the squire's second son. "Sole mistress of the Agmeres' large property, in the prime of life and improved health, with all those lovely children growing up around her. Surely Phyllis Agmere's is a lot to be envied. There can be no crumpled rose-leaves in her portion, at any rate."

But Mrs. Agmere, amid all the smiles of fortune, is by no means free from care. Dora, who never has admitted her mother's control save with a sort of indulgent fondness towards a nature feebler as to will than her own, is developing traits of vanity and extravagance which are a sore trouble to Mrs. Agmere, and which she suspects are encouraged by a very stylish French governess she has lately engaged for the girls, on Mrs. Singleton's recommendation.

Mademoiselle Nonnette is quite an authority on the fashions, and Dora is already beginning to "do up" her hair on all possible occasions, and insist upon lengthened dresses, and she refuses to dine early at her mother's lunch. Jasper, too, knowing no need or call for self-denial, is growing more and more forgetful of the rights and claims of others. Jasper Agmere, of Beech Glen, to him seems to represent the principal personage in existence, and Mr. Drury, for reasons best known to himself, takes no steps to check the boy's overbearing selfishness, and acts towards him as leniently as his adoring mother.

The Rev. Mr. Dymok, whose eyes are open to the state of affairs, preaches a sermon one Sunday morning on Eli and his children, at the risk of offending his wealthiest member. Mrs. Agmere, however, is not in the habit of personally appropriating a discourse, and she placidly passes the ministerial warnings over in her mind to the father and mother in the next pew, whose boys are in the habit of cracking nuts and consuming peppermints during divine service.

Mrs. Agmere has never lavished upon Sybil the passionate affection outpoured towards her own four children, though she is fond of the little Indian maiden, and touched at times by her tireless devotion. Gradually however she begins to lean more and more on Sybil as her right hand, and takes it for granted that Sybil will interpose her energies to suggest some compromise or solution when Dora and Jasper are persistently worrying in their ideas and plans, and when one of the widow's nervous headaches are coming on in consequence.

There is one who would gladly lift from Mrs. Agmere's shoulders the responsibilities of estate and family alike, and the widow is the only person in Market Wickham unconscious of Mr. Drury's hopes. This good gentleman was the son of an old friend of Squire Agmere's, and having led a somewhat adventurous life abroad, being assisted to emigrate by his family as not too steady, Henry Drury returned to the mother-country at last, after his father's death, with empty pockets and a conviction that he must somehow work or starve.

His prepossessing manners favoured his application for advice to Squire Agmere. He proved useful for a time in literary work, and then the squire suggested that he should lodge in Market Wickham, teach Jasper every morning, and advertise for other pupils. Drury took care that his religious opinions coincided with those of the squire, who would scarcely have believed his ears did he hear the ideas sometimes carelessly propounded by the tutor in the presence of the boys, most of whom, however, were thinking too profoundly of the catapults and peashooters and gingerbread in their pockets to follow any vague speculations as to the advantages of believing nothing, save on material proof.

Since the squire's death, Mr. Drury has given up paying for a seat at Market Wickham chapel; but Mrs. Agmere, understanding the probable shortness of his purse, makes him welcome to the comfortably cushioned and curtained pew sacred to the Beech Glen household. Mr. Dymok gets a little confused in his discourse sometimes, having a great opinion of Mr. Drury's scholarship, and seeing those critical, cynical eyes fixed upon him as he passes to the stage of "sixthly, and in conclusion."

"Time enough for a struggle of will by-and-by," thinks the tutor, when Jasper chooses occasionally to disobey him, and rather wonders to see his handsome face so equable and undisturbed. "I cannot afford to make this boy an enemy, for he turns his mother round his little finger. But when the game is played out, and the little widow and Beech Glen and its revenues are my own -- then, my young gentleman, it will not take very long to settle the point as to who is master. Meanwhile, I can afford to wait, and to mentally arrange your future, young sir, at a boarding school as far away from Beech Glen as possible."

### Chapter 8

The Tutor's Hopes

NOW the children begin dimly to suspect that the property left to their mother was not so great as their ideas conceived. Slowly and gradually, but very surely, it becomes evident to all that Mrs. Agmere shrinks from parting with her money, and is anxious to cut down the Beech Glen expenditure on all sides. Several servants are found to be unnecessary. Part of the orchards and the kitchen-garden are let to a Market Wickham nurseryman; and, to Dora's horror, the repainting of the family carriage is postponed again and again, till she is ashamed for the Traceys and the Singletons to see the faded vehicle rolling by.

The only point in which Mrs. Agmere yields as to the spending of money concerns her children. Dora and Jasper take care to have plenty of pocket money at their disposal, and the twins look always sweet and flower-like in the daintiest of costumes. The fact is that Mrs. Agmere, never very strong-minded, has grown bewildered and a little frightened by finding all this wealth at her disposal, and a horror is growing upon her that the good fortune may not last -- that, somehow or other, her money may be swept beyond her reach, and she and the children be left worse off than before, because of the luxury they have known.

Her money is continually in her thoughts. No source of comfort, but of anxiety and dread. Her fears foresee the children growing up with expensive tastes that she may not have the means to satisfy, for how suddenly has money taken to itself wings and flown away, and how often people richer than herself have found themselves ruined and in the workhouse!

Neighbours, seeing the gradual increase of Mrs. Agmere's economy, wonder if she can have lost money in unwise speculations. They know not how her savings at her banker's are accumulating, nor what a pain to her it is becoming to be asked by a tenant for an ashbin, a new fence, or a few extra tiles.

The eighteen months that have now passed by since first she felt the property within her grasp have not left Mrs. Agmere a calmer or happier woman. Sybil owns, in her secret heart, that auntie is more fretful than she used to be; but then Dora and Jasper are so teasing; it would have served them right to be just poor people's children; then, perhaps, they might have learnt to be more contented. And now and then, like a miserable, uncomfortable wound, arises the thought that it might have been as well for all if the secret transgression of that wintry afternoon had never been committed. But Sybil refuses to think about it. The thing is done, and at any rate Beech Glen, with all its beauties and comforts, is auntie's for ever.

One day, in honour of Dora's birthday, there is a juvenile party at Beech Glen, and Jasper is deputed to ask his mother for the key of an old wardrobe in which are certain costumes the young folks require for charades.

"Madame is occupied, Master Jasper," says Stubbs, whose whispering converse with Sarah Ann in the passage arouses the boy's curiosity. "She won't thank you to disturb her just now. There is a visitor in the drawing room -- Mr. Drury."

"Drury! Why, he's nobody!" cries Jasper, hurriedly pushing past the pair and throwing open the drawing room door. Mrs. Agmere is seated quietly at her lace-work, but Mr. Drury is strangely near to her, and looking down at her with an expression which, although the widow cannot see it, is sufficiently sentimental to open Jasper's eyes pretty widely.

"Another time, Jasper," says Mr. Drury, in a tone he seldom uses. "I have to speak to your mother on particular business tonight."

The boy is so dazed and startled he almost involuntarily retreats, and going by himself into a quiet corner of the picture-gallery he bursts into a passionate flood of tears. Here he is found by Sybil, sent by Dora to make enquiries concerning the wardrobe key. It is the rarest thing possible to see Jasper cry, and Sybil's first idea is that he must have partaken prematurely and too freely in the supper room.

"Have you a pain, Jasper?" she asks anxiously. "You know ices don't ever agree with you, Jasper. Won't you come and lie down?"

"I haven't touched the ices," sobs the boy. "It's that Drury, Sybil. I might have known what he was up to, always wheedling round mamma, but I never, never dreamt he'd have the impudence."

"Whatever do you mean, Jasper? What has Mr. Drury done?"

"Why, he's stating his love to mamma, or he's going to, and of course now she'll go and marry again, and old Drury will be my step-father. He can be jolly nasty when he likes, I tell you. He's after mamma's money, that's what it is. I wish she hadn't a penny, that I do, sooner than Drury should come here and lord it over us!"

"So it is Mr. Drury I have been making rich!" The thought rushes into Sybil's mind, and she stands with a burning face, miserably twisting about on restless feet, watching Jasper's wretchedness. She knows her aunt well enough to understand how completely she would be under the influence of a stronger mind, and she sees Mr. Drury master of her aunt, the master of the juveniles, and of stately Beech Glen.

"Oh, Jasper," she gasps, "I am sorry! I know Mr. Drury can be sharp and cross sometimes. He could be sharper to auntie than grandpa was. Do you really think auntie cares about him, Jasper?"

"Of course she does. Tracey Major says all the women in Market Wickham think no end of Drury's good looks; but he knows what he's about. He means to get hold of a rich wife, and mamma will get idolising him, and she won't like me the best anymore."

And down goes the head again, in real grief at feeling turned away from the position Jasper has consciously held so long -- that of first and dearest with his indulgent mother. Sybil can find no word of comfort. She stands silently behind him, his impatient cry piercing her conscience like a knife. "If only mamma had not been so rich, people would not have come bothering her to marry again. Dora and I will never be happy, I know, if we have a stepfather."

So the means she took to produce family content and peace will only result in bitterness, disputes, and consequent worries for auntie! Sybil begins to realize that human wisdom may make terrible mistakes in wilfully taking upon itself the arrangement of events, but she has resolved to forget her part in the course of circumstances at Beech Glen. The flow of her remorseful memory is changed by the sound of approaching steps. Jasper flees before the merry-making juveniles, ashamed of his red eyes, but Sybil throws herself into the midst and tries to become the brightest of the group, showing them the pictures of bygone Agmeres and all the beauties of the gallery.

Meanwhile a scene that Jasper's desponding thoughts little imagine is going on in Mrs. Agmere's drawing room. Mr. Drury has by letter solicited an interview, and the widow has granted it, with anxious misgivings lest he should be about to ask increase of payment for his instruction of her son. One of the Singletons has gone to Eton, and Jasper is anxious to follow his example. Sooner or later Mrs. Agmere fears this expense must come, but she has been desirous of keeping the boy as long as possible under Mr. Drury's cheaper tuition. It will be most annoying if the tutor has any intention of raising his terms. In case of his doing so, she must procure a cheaper governess for the girls than Mademoiselle Nonnette.

"Mrs. Agmere," says Mr. Drury, in the sweetest accents he can command, "it is difficult for me to express myself tonight with composure and courage. You have seen me shy and embarrassed of late in your presence, but tonight my timidity has reached its climax. How shall I proceed?"

"If you are needing a loan, Mr. Drury," says Mrs. Agmere, colouring, for she has no intention of making any advance to the tutor, "I must refer you to my solicitor. He manages all business matters for me. But my expenses are very great, and my means are limited."

"You doubtless feel the responsibility of property like this," says Mr. Drury, with sympathy. "You should cast the burden on the shoulders of another. What you want is a sympathetic companion who will share your joys and your sorrows, and sweeten for you your daily life."

"Mademoiselle Nonnette is very suitable," says Mrs. Agmere simply, "if she only understood embroidery. I should have preferred somebody familiar with all the latest patterns."

Mr. Drury coughs. It seems difficult to approach with sentiment this gentle little widow, sighing softly to herself in private computation of the cost of the children's supper.

"Never mind about embroidery," says he, waving aside the subject. "I came to speak with you on a matter far more important. I have been feeling very lonely, very desolate in my bachelor lodgings of late."

"Then why not change your rooms, Mr. Drury? Mrs. Budd, of Green Row, has nine children. It would be livelier for you where there are children, and I know the woman well. You may have noticed her -- with a cast in her eye -- in the pew to our left; and she gets up linen beautifully."

"My circumstances are lonely and solitary," begins Mr. Drury poetically.

"If expense would keep you out of Green Row, Mr. Drury, I would not mind some little addition to Jasper's fees. He wished to learn music. Do you teach music? Perhaps the cost of the lessons might cover the increased charges at Mrs. Budd's."

Mr. Drury flushes a little. He resolves no further to beat about the bush. He has come to ask the mistress of Beech Glen for her property and herself, and she is offering, out of benevolence, that he shall initiate her boy into the First Instruction Book! He is certain that she cannot be indifferent to him. She has often told him how much she enjoys his reading aloud, his conversations on the questions of the day, even his keen, witty criticisms of Mr. Dymok's sermons.

"Dear Mrs. Agmere," says he softly, "we are told on the best authority that it is not good for man to be alone. We bachelors fall into such miserably selfish ways till some guardian angel in the form of woman stretches out her fair hand to rescue us. It is my hope and longing, dear madam, to change my state."

"Are you going to get married, Mr. Drury? Shall you still take pupils?"

"In a tender and private sense, dear madam, I hope still to be guiding and nurturing the young idea. You ask me if I am about to marry. My answer depends upon yourself. I am here tonight to throw myself upon your compassion and to ask your consent."

"Is it Mademoiselle Nonnctte?" asks Mrs. Agmere, bewildered. "I am sure I hope you will be happy, but please do not let the children see too much. I do not want any foolish ideas about love and that sort of thing put into their heads."

"My dearest madam," says Mr. Drury, a little impatiently, "how is it that you are blind to the true state of my feelings? I have striven to subdue, to tear out from my heart my affectionate reverence for yourself; but my one longing -- the one object for which I live, is to be a companion and a comfort to you -- your strength, your counsellor, your second self. In short, your husband. Can you love me, Phyllis, just a little?"

"Mr. Drury! You insult me, sir! Where is Jasper? Oh, if my poor dear father-in-law had lived, you would not have forgotten yourself thus!"

Mr. Drury inwardly agrees with her, for in that case she would not be so worth the wooing as at present. He lays his hand on hers, endeavouring to calm her, for she is edging away towards the bell.

"Dearest madam, how can any respectful proposal be an insult? I lay my hand, my heart at your feet"

"I do not mean to be rude," she says, sobbing, "but you must not say any more. I have a husband already, Mr. Drury -- the best, the tenderest of men!"

"What? Does Mr. Thomas Agmere still survive?"

"Not on earth, but that makes no difference to me. I have never thought as some do about matters like these. Thomas is my husband, whether in Heaven or on earth, and I should no more dream of marrying again than ... than ... my poor father would ever have done."

"Squire Agmere was old," says Mr. Drury, looking, as he feels, much disconcerted. "You are young. You need a protector -- someone to take care of your wealth for you and your children, and see you are not cheated."

"I am not so very rich," says Mrs. Agmere, a little sharply, "and I can look after my children's interests best myself. Oh, if only poor Thomas had never gone by that early train. I begged him not. I wished him to take lunch first, but he was always so neglectful of himself. If he had only gone by the afternoon train, he would not have been in that accident, and I should have had him still. Poor Thomas, so soon cut off!"

Mr. Drury finds it most uninteresting to listen to these lamentations concerning one whose place he had mentally arranged to fill. He is just gathering his conversational forces for another encounter, when Mrs. Agmere, finding herself close to the bell, touches it, and Stubbs, who has been very near, appears ready armed with Mr. Drury's coat and umbrella, and bows him with all courtesy away.

It does not take Jasper very long to find out that his fears have been needless, and that Mr. Drury will not rule at Beech Glen. He gives his mother a raptured hug that night of love and gratitude, and informs Sybil that, "It's all for the best, and I'm certain to go to Eton after the holidays now."

Sybil feels greatly relieved and comforted. So no harm has been done by the part she played, after all.

### Chapter 9

The Root of All Evil

IT is autumn again, damp, misty, and showery. The fields are reaped, the orchard trees have nearly dropped their leaves, and the annual "hard times" have begun for Market Wickham people. Farming and trade have alike been bad of late, but for the poor of Market Wickham and the neighbouring villages, the winter months are the hardest of all, for fuel then is wanted as well as food, and many a poor creature in distress has been wont, in the past, to come up appealingly to Beech Glen to ask the squire for a job of work, or a few soup and coal tickets for sake of the needy ones at home.

Squire Agmere was agreeable, on such occasions, to present the applicant with a tract, and to declaim against certain charitable societies connected with the parish church which did not proceed exactly on the same lines he himself would have laid down. To such speeches the poor listened patiently, knowing that the tract was never given without the wherewithal to be warmed and fed, and that the squire would follow up his lecture on thrift and reproaches as to mismanagement by a glance at the pale face and worn clothes and a dip of the hand into his own substantial pocket.

"But now," say the poor, "times are changed at Beech Glen. The Lady of the Manor do keep a tight hold on her money. There's a many as thinks her ladyship were a deal freer and more open-handed when she hadn't got a tenth part of what's all her own at the present."

Many an appeal reaches the Manor House as in the squire's time, from various denominational and benevolent societies; but few of these are read by Mrs. Agmere, and none receives response. "Charity begins at home," she tells herself. "I must think just now of the children's education, and, really, Jasper's expenses at Eton come very heavy. If I am not careful, I shall be in the workhouse. Who knows but that my bankers may even yet break down, and then my savings will go. Money is so uncertain. It would never do for me to throw it away among these different societies."

And for the same reason, she never sees the hungry, despairing folk to which her father-in-law was wont to give audience; and one by one they turn in heartsick disappointment from her door.
"Unless I lay by all I can," she thinks in anxious foreboding, "the time may come when I shall be as poor as these, for many richer than myself have found themselves beggared before now."

Mrs. Agmere's troubled mind is so full of concern about her earthly riches that the idea of lending to the Lord -- the thought of the treasure in Heaven -- can find no place at all; or, if now and then such a remembrance flashes upon the spirit pledged once to the Master's service, it is very soon lost in the manifold cares connected with her property. Even Sybil, while adoring Aunt Phyllis, wonders vaguely sometimes if the wealth has been to her aunt a blessing or an evil.

The quietude of Market Wickham trade has materially affected the stipend of the minister. Many seat-holders have failed in their payments, and the collections have been scanty and small. Were it not for the contribution to the pastor's salary that is always guaranteed from the Manor House, good Mr. Dymok would be in far greater straits than he is at present, when his large family are necessarily almost vegetarians, and, perhaps, no worse off for the fact. Under these circumstances, and at his time of life, when it would be hard work to find another position, it wants some amount of courage for a minister to interview the prominent and only moneyed member of his congregation with a view to remonstrance and expostulation.

Mr. Dymok, however, has been visiting some of his poorer members at Marsh Buildings, a distant part of the Agmere estate, and the absence of sanitation, the unwholesome smells and prevalent sickness have stricken him to the heart. He is well aware that the squire intended this portion of his estate to be well drained, and at the time of his last illness was in correspondence with sanitary authorities on the subject. Mr. Agmere did not mean to re-let the tumbledown barns, but to build other and healthier cottages.

The minister finds now that the drainage scheme has fallen through, and that for the sake of the few weekly shillings thus gained these wretched barns are again in occupation, and once more the abodes of sickness. With a nervous heart, but feeling he is only acting out a pastor's duty, Mr. Dymok calls at Beech Glen, and is received very affably by Mrs. Agmere who invites him to stay to tea.

"I suppose you have called for the missionary subscription," she says, nestling amid the velvet cushions of the ottoman. "I cannot, of course, continue what my poor father-in-law used to give. Shall we say now a pound a year? I always feel, you know, that 'charity begins at home,' and, with my growing family, I must not be unmindful of home claims, though of course I feel every sympathy with missionary work, and the girls shall dress a doll for the mission sale."

"God only wants what it is in your power to give, madam," says Mr. Dymok, with a little tremble in his voice. "If your heart wills to give Him the pound, I take it for His work in His name. But the missionary subscriptions are very low this year. Trade has been slack so long."

"Indeed," says Mrs. Agmere, "I hope things will mend. I never deal locally myself now, finding I can get things so much cheaper elsewhere."

"I did not call about the missionary society, though," says the minister. "I came to beg you to have something done about the drainage of Marsh Buildings. Those houses are in a dreadful state, Mrs. Agmere, and the adjacent water is enough to spread disease. My poor friend, the late squire, had certain plans prepared about that part of his estate."

"I suppose the tenants have been complaining again," says Mrs. Agmere. "They are always grumbling. What can they expect for the low rent they pay? I would not have let those houses at all, only really what with a household of servants -- three maids indoors and a coachman and gardener without -- and Jasper at Eton, and Mademoiselle to teach the accomplishments, I do not know sometimes where to turn for money. I cannot spend money on drainage just now, Mr. Dymok. It is out of the question."

"Mrs. Agmere, some of the tenants may lose their lives. I tell you candidly I am persuading them to seek other quarters, and I have promised to look out for such for them. They stay in Marsh Buildings at their peril. It is iniquitous to take money for hovels like these."

Mr. Dymok speaks more warmly than he is aware, and Mrs. Agmere's dignified demeanour warns him that he has probably given offence.

"If I seem discourteous," he says, "pardon me. Remember, I have known you from a girl, and as your pastor I am only anxious to give you good and righteous counsel. Go and see those hovels for yourself, Mrs. Agmere, if you are not afraid to look the disgraceful facts in the face; then decide whether, as God's steward, you can find the money or not to render this part of your property sweet, wholesome, and healthy."

"It is nothing but a call for money everywhere," says Mrs. Agmere, half in tears. "What with cricketing things for Jasper, and dancing shoes for the girls, and Dora's Christmas parties coming on, and Dr. Mould often treating me for nervous headache, one's purse is drained on all sides. And people think me richer than I am, Mr. Dymok. I might come to the workhouse yet. One cannot be too careful."

"Will you have the drainage seen to, and repay yourself yearly from my salary?" says Mr. Dymok. "Say ten or fifteen pounds a year till all is paid. Could you do it then?"

Mrs. Agmere looks at the minister. She does not mention her long cherished idea of changing the fifty pounds a year, guaranteed by the squire, towards the pastor's fund into an annual five-pound note. She sees his worn overcoat, and thinks of the children around his board, and her conscience is smitten as she understands his offer.

"I will bear the matter in mind," she says faintly. "I will have the place drained by-and-by, when I feel I can afford the expense."

With this answer Mr. Dymok is fain to be contented for the present. As time goes on he writes an earnest letter of reminder, and Mr. Drury, hearing from Stubbs one day that "madam is rare vexed with the minister for worrying so," marvels that for the sake of the chapel Mr. Dymok is not more diplomatic.

Mr. Drury understands by this time that he made a mistake in so prematurely declaring himself. He goes on with his scholastic work as best he can, ambition still pointing fondly to the administration of the Beech Glen estates.

Mrs. Agmere tells herself that she really means by-and-by to do her duty by that part of her property which the minister has condemned as "iniquitous." When the Christmas expenses are all over, and Jasper's new suits paid for, and she can examine her books and see just what she can spare, she will begin to think of consulting someone about the drainage. But it is sure to come expensive, and poor people need not make such a fuss over a few bad smells!

And so the same state of things goes on, and poison hangs about the air on that far off part of the Beech Glen estate, and a little baby, the only child of its parents \-- poor farm labourers -- sickens and dies, and Mrs. Agmere remarks what expense will be saved as to food and clothing to the father and mother now, and she sends a shilling towards the baby's funeral.

It then it comes to pass that one day Lilias and May come in from a long ramble for lichen and berries, with a great basket full of lovely treasure-trove, and they relate that their fairest spoils have been gathered near the Marsh Pond.

"Oh, there are such lovely berries round!" says Lilias, with her sweet face uplifted, flushed, and eager. "Only it smelt so bad all round there, mother, it made May quite queer, and I ran and got her some water, and that tasted nasty, too. I got it at a cottage where there is a woman very ill. Her husband said he would get her away if only she could move, it is dreadfully unhealthy there. May I take her some jelly, mamma?"

"No, no!" says her mother sharply. "Where was Mademoiselle? How could you let them go there, Mademoiselle?"

"We wanted berries," say the children, "and the others were with the Singletons. We gave them the slip for a little time, and see what beautiful things we've found!"

Only Sybil notices how white and anxious is the face Aunt Phyllis turns upon her beautiful twin daughters. She administers medicine to each, despite their laughing astonishment, and that afternoon she sits down tremblingly to begin to count the cost of sanitation as concerns Marsh Buildings.

While she is cogitating how cheaply she can satisfy her conscience and the neighbours, Sarah Ann comes in to report that, "Miss May have a dull sort of headache, and don't seem quite herself." Mrs. Agmere starts up, throws aside her calculations, and sends hastily for Dr. Mould.

Next morning May is no better, and Lilias is fretful and quite unlike her bonnie little self. Dr. Mould gives sedatives to the distracted mother, and sends in a professional nurse. Mrs. Agmere says nothing now about expense. She only walks the rooms distractedly, feeling that all her hoarded wealth could perish tomorrow if she could only see her winsome little girls bright and strong again.

The doctor hints first at blood poisoning, and then speaks of typhoid fever, and shakes his head when he hears of the place where the children played, and of the draught they drank. A West End physician comes down in consultation, but the disease takes a critical and then a hopeless turn. The little things, in their white beds side by side, become delirious, and Mrs. Agmere listens, as in a dream, to their innocent talk, their snatches of hymns, their broken texts and childlike imaginings.

One night, just before the dawn, the dark-robed angel comes to the stately manor, and kisses the children's faces; and with one slight pang, the white souls are set free, and a great cry goes up through all that house for the little lambs that for evermore are within the sinless fold.

### Chapter 10

For Sake of Jasper's Heritage

PEOPLE say that Mrs. Agmere is never the same woman after the death of her twin daughters. A costly and exquisite piece of sculpture marks the place of their rest, and then she feels that through all the long years she may have yet to live, she can do no more for her children who need nothing now at her careful hands. The little ones will never require the money she has been hoarding with such anxious diligence.

She has pictured her beautiful May and Lilias making wealthy marriages, and receiving rich dowers from the gold she has laid by for her children's sake. Now she turns with passionate yearning towards the two that are left, graceful Dora and the boy of whom she is so proud and loving, impulsive Sybil, who is her best and sweetest comforter now, and seems just to understand how sore is the bereaved, stricken heart.

Sybil notices what few perceive, that Mrs. Agmere's tresses are beginning to be streaked with grey, and that troubled lines are creeping about lips and brow. As time goes on, these wrinkles deepen, and the snow lies prematurely, indeed, among the thick locks of brown. The cares of riches, the mother's cry for the children who are not, and anxiety for those who remain -- these are as burdens upon the heart that of old, when barns and storehouses did not overflow, was simply wont to roll its cares upon the Master, and to take its rest in Him.

Mademoiselle Nonnette is succeeded by finishing masters, and then Dora's training is supposed to be completed by a season in town. Miss Agmere develops into an elegant, thoughtless, pleasure-loving girl, intent on making a figure in society, and setting the fashion in the neighbourhood of her quiet country home.

Already, at nineteen, Dora has made several "conquests," greatly to her mother's distress and Sybil's outspoken indignation. Sybil cannot understand how any girl can lead on and encourage a man simply for the pleasure of refusing him and scoring another triumph. Two or three youths from the neighbouring families have already passed through this ordeal, and imagine themselves heart-broken, but before long will be devoutly thankful that the vain, flippant girl did not take them at their word.

As for Sybil herself, she has grown up studious, useful, quick, and busy. As Mrs. Agmere's health grows weaker, the servants look more and more to "Miss Sybil" for direction, and her aunt leans upon her as her right hand. Visitors see little of Sybil, for there always seems something for the girl to do for Dora, "Aunt Phyllis," or the house, added to which, she has yielded to many entreaties and taken now a class at the Sunday school, for which she makes weekly preparation, as in duty bound -- a preparation, alas, far more just now of the head than of the heart.

Jasper is now at Woolwich, studying for the military career that has always been his ambition. His mother would fain that he settled down upon the estate that will be his own, but he pleads for some experience, at least, of the army. From a child he has longed to be "an officer," and he is fully satisfied with the life he has chosen. Not so his mother nor the two girls at Beech Glen. Jasper's letters are wont to make them all miserably uncomfortable, for he seems always in debt, always wanting more money, and in some new scrape or difficulty.

There is really nothing vicious about Jasper, but he has never been trained to self-denial or restraint, and he says, carelessly enough, "A man must sow his wild oats, mustn't he, like the rest?" -- forgetting that sowing implies also most surely a harvest.

There is a sense of relief, though of loving lamentation, when at last Jasper obtains a commission and is ordered to India. He comes home to pay a farewell visit, and Dora feels proud of the escort of her handsome, soldierly brother, while Mrs. Agmere gazes at him as if she could never see enough of her only boy. Certainly Jasper looks every inch a soldier.

He is in excellent spirits, and makes Beech Glen livelier than it has been for many a day, and becomes highly popular among the young ladies of the neighbourhood. He only goes once to a place of worship. Mr. Dymok is getting out of date, he says, and he hopes he doesn't "hurt his mother's feeling by going to church instead of chapel."

"Oh, my dear, worship where you please," says Mrs. Agmere. "There are Christians in all bodies of believers, and I much esteem the rector. I am sure Dora will accompany you to church."

"Will you come, Sybil?" asks Jasper, with one of the sentimental looks that Sybil is beginning to dread; but he does not seem enthusiastic on the church-going subject, and spends his Sundays smoking and lying on the grass.

Jasper has not been long at home before he perceives that Sybil has blossomed into a very bewitching-looking lady, her great charm lying in her expressive eyes and changeful lips, and the depth of tenderness that seems to lie within her nature, to be revealed now and then in some sweet, half-sorrowful glance.

"There is twice as much in Sybil as in Dora," decides Jasper, following her busy, bright movements with appreciation that is more than brotherly. They often talk over bygone days, and Jasper grows very penitent over the memory of certain nips and pinches his teasing fingers administered, and asks for pardon more fervently than Sybil thinks at all necessary.

Sybil is secretly much disturbed at the changed condition of their relations. Jasper is still to her the admired, spoilt brother, loved for his mother's sake even more than for his own, for she is by no means blind to his selfishness and pettishness when things go contrary to his own desires.

"He is just an overgrown spoilt child," she thinks, trying to calm her fears. "He pretends he has a fancy for me now, but he will soon forget all about it. I must not treat it too seriously. Jasper will soon be gone, and I need not worry myself about his nonsense."

Day by day proves to the girl, however, that Jasper's fancy is this time very much in earnest. He stays at home from garden party and picnic to help Sybil label jam pots and mark linen, and when it is not impossible, he is always at her side. Sybil, sees with a sinking heart that Mrs. Agmere is encouraging the attentions so annoying to herself, and making opportunities for the two to be together. Dora is too busy with her own affairs to heed the little drama taking place beneath the roof of Beech Glen, and if she thinks of the matter at all she considers that Sybil, a impoverished orphan, is lucky to find favour in the eyes of the heir of the manor.

At last things come to a crisis. Jasper appears one morning in the little room where Sybil is casting up her accounts, with a diamond ring in his pocket. He presently draws it forth, and with many tender words attempts to place it upon Sybil's betrothal finger.

"Oh, Jasper, don't be silly!" she says, trying to laugh off the incident. "Thirteen and six, nineteen ... and nine ...there, see how you are putting me out! Look, there is Bertha Tracey just riding up the avenue. Go down and talk to her, Jasper, for auntie has one of her bad headaches, and I promised to go in presently and read her to sleep."

"I believe you idolise mother," says Jasper, looking aggrieved. "How is it you are so cold-hearted to me, Sybil? It is too bad, when you know I am breaking my heart for you."

"I love you dearly, Jasper," she says almost crying, "but we are like brother and sister. Do leave off all this nonsense. I never could think of you like that."

"It is not nonsense," he says passionately. "I never cared for anyone as I care for you, and you must say you'll be engaged to me, Sybil. I am not going to let anyone else carry you off while I am away in India."

"Oh, Jasper, I have never thought about marrying at all. I want to live always with auntie. You must never speak on this subject to me again. It is impossible we can be engaged. I could never love you as a wife should love."

"But you will in time, Sybil. You must put on my engagements ring. I have set my heart on it."

There are waters of vexation and disappointment in his eyes, and a pettish impatience in his voice that is childish enough to amuse even while it angers her. "Well, I must finish these account books now," she says, soothingly. "You go down and talk to Bertha Tracey. It is a very pretty ring. Your taste is always good. It would do for Dora's birthday."

Jasper utters an angry exclamation and leaves the room, slamming the door as he goes. He soon takes his trouble to his mother, whose wishes this time fully coincide with his own, and who comforts him by promising help and support.

"Sybil would do anything for you, mother," he says, half jealously. "She must give me her promise before I go to India, and then when I get my leave we can be married."

"Time enough for that," says his mother, fondly stroking his hand; "but I should not like Sybil to say 'Yes' only to please me. The dear child deserves to be happy, and I think, in her secret heart she cannot help loving you, Jasper."

The young gentleman, glancing in the mirror, is very much of the same opinion, and finds consolation in the reflection that women often say "No" when they mean "Yes," and only want a little extra complimenting.

Sybil enters her aunt's dressing room before Mrs. Agmere perceives her, and looks wistfully down at the lined, trouble-worn face that rests upon the luxuriant pillow. She remembers "Aunt Phyllis" in the long ago as calmer, sweeter, more healthful looking. Sybil wishes from her heart that she could take all the cares that are aging that beloved face upon her own broad shoulders. Has Jasper been worrying his mother with some fresh debt or demand? The girl could find it in her heart to wish that the date of the young man's departure abroad were tomorrow.

"Sybil, dear child, you have it in your power to make us all very happy," says Mrs. Agmere, making room for the girl to sit beside her. "You have been as my child for many a long year. Would you not like to be my own beloved daughter in very truth?"

"I am your daughter," maintains Sybil, smoothing the whitened tresses. "You know we do belong to each other, auntie, darling, and I am always going to take care of you when Dora and Jasper have made grand marriages, and you are a lovely old lady in a gorgeous cap."

"Ah, but be serious, Sybil," pleads Mrs. Agmere. "Jasper has set his heart upon winning your consent before he sails, and it is the very match before all others that I could have chosen for my boy. I have often thought with dread of the kind of wife he would select -- someone who is utterly thoughtless and extravagant, perhaps. I never hoped for so wise a choice as this. Come, dear one, say 'Yes' and make us all happy and thankful on the eve of the poor boy's exile."

"Oh, Aunt Phyllis, I could not think of Jasper as a husband, and I do not think he knows his own mind yet. There are so many attractive girls who would be so much more suitable for him."

"But girls have such extravagant notions nowadays," says her aunt anxiously. "Bertha Tracey, now -- think what a girl like her must spend upon her dress! Sybil, dear, I have saved and hoarded for my boy. You see how I have denied myself a second carriage, an extra servant, and many other things to enrich his inheritance. If he does not drain my resources meanwhile too deeply -- he is a sad spendthrift, poor boy -- he will come into a large property. But an extravagant wife would be his ruin. Together they would run through all the money like so much water. Now you, Sybil, are sensible and careful. You can wear a turned dress, and the fashions do not drain your purse so criminally as is too often the case nowadays. You would keep guard over the money I have saved, and when I am dead and gone I should know my boy was wanting nothing, because under a management like yours the property would be secure. Jasper is too rich an heir to marry imprudently. A careful, prudent partner is to a nature like his a necessity."

"So I am wanted as a sort of steward of the Agmere money," thinks Sybil, a little resentfully. "Because of Jasper's wealth, I am to sacrifice my future for the sake of keeping guard over the property." Her face droops and flushes, in memory of the manner in which this property was secured. But she utters no word of her meditations aloud.

"Think over the matter, my child," urges her aunt. "You have been an untold comfort to me, Sybil -- my best, most loving child. Think, if you can make my boy happy, and take care of his future life, I shall die content to know that you are looking after him and the inheritance I leave to him."

"Oh, auntie, you are not going to die! Dr. Mould says you have really a splendid constitution."

"Ah, my dear, these pains in my head are very alarming. Sometimes I dread a sudden seizure like poor dear grandpapa's. And I wish I could feel I am ready like he was. I should not like to die yet. I am not sure that I am prepared. Some day, when there is less to think about, I must have a long talk with my old friend, Mr. Dymok. His intellect is breaking down, they say, but his talks always did me good. I have advised Jasper not to trouble you any more, dear child, but just to wait patiently for your answer. Think if you cannot grant the dear lad his heart's desire -- for my sake, Sybil."

And so for five days the struggle goes on in Sybil's heart, and then she weakly gives way, and in "auntie's" presence the betrothal-ring is rapturously placed on her finger. And she knows that henceforth her freedom is gone, and she is pledged to a loveless marriage for the sake of guarding and cherishing the property she thought, long years ago, must prove such good, but which, at this hour, her fettered heart passionately feels to be a curse.

### Chapter 11

Two Weddings

JASPER sails away in the best of spirits, divided between pride in all the military accoutrements which are part of his carefully provided outfit, and pride in his winsome little betrothed, whose pale, quiet face is attributed to grief at the parting. Sybil goes through the "goodbye," however, almost as well as Dora. Both of them shed some sisterly tears, but neither shares the state of affliction in which Mrs. Agmere remains for days after her boy's departure, memory recalling again and again the last merry look of the boyish, handsome face and the smile with which he turned to wave farewell.

"You will comfort me now, my own little daughter," says Mrs. Agmere, turning fondly to Sybil who seems to her now doubly her own.

Day by day Sybil listens to conversation that is made up entirely of Jasper -- his infantile maladies, childish adventures, and finally the splendours of the marriage that will be celebrated on his return.

If the weeks and months are a slow, lingering chastisement to Sybil, making her again and again repent in her mind -- though not in heart and conscience -- that she ever brought about the riches of the Agmeres which now must come under her own guardianship as Jasper's wife.

Sybil has hoped that after Jasper left England, Aunt Phyllis would experience calm and peace of mind, for she has arranged for her son an ample allowance, and there can be no necessity for him to run anew into debt. It seems, however, as though the mistress of Beech Glen is to know little of quietude, for her heart becomes filled with anxiety concerning Dora, who from amid her many admirers has chosen to bestow her favours on Mr. Vincy, whose only recommendation is his wealth, and whose character is very far from steady.

The mother and daughter have long and sometimes stormy interviews upon this subject. Dora openly declares that if Mr. Vincy proposes, she will accept him, and both Mrs. Agmere and Sybil are aghast at the notion.

"Oh, Dora, I entreat you to think well what you are doing!" cries Sybil imploringly, for she loves her cousin far more than she is cared about by Dora in return. "It will break auntie's heart -- it will break your own -- if you become that man's wife. Of all others, he is the last one you should marry. We know that he drinks -- you know it. How can you love and respect a man like that?"

"Respect him? What nonsense you talk, Sybil! You are always going into heroics. I am taking Marmaduke Vincy for the same reason that you are taking Jasper. Pray, how much do you adore and respect and look up to Jasper? It is a question of money, and you know it."

"It is not," says Sybil, with flaming cheeks. "I care nothing at all for the money Jasper will have. I wish for some reasons he would never inherit money at all. I am tired of the very name of money."

"Well, then, you are even more foolish than I supposed. Now I am sensible enough to know the value of money. Perhaps had I been brought up in a different way I might have been content to take one of the others." Her voice falters a little, but she soon regains her usual self-possession. "But I have never had to deny myself anything. I have been trained in the midst of riches, and wealth is a necessity of my existence. I have looked the future in the face. Mother idolises Jasper, and the bulk of her money is certain to go to him. I must ensure that riches shall surround me in the future as in the past. I shall lack nothing as Mr. Vincy's wife. He is probably the richest man in the county, and my purse will be unlimited."

Sybil flings herself on the sofa and buries her face in her hands. Is this, then, another part of the harvest that her childish hands have sown, that Dora, reared in selfish indulgence, should determine at any cost to have the control of wealth? She sees that for such a nature as Dora's, it might have been well that the means had been limited in the past, and that, in another and truer sense, she had learnt the value of money. Oh, if she could only have seen, could only have known -- never, never would she have been a party to injustice, even for her loved one's sake! But now it is too late. She sowed the seed of all this fruitage of suffering.

"Dora," she pleads earnestly, "Mr. Vincy's money will never buy you peace of mind. Have we not heard that he was cruel and neglectful in bygone years to the poor young wife who died? Does not his little girl look upon him with dread and horror? If he is no true father to her, will he be a true husband to you? Besides ... besides...."

"Oh, say all you have to say, Sybil, and relieve your mind. Nothing will make me alter my decision. I know there is jealousy on all sides for my good fortune."

"Dora, Dora, who is there that envies you? Who, in your place, would not say 'No' to one like Marmaduke Vincy? What right-minded woman would dare to be mother to the child of an inebriate?"

Sybil bursts into tears She had not perceived the entrance of her aunt, and the quivering of the aging face pierces her to the heart.

"Really, Sybil," says Dora, "I cannot converse on such subjects. I must say I am astonished"

"She is right to speak plainly," says Mrs. Agmere. "If you were Mr. Vincy's wife, and he had taken to drinking, the way would not seem so clear. Even if you loved him, Dora, with a woman's faithful, pure, saving love, the case might seem different. But you own you do not love him, and yet you ignore the taint which may fall on innocent children -- the heritage of evil forces and inclinations. Heaven help you, Dora. The glitter of gold seems to have blinded your eyes even to God's own word. Do you forget that the Bible bids us not to be unequally yoked with unbelievers?"

"Of course, I know that Mr. Vincy does not go to any little Bethel, or Zion, or Salem."

"Dora, my child, if the man were a Christian, of whatever name or community, my lips might be sealed; but we know he is an unbeliever. Oh, I beseech you, do not sin against God by a marriage so unholy!"

"Well, he has not asked me yet, so I cannot see what all this fuss is about. And if I am mistress of Hill Towers, nobody need come to see me unless they choose. A place like Hill Towers will never lack society, I am certain."

A week later, Marmaduke Vincy does propose to the beautiful Miss Agmere. Mrs. Agmere refuses her consent, showing for once a firmness as regards Dora that would have been far more beneficial had it been exhibited in earlier years. She even goes so far as to tell Dora, privately, that should she persist in her encouragement of Vincy, she will ignore her, save for the barest legacy in her will, leaving the Beech Glen property to Jasper, and in the event of his decease before succession, to Sybil.

"I shall not want your money," says Dora calmly. "I shall be richer than Jasper as mistress of Hill Towers."

Indeed, Dora seems completely dazzled by the wealthy settlements her suitor proposes to make. She sees that Hill Towers is a far grander place than Beech Glen, believing she is the object of envy as the chosen one of the owner of the property.

One day, Dora is missing at breakfast time. Sybil's heart seems to stand still with fear, for she knows that the girl has gone for ever from the loving fold of home, and when a letter reaches them in the evening, it is signed "Dora Vincy," and briefly tells that the marriage has taken place at a village church that day.

Mrs. Agmere grieves more in her secret heart than openly. She remakes her will according to her word to Dora, leaving all to Jasper, and failing his succession, to Sybil. She is resolved that no money of hers shall ever come into Marmaduke Vincy's hands, but she says pleadingly to Sybil, "You will never let Dora want. Remember that for my sake, Dora is your sister still."

"Oh, mother," falters Sybil, for of late she has taken up that name by Mrs. Agmere's wish, which seems to make the far off marriage more of a reality to Jasper's mother, "Oh, mother darling, Dora is always my sister! But she will never need money. How can she? She is richer even than you are now."

"Yet the time may come when she starves for love and comfort, Sybil. If I am gone when that time shall come, let there be one to minister to my poor blinded child without harshness or reproach. Sometimes, Sybil, I almost wish poor grandpapa had never left the manor and his money to me. Sometimes I wish his last will had still remained. I suppose he tore it up, having changed his mind again. The money seems to have done us very little good. As for poor Dora, it has not been well for her that her mother has been rich enough to gratify every whim. I begin to see that by hoarding my money where the claims of charity were concerned, and letting it flow like water for Dora and Jasper, I have wronged God and wronged my children. The money might have been blest had I taken it as a trust from God and accounted myself His steward, both as regards the money, and the children He willed that I should train for Him."

Sybil listens tremblingly, and her aunt, glancing up, notices that she looks ill and troubled at heart. "How selfish of me, Sybil, to cloud your mind by my own sorrowful thoughts," she says tenderly. "Go and read Jasper's last long letter in peace. Dear boy, I am so glad and thankful he has made choice of my own loving little Sybil. I should have missed you so sorely, my best of children, had you left Beech Glen and gone to any other home than this."

"No, mother," says Sybil, smiling amid her tears, "that is one great comfort. I need not leave you, and I never will. 'The Lord do so to me and more also,'" she whispers, thinking of the story of Ruth, "'if aught but death part thee and me.'"

The same week as poor Dora goes wilfully to her fate as the wife of Marmaduke Vincy, of Hill Towers, there is a quiet wedding ceremony performed at Market Wickham chapel by old Mr. Dymok, who is just resigning the pastorate he has held so long to his son Martin, a young man who has carried off honours at school and college, and who is his earnest, simple-hearted father over again, only with larger and better developed gifts of intellect.

Martin Dymok is a little too unsectarian to satisfy some of the good folks of the chapel. They cannot understand his being on charitable committees with the rector, or attending the Harvest Thanksgiving and Christmas rejoicings at the church, or his occasional dinings out at the rectory, or, finally, his engagement to the rector's charming daughter. Indeed, this latter event has been quite a blow to the congregation, till they realize that their young pastor's convictions are as sound as ever, and he and his fair fiancée both affirm that saving faith in the Redeemer is the one foundation and essential of religious sympathy and fellowship.

The rector's daughter acts as bridesmaid at the quiet little wedding, but the bride is Martin Dymok's sister Mary, a gentle, brown-eyed lassie, who has year by year been going on her loving, patient, unobtrusive way, the sunshine of her home, the growing help alike in chapel and Sunday school. She is Sybil's great friend, and the one that her secret thoughts had always chosen for Jasper. Alas for Sybil, the young officer has selected otherwise, and is content to send Mary an elaborate sandalwood box as a wedding offering.

There are many years between the bridegroom and Mary, but since she has no objection, there is no need to bewail that fact. Mr. Drury is erect and handsome as ever, though there are one or two lines of gray intermixed with his curling locks. To Mary he is a hero, an ideal of greatness indeed. She cannot at all understand what he has found to care about in a quiet, plain little thing like herself. And yet, reverencing and loving him as her young heart has unconsciously done so long, Mary has ere this been strong enough to decisively refuse to become his wife, prosperous schoolmaster though he is.

"I cannot marry you, Mr. Drury," she told him two years ago, with dew-wet eyes, yet firm, quiet face. "You do not love my Lord. How can two walk together unless they are agreed?"

"Oh, put aside that question," he said, drawing nearer to her. Drury was in earnest over his wooing this time. Mary had not a penny to bring him, but she was the first real love of his life. "Leave religion out of the matter, my dearest. I have heard it said that real love will overlook the fact of a person being even a heathen, and I am not that, though not so pious as my sweet saint Mary. A woman who really loves will follow a man even to perdition \-- so I have heard it said."

"No, no!" said Mary, tremblingly. "If she loved him, she would never let him go there. God does not will him to go. I will pray for you, Mr. Drury -- I do \-- but I cannot be your wife. God's word forbids it."

He read that in truth she loved him, and her brave persistence was the first influence that convicted Drury's heart of the reality of religion. He began to see it was a vital, sovereign power -- not the mere superstition he had of late been inclined to lightly esteem it. And Mr. Dymok, despite the smallness of his means, upheld Mary's decision. Drury had felt some contempt for the minister as a poor scholar, behind the times; yet he recognised something noble alike in the bearing of both father and daughter.

Mary has been away teaching. She wished to leave Market Wickham for a while, and meanwhile, Drury was brought down by a serious illness to the gates of death, and face to face with eternity he learnt to know himself as evil, and he learnt, even as a little child, to pray his way into the heavenly light.

Market Wickham has known him as a merry, careless exposer of the superstitions of the day, and it is an ordeal to the man of intellect to rise among the poor folks of the chapel and make open confession that he has become a follower of Christ. But he is no coward, and he takes and maintains his place among those who have named the Master's name. And, one day, just as poor Mary is a little tired and faint-hearted, and thinking with a little heart-shadow of the future of lonely teaching, someone asks for her at her place of employment, and holds out to her the hand that God has given to be her helpmeet along the road that leads nearer to Him.

So, in the sweetness of her answered prayers, and beneath the blessing of the white-haired minister, these two are married. May Heaven bless their future. Ay, and they shall be blessed, for this slight girl has borne brave witness for the Master, who has promised, "them that honour Me, I will honour."

Chapter 12

"Were I Only Free Again!"

MRS. AGMERE corresponds occasionally with Dora, who writes rapturously of newly furnished rooms, Parisian dresses, "Marmaduke's splendid presents," and hot-houses that are the show of the county.

"Poor child," says the mother. "All these are new to her now. When will she begin to tire of them? I have erred in my training of Dora. I never held up before her the highest ideal of life -- to love and serve God. Oh, Sybil, old age is approaching now, and I realize that other things are worth little indeed compared with the claims of the Master! But with all my mistakes and her own, I think Dora's nature is not empty or low enough to be satisfied with elegant raiment and furniture and the choicest provisions."

Sybil makes enquiries as to Muriel, the little stepdaughter, but Dora dismisses the subject with the remark that "Marmaduke prefers the child should stay with the servants. She is a plain, disagreeable little thing, and Marmaduke says children are in the way when encouraged out of the nursery."

"I wonder if the child pricks his conscience by recalling the wife he neglected," thinks Sybil, but she tries to make the best of things to Mrs. Agmere, and she sometimes leaves out portions of her own correspondence in which Dora begins to grumble that "nobody seems to come near Hill Towers; Marmaduke cares nothing about society -- only entertaining some stupid men who bet and play cards and talk slang. What is the good of keeping up a place like this when you seem shut away from society? It was really livelier sometimes at old Beech Glen."

Sybil wonders Dora does not ask her mother or herself to come over. She does not hint to Mrs. Agmere that which she rightly suspects -- that Mr. Vincy possesses certain ways and manners which his wife would take little pride in revealing to her friends. The first novelty of his wife's companionship has worn off now, and Marmaduke Vincy is sinking into those violent habits which the doctors have told him are developing a diseased liver and sowing the seeds of a ruined constitution. The highest medical advice has counselled Vincy to abstinence, for the doctors discern he never could drink strong liquors moderately.

Vincy's careless choice is "a short life and a merry one"; but he is nervously fidgety nevertheless concerning his health, and orders in stores of quack medicines to counteract the symptoms which he refuses radically to cure.

Of course, rumours of the Hill Towers' troubles float by Beech Glen. Sybil is sadly distressed on Dora's account, and wonders that the mother does not feel (as she does sometimes) that she must fly to Dora and give her the relief of pouring out all her confidences and cares, as often in bygone days. But there has been a slight outbreak of hostilities in India, and all Mrs. Agmere's thoughts and anxieties are connected with her beloved Jasper. She searches the paper daily for news of his regiment, and passes the time in feverish unrest till his letters arrive, brief, merry, flippant, but read and re-read by the dim, tearful eyes that look so wistfully for sympathy towards Jasper's betrothed.

"Thank Heaven, his regiment has not been called upon to take part in the struggle," says the mother fervently. "Oh, Sybil, I have lived, and toiled, and planned and saved for Jasper. I picture his return by day and by night. Surely God is all too good to take away my dearest treasure, my pride, my best-loved child?"

"Jasper is quite safe, auntie. He has no expectation of going into action. He will be here when the time comes round for his furlough," says Sybil constrainedly, knowing that the assurance will start an eager discussion as to her trousseau, and entreaties that she will at once commence preparations. "I am starting to believe the months will bring my boy home to me again."

Mrs. Agmere, in prospect of the time, from the very thought of which Sybil shrinks dismayed, lays in stores of linen, and the two work together at piles of articles for the wardrobe and the house -- Mrs. Agmere with a smile of motherly pride and expectation upon her lips, and Sybil like some pale, calm statue, but with a passion of pain and unrest within.

They are sitting thus one evening by the fireside, talking softly upon the usual subject -- Jasper, and only Jasper -- when there is a peal at the hall bell, the sound of startled voices in the hall, and Dora bursts suddenly into the cosy room. Dora is wet with rain, wrapped in a cloak, without bonnet or gloves, and followed by a little creature as bedraggled and woe-begone looking as herself.

The mother puts her hand to her head, as though the shock had brought on a sudden spasm of pain. Sybil has flown to the traveller and removed her shawl, and now she is chafing the poor, cold, wet hands.

"I have come home, mother," says Dora, in a voice that to both her hearers seems strange and new. "Turn me out if you will, but it must be to wander shelterless. Never, never will I return to that man's roof! I have left Hill Towers for ever."

"My poor, poor child," is all Mrs. Agmere can say, clasping the wasted form within her arms.

"Do not speak now, Dora," says Sybil soothingly. "Let me take off these wet boots and bring you dry stockings. And, see, the child is drenched through. How far you must have walked!"

"From Market Wickham Junction," says Dora drearily. "I had no money for a cab. Let me tell you now, and then we need never talk of him again. I think he is out of his mind sometimes, mother, when he has taken more than usual. One evening he turned me out of doors -- kept me out on the lawn in the snow"

"Dora, is this Muriel?" Sybil puts in hesitatingly. "She is listening. Shall I take her away while you tell mother?"

"She is both deaf and dumb," says Dora shortly. "I did not tell you in my letters, and few know it; but this is how she was born. I do not know what made her follow me. I came away tonight because he struck me -- I will show you the mark presently. I threw on this cloak and walked straight off to Hilldown Station, and when I was taking my ticket I turned round and saw this child. I have scarcely noticed her till a few days back, when I found her nurse cruelly beating her, and I sent the woman off then and there, and gave the little thing a kiss and some biscuits. Since then she has kept following me about the house, and I dare say she saw me struck. At any rate, I found her at the station, and I could not take her back. We will neither of us return -- she hates him as much as I do."

"Oh, Dora, hush!" cries Sybil, the tears raining down her face as she stoops to unbutton the child's boots, and takes the wondering little desolate creature within her arms.

Mrs. Agmere is weeping, too, the while she strokes Dora's chill hands, looking tenderly into the changed, embittered features of which she has been so fondly proud. But Dora herself sheds no tear, she seems hard and unmoved, and even smiles drearily at the maid who brings in hot tea and dry garments, but when she happens to pass a little side table, and sees amid a pile of books an old hymnbook, thumbed and torn, belonging to the days of her innocent, cloudless childhood, she casts herself down with a sudden cry, and they are absolutely frightened at the passionate sobs which shake the frame of the heart-broken wife -- sobs amid which little Muriel lays down the spoon with which she is taking her bread and milk with much relish, and steals timidly up to Dora and strokes her hair.

Sybil thinks it is the first dawn of any hope or comfort when she sees Dora turn round and draw the silent little maiden nearer. They seem to understand each other \-- the wife and child of the poor, debased man of wealth.

Dr. Mould's successor is called in next day to Dora, who is thoroughly overwrought and ill. He makes no remark upon the purple bruises upon her arm, though Mrs. Agmere insists he shall see them, and begs him to send some lotion for the injury. The doctor is used to domestic tragedies of which the outside world guesses little. His eyes darken a little -- that is all -- as he writes his prescription. Sybil remembers suddenly, with a thrill of compunction for having sent for him, that the doctor was once said to have received encouragement from Dora -- only he was poor!

Marmaduke Vincy writes a letter of regret and apology to Dora for the blow. He says he is ill, and begs her to return and avoid public scandal; but she takes no notice of the letter. "He would strike me again tomorrow after dinner," she says, in tones of despair that strike to her mother's heart.

Mrs. Agmere will hold no communication with her son-in-law. Sybil writes to tell him that Muriel is at Beech Glen, but he seems unconcerned about the child who only serves to recall to him passages of neglect and cruelty which he would fain forget.

Dora has been many weeks at Beech Glen, when one day she turns suddenly to Sybil with the words, "What do people say I ought to do? Mother will not advise me. She only cries over me, and wishes I had never, never become his wife. Heaven knows if the time could come back I would undo this yoke. Oh, Sybil, were I only free again! But there, it is folly to think of the past. I lie awake, asking myself what is my duty now? For, Sybil, do you know, while I have been lying ill such strange, sweet memories have come back to me like echoing music. Memories of texts and verses learnt when I was a little child. How I hated the Bible lessons then! But I am glad grandpapa made me learn those texts. Long forgotten words of pleading and mercy and forgiveness have been present with me while I have been lying ill and weak. Is there not a text like this, Sybil, 'A broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise'? My heart is broken, Sybil, but I think -- I hope -- it is repentant, too. If it is not too late for me to begin to pray, I would cry to the God of my childhood to be my Father, my Saviour even in this dark labyrinth where my folly has brought myself. You are a Christian, Sybil. You are always so good and religious; counsel me now. Am I right to please myself by staying here? What is it that God would have me do?"

"Oh, no, dear Dora, I am not good! I cannot teach you the will of God. You must ask counsel of a better than myself," falters Sybil, her heart crying out within her as Dora appeals to her now, as it has done so often of late. "I could love God -- I crave to love Him. I would love the Master and follow Him and name His name, but for this stain upon my heart, the sense of secret, irreparable, unconfessed deceit and sin."

Sybil wonders if she could ever confess, in these latter days, to the sin of her youth. How could she, to no purpose -- for the true heir is long missing, and probably dead -- trouble Mrs. Agmere's last days with the confession that a later will existed than that which gave her Beech Glen, and that Jasper, for whom she has saved, is not really justly inheriting?

"Oh, no!" says Sybil again and again in her secret heart. "It is too late now. I never could tell the real truth about that will. I sinned for auntie's sake, and I must bear the consequences. But, so long as this stain, this weight is upon my soul, I know I am a Christian in outward appearance alone -- a hypocrite, a deceiver, unrepentant and unforgiven. Oh, if it could but be wiped away -- if only I could be white and clean!"

Aloud she says, "Dora, I dare not advise you, for my heart loves you too dearly not to want to keep you here. But let us take counsel with Mary Drury. I know she is a Christian, and she loves us all. She will help you to find and do the right. She will advise you, at any cost, to do that which is right in God's sight, Dora."

"And I will," says Dora softly. "I will obey Him henceforth, if it be not yet too late."

"Not for you, oh, not for you!" cries Sybil in her troubled thoughts. "But I can never follow Him now, nor learn of Him, nor take His rest; for I cannot bring back the past \-- I cannot undo the wrong."

### Chapter 13

News From India

THE following afternoon two visitors are shown into the Drurys' sitting room. The house is a private boarding school, and the claims of increased numbers have encroached upon the rooms more and more, till the Drurys' one private parlour has come to be this cosy room, somewhat small, but bright and sunny even on this wintry day, and with a hospitable-looking fire casting its glow around.

Mr. Drury is in school, and Mary is quietly sewing beside the fire. Those little fingers seem always brisk and busy. Just now she is mending her husband's overcoat, and she seems to touch the worn lining almost tenderly, a look of deep, peaceful happiness radiating over her face. In the days gone by, Dora has taken little notice of Mary Dymok, and wondered why she has been Sybil's chosen friend, when there was nothing stylish or amusing to be found by her own critical eyes in the quiet girl.

And Mary has been in awe of Dora, as queen of a sphere of which she knew nothing; and perhaps her nervousness has made her unconsciously awkward in presence of the fashionable, satirical Miss Agmere. But now all this is changed. Dora glances with a secret throb of pain and envy round the homelike room and at the wife's calm, restful face, and she sinks tremblingly into the rocking chair that Mary draws near to the fire.

Somehow, there is that about Mary which makes hearts open out to her as the blossoms to the sun. That room is to more than Henry Drury as a sort of Bethel: elder girls from the school, the rough lads from her own special Sunday school class, even the boys who are under her husband's tuition, know that room, and have before this poured out their varying confidences, and been pointed, as by a loving, sisterly hand, to the highest, nearest, most abiding Love of all.

Presently, Dora's hands are clasped in Mary's, and she is faltering forth that she will not do what self prefers, but she will abide by what is right, if only she could see and know what God requires of her; for on her bed of sickness her Heavenly Father's voice has called her away from self and self-seeking and pleasing.

She shows Mary a letter that she has received by that morning's post, a letter written by the doctor who attends at Hill Towers. He writes that Mr. Vincy is really very unwell just now, and that a physician has been called in for consultation. The doctors are agreed that there is serious derangement of the digestive organs, and also trouble connected with the liver. Mr. Vincy is probably destined to the life of an invalid, and, Dora adds in her thoughts, an invalid full of impatience, nervous fancies, and irritation.

The doctor writes to Mrs. Vincy as one away on a visit, explaining certain rules of diet, etc., which Mr. Vincy ought to follow.

"Dora," says Mary, having sat for some moments thoughtfully gazing into the fire, "Dora, you will certainly receive light from above if you just lay all your perplexities and difficulties before the Lord in prayer, and ask Him to lead you in a plain path, and teach you to do His will. None, whatever the position, has ever asked guidance from the Lord God in vain. Ask Jesus to lead you aright, dearest Dora. Tell Him all things."

"Ah, but I acted wrongly. I persisted in a course that my conscience told me was wrong and mistaken."

"All the more need of the only Lord and Saviour who sees and knows our every mistake and wrongdoing, and our first longing for the right way and heart-cry for Himself. You say you have refused the right course in bygone days, dear Dora; but does not God know that from your heart you humbly want to please Him now? Ask His guidance, His direction in simple, humble faith. I know my Master never will refuse to pardon you, to point the way, to hold you up. You ask my human counsel. It may be that I err, but I think you should go back to your husband, Dora. It is difficult for me, with such a husband as God has given me, and in my home of love, to decide how a wronged wife, as you have been, should act; but, Dora, you are his wife, and a wife that came to him, as he knew, out of a family and household where God was owned, and Christian truth had been familiar from your childhood."

"I never can be a Christian at Hill Towers," says Dora, tremblingly. "If you knew how grand it all is there, and if you knew him."

"Ah," says Mary softly, "but if Christ goes with you, Dora -- if the Master come to your mansion as He came to the home at Bethany, it will be different now. And why should He not come beneath your roof, Dora? Has He ever turned away in answer to the pleading cry, 'Abide with Me'?"

"Must I really go back?" says Dora, looking from Sybil to Mary.

Sybil is listening, silent and perplexed. In all this talk about the Master, she, with her burdened conscience, feels she has no place, no part.

Then Mary says, "I think your place is in your own home, Dora, beside your husband. This letter here speaks of him as one likely to be a confirmed invalid. He will need you to nurse him, to read to him, to be to him all that a Christian wife can be, who means to love him, Dora, because Christ loves him."

This is a new thought to Dora, and her white face kindles a little. Yes, it is true that the Lord she has promised to serve, the Saviour who has thought upon her in her lonely, unsatisfied life, is seeking to uplift the soul that has as yet no thought or desire of being raised out of ruin. Dora has read somewhere that it is glorious to save the soul of a woman; but the one of whom she read was longing to be the means of changing the soul of a man. Can it be that through years of patient forbearing, down a thorny path of suffering, endurance, unselfish faith, such a crown of honour may yet be her own?

"Mary, I will go back to him," she says. "I chose my place. I will fulfil its work, as in the sight of God."

"Yet you have also a duty towards yourself, my dear one," says Mary tenderly. "No woman has a right to subject herself to cruelty or brutality. I cannot conceal from you that reports of ill-treatment have reached Market Wickham, and my heart has ached for you. God cares for your husband's soul and body, but He also cares for yours; and I am sure it is not with His will that you should be cruelly dealt with, Dora. Before you return to Hill Towers, write to your husband first. Tell him you are coming back to him to be all the comfort that a wife can be in weakness and illness, to take care of him and rule his house, and be a mother to his helpless child, and stop the lips of scandal. But I think you should warn him that a repetition of assault will result in an appeal to the law. He must understand that he cannot with impunity assault even his wife."

"Then a separation would be right in that case?" asks poor Dora, a little eagerly. "You would not think it wrong to leave your husband if he struck you?"

Mary is silent for a moment, then she says with a little smile, "I don't see how I could leave Henry anyhow; but as you are situated, Dora, I think such a letter should go to Mr. Vincy. Let him see that you are in earnest in your intention of seeking legal protection, should you again be hurt, poor child."

"And we will take care that she is protected," says Sybil resolutely. "I mean to visit at Hill Towers, whether you ask me, Dora, or not. Jasper is not in England to look after you, but I mean to take care of my sister. Nothing and nobody will frighten me."

"Yes," says Dora, "I will write that letter; and, as he is so ill, I suppose I ought to go soon."

The letter is sent, and it is answered by a telegram. "Trained nurse an idiot. Have sent her off. Come by 5p.m. train. Bring somebody for Muriel."

Sybil rushes off for one of the senior girls' class, a round-faced, warm-hearted, Christian girl, who has begged Miss Agmere to remember her when she hears of a place. Molly is installed as nurse to the little girl, and their pleasure in each other, as testified by kisses and the hand alphabet, is a sight to behold.

"Mother and I are coming to see you soon, my darling," is Sybil's comforting whisper to Dora.

Mrs. Agmere is too feeble this cold weather to take the journey, but Sybil, in three or four weeks, goes to stay at the stately house, and finds things better than her fears. Dora, despite an occasional fit of weary fretfulness, is bravely patiently doing her part as a disciple of the Lord of love; and Vincy, in his invalidism, while cross and out of humour at the deprivation of alcohol, finds her the most satisfactory of nurses, and can scarcely bear her out of the room.

The doctors have forbidden him the very sight of alcohol, hence poor Dora has nothing more to fear in the way of physical assault. And so Sybil leaves her, and the weeks and months go by, tending her invalid husband, managing the concerns of that huge household and estate -- Dora, whose one thought, year after year, was self, and self alone! She is practising new systems of help and light and instruction, and engaging patient tuition for the child Muriel, the child that in her helplessness and trust and love is more of comfort to Dora than the most exquisite gem in her jewel-case, or all the grandeur of house and grounds.

Mrs. Agmere is under the doctor through the winter in which Dora suddenly returned in her trouble to her childhood's home. Sybil is uneasy about her, and sees with an aching heart that her system seems to be breaking up, though Mrs. Agmere says she will be strong and well again "when Jasper comes."

She begins to talk now about Sybil's wedding dress -- the more eagerly because letters from Jasper have grown of late very few and far between. The mother says, with brightening face, that "the boy may mean to take us by surprise," and she sends here and there for patterns of material from which Sybil's wedding garments are to be selected.

Sybil has been to the post one day in connexion with this correspondence, so sorely distasteful to herself, and she is returning home through the Beech Glen grounds, bright with snowdrop, anemone, violet, and primrose, and all the joys of spring, when a maidservant comes running towards her, looking a little agitated.

"Oh, miss, I've been looking for you everywhere. I thought it couldn't be long now before you was home. There's somebody come, miss, but I don't know as how I ought to tell missus. Is she well enough to see him? You gave orders missus was to be kept very quiet."

"Is it Mr. Jasper?" The words fall calmly enough, but Sybil's heart seems to stop beating.

"Dear, no, miss! Mr. Jasper wouldn't walk quiet into no drawing room. He'd be for rushing right to his mother's room, whatsoever might be missus's state of health. This here gent is taller and bigger than Mr. Jasper, and have a high way of his own, but pleasant enough. Old cook said he gave her quite a turn, Miss Sybil, for she happened to catch a sight of him as he walked into the hall with a step like the poor old squire, she said -- which I don't myself remember naught of the old gentleman, save and except that once he give us an address in the Sunday school, and my brothers, what was in the infants, fell off the form asleep, Miss Sybil, and Tommy broke his nose, and Jack cut his face -- and they've got the marks to this day -- in the tallow-chandler line, miss, a turning out of High Street."

Sybil has heard nothing of this discourse, beyond the words that this stranger -- and strangers are rare at Beech Glen, owing to Mrs. Agmere's state of health -- has been carelessly likened by old cook to the squire. It seems to her that she is fainting. Has the blow fallen at last? Is there to be discovery and disgrace? Will she be sent to prison, condemned in school and congregation, held up to all who know her as a deceiver and the party to injustice and to wrong?

Can this stranger be Dick Agmere, the long lost, the boy supposed to be dead? Can he be aware of the rights he has lost? And has he come to Beech Glen at last to demand justice and reparation?

"Who is he, Janet?" she asks, looking at the maid with a face that fairly frightens her.

"Why, miss, you look as though you'd seen a ghost. Here is the gentleman's card. I told him as how you'd be in directly."

And a rush of relief comes to Sybil's heart, and the blood flows back to her face as she reads the name "Owen Montgomerie."

"How could I be so silly?" she asks herself, almost with a smile. "He must be one of the Montgomeries we used to meet at the Singletons. Mother can see him a little while, I dare say."

She is passing to the drawing room, when she is surprised to see Mrs. Agmere herself descending the stairs, looking brisker and younger than she has done for many a day, and wearing her choicest cap, with cherry-coloured ribbons.

"Sybil, have they told you? I heard the girls talking in the corridor, and made them tell me who has come. They say it is a strange gentleman, Sybil -- sunburnt and foreign-looking, a traveller. Ah, he must have come from India, Sybil. He must be a fellow officer of Jasper's, and they have come home together, and my boy has sent him here first to prepare us for his own arrival."

"Mother darling, do not excite yourself. He may not have come from India at all. I think he is only a casual visitor."

But Mrs. Agmere has led the way and gone eagerly up to a travel-worn man, whose expression is one of firmness and power, and who strikes Sybil with a sense of fear, dislike, and of approaching evil, yet who turns upon them deep blue eyes that hold infinite sweetness and compassion as they rest upon Mrs. Agmere.

"You have brought me news of Jasper," she cries, laying her trembling hand upon his arm. "Has my son come to England with you? Has he sent me some message? Where is my boy?"

"Yes, I have brought you Jasper's message," says the stranger, very gently, very tenderly, all the harder lines about his lips lost and gone as he turns to Sybil. "This is his mother?" he says enquiringly; "and you Miss Sybil Agmere? He spoke of you both"

"You shall not -- you must not tell my mother," cries Sybil, rushing wildly forward, as towards an enemy, "a herald of woe."

But Mrs. Agmere is perfectly calm and quiet. She gives one long, deep, searching look into the young man's pitying eyes. "Jasper is dead," she says slowly. "Is this your errand?"

"Yes, dear lady," is the reply, so gently spoken that it falls upon them as a whisper; "and I nursed him to the end. And he died with the name of his mother the last upon his lips."

### Chapter 14

Owen Montgomerie

MRS. AGMERE is the first to break the silence. "Have you brought me a lock of his hair?" she asks, so quietly that Sybil wonders if she can really realize and understand the truth. Even she is overwhelmed at the tidings this stranger has brought, though her flowing tears are not for her betrothed, but for merry, boyish Jasper, the playmate of her childhood.

Mr. Montgomerie slowly opens his pocket-book, and with gentle, reverent fingers he draws forth Jasper's last photograph, in all the glory of full-dress uniform, a curling lock of bright, soft hair, and a sheet of paper on which the young soldier at the last had tried to write a few words of farewell, but only scrawled faintly two or three times over, "Mother----"

Mrs. Agmere stretches out her hand for these; all Jasper's wildness, all the anxieties concerning him are forgotten now. Henceforth, and till she sees him face to face in the Sunny Land, he will be to her the bright-eyed boy whose arms twined softly round her neck, whose prayers were spoken at her knee.

Sybil sees Montgomerie through a veil of tears. His gaze rests on the mother's quiet face, and Sybil thinks his own blue eyes are dim. He must have a tender heart, this stern-featured traveller, with the air of command whose voice yet trembles as he tells his tale. Yes, cook's strange idea had some foundation, he is a little like the lordly-looking old Squire Agmere whom Sybil so well remembers. He is more like one Justice Agmere, a bygone ancestor in flowing magisterial robes, whose picture hangs in the gallery, and whose eyes have just such a searching, deep, honest look within them. How strange are these unaccountable resemblances at times. The thought passes confusedly through Sybil's mind as she listens to his words.

"I am a journalist," says the stranger, and then his hearers remember often to have seen his signature in various reviews and magazines, and Sybil, amid all her agitation, feels awed at finding herself for the first time in presence of an author. "I am a journalist, and went out to Jurruckpore as war correspondent for The Signal, There have been intervals of peace, and I may briefly say that, as a Christian man, I tried to use my influence in barrack room and camp, where I soon became well-known, to help and uplift the soldiers. Sometimes I got laughed at for my pains. Some of the officers objected to soldiers' services and prayer meetings, and said Jurruckpore would be full of Methodists; but I never received opposition from Agmere. He said the soldiers' prayers put him in mind of the good people in the old chapel at home, and I have seen him listening now and again at the outskirts of the little assembly when our services have been going on. I could not help starting the work; I could not be idle in a field like that. All the upraising of my own life has come out of my Christian faith, for I frankly confess I was a poor, starving, wandering child when my ragged-school teacher made search for me, took me to his own home, taught me and watched over me, and developed my literary gifts till I was able to strike out a path for myself.

"All my successes I owe, under God, to His people. Wherever I go I shall uplift His banner, with His help; and it came to pass that at Jurruckpore there was a revival among the military, and one after another came out manfully beneath the banner of the Cross. Some said these men would be useless now, as concerned their work, but when the time came they stood face to face with death with a nobler heroism than they had ever known before, and 'Call out the saints!' came to be the watchword when intrepid, earnest duties were required. I have brought you papers, Mrs. Agmere, describing the sudden attack made one night by the enemy upon the quarters where your son resided. It was entirely unexpected, and took the men completely by surprise. Your son took his life in his hands as he led the defence, and his bravery has been the theme of surrounding districts. He was mortally wounded, and lying on his hospital bed he sent for me. He told me he had heard me openly confess I was a Christian, and he asked to die with a Christian man beside him, and the Name his childhood loved spoken now in his extremity. He lingered longer than we expected, and Jasper and I had many a talk together, and we learnt to love each other even as brothers.

"He sent a message to this young lady -- for he could not write -- asking her to forgive him if he had worried her into her promise. That was the message, word for word, as he gave it, with his dear love; and he sent his love to his sister Dora, and to all the servants who remembered him here, and then he said 'Our Father' as I uttered the prayer beside him, and he joined in every now and then in repeating the twenty-third Psalm -- he said it seemed to carry him back to his boyhood to hear those words again. And then his mind began to wander and he whispered of his mother; and so God took him."

Mrs. Agmere holds out her hands to Montgomerie, and he takes them into a clasp, gentle, soothing, comforting as a woman's. "Heaven bless you!" she says. "My boy loved you. You will not leave us yet. You will stay beneath this roof? Leave these papers with me. I shall understand it better when I am alone; but Sybil -- my child, my last one left -- will see to your wellbeing and comfort. Sybil, my love, some lunch."

"I am staying with an old friend, Martin Dymok, the minister here," says Montgomerie. "I was surprised to come across him at the London terminus, and to find that he lived here. He was my fellow student at college, and he pressed me to remain in Market Wickham as his guest, so I shall be here for a few days yet, and I shall hope to call tomorrow."

Sybil is relieved when he departs. All her thoughts are with Mrs. Agmere, who sits all day long reading and re-reading the account of that time of dread when the spirit of the gallant Agmere race flamed forth in merry Jasper, and when he went to his death as a soldier and a hero.

Mrs. Agmere shows far less emotion than Sybil herself. She writes a long letter to Dora, and others to various friends, and she speaks calmly of the will she has made, whereby, failing her son's succession, the property will belong to Sybil. She even conducts family prayers this evening, and at the close she reads aloud to the servants the description of their master's valour, and how he was faithful unto death.

But next morning the word goes round that Mrs. Agmere cannot rise. There is a strange stiffness about one side, and she scarcely seems to know Sybil or the rest. Paralysis has fallen upon her. The doctor says she may live for years, but it will be in a state of helplessness, and as a little child.

Sybil is the tenderest of nurses, and scarcely gives herself time for rest or air. Mr. Vincy is ill, too, just now, and Dora cannot leave him; but Mrs. Drury comes up whenever possible, and from her conversation Sybil learns that Owen Montgomerie has taken apartments in High Street, and is writing some important book on India, with special relation to the vast need of educational influences and of medical missions.

"He is a good man, Sybil," says Mary earnestly. "Martin says he was the cleverest of all their set at college, and always so outspoken on the side of truth and right. You know how eloquently his writings have pleaded for the children employed in factories, and the poor people working in their neglected homes for starvation wages. Owen Montgomerie will be a power in England, Martin says, and a power on the Master's side. He seems very concerned about Mrs. Agmere, and I think sympathy for you both keeps him here, though he says the quiet little place, with its lovely walks around, suits him, and he will stay till his book is done. Martin says he was a forsaken street-boy once, sought out and adopted by his ragged-school teacher, who gave him a good education and left him a small income on his death. I believe he also supports that ragged-school where he found that teacher and friend."

As Mrs. Agmere gets a little better, Sybil sees more of Montgomerie, who sometimes preaches in the chapel, and who has joined the school as leader of a large and difficult class of young men. He often comes up to Beech Glen with fruit or flowers for the invalid, though as yet Sybil is afraid for her to see him. Sybil and he have long talks about Jasper, and about the old squire, too, and the Agmeres of Beech Glen. He is fond of sitting in the great picture gallery and scanning the faces around him, and he listens with interest to the descriptions the girl almost knows by heart.

He often tells her, too, of the friend who rescued him from a life of starvation and peril. In his friendless state he had wandered away out of London, and was in danger of being drawn into a criminal gang, when the tireless, loving efforts of his teacher traced him out, and drew him into the safe, warm shelter of his home.

Montgomerie never speaks of his teacher and friend without a tremble in his voice. "I was so near being lost," he says; "yet, somehow, I felt all along that somebody's prayers were pulling me back from ruin."

Sybil looks forward to these talks as a change from the sickroom. She does not realize what Montgomerie's presence is becoming to her, nor the strange, sweet influences, wholly new, which are wreathing around her life.

"He is my dearest friend. I could always ask his counsel -- he is better than all the rest," she thinks proudly, when, at her side, he has been sketching the design of a marvellous chair she is thinking of ordering for poor Mrs. Agmere, But that he is more to her than a friend never crosses her mind till one day, when he is bidding her goodbye before a business visit to London, he suddenly drops the hand he is holding, and turns aside in constraint that is almost cold. Does he remember he is holding too long the hand of an heiress? Montgomerie is not without faults, and he has his full share of pride, as Sybil has more than once discerned.

The thought flashes upon her, "Why does he shrink from me? Why does he look so cold, so proud, so distant? Can he know -- is it possible he can guess what I have done? Oh, that he never, never may know the secret of those two wills, and how I stood by and saw the rightful will destroyed, and how I have held my peace. Whoever else knows the truth at last, if on my dying bed I make confession, he must never know.

"How he would despise me, condemn me, abhor my deceit, for he is true and just, and open as the light. Oh, I must not dare to count him my friend or value his acquaintance. I must see him just as little as I can. I must forget what he has been to me. Yet I could have called him friend, and been so happy, so happy beside him but for this black, miserable secret that I cannot forget now as in the days gone by. Why is it that I cannot forget? Why is it that the memory of the wrong haunts and tortures me now as it never did for many a year? Am I farther away from God? Or am I nearer?"

And thus Sybil's heart is agonised, while Montgomerie looks down at her pale face, wishing in his heart of heart his income were a little more swelled out, or her own brilliant prospects less, for all Market Wickham knows that Sybil is heiress of Beech Glen. Mrs. Agmere's mind will never again be clear enough for her to execute another will, and all the property, with the large accumulation of savings, will assuredly come to Sybil -- a fact that makes the keenest torture of her ever-present reproach.

Montgomerie knows well enough that Sybil's heart was not in her betrothal. He guessed it from some words of poor Jasper's, and realized it when he saw how readily she wept to hear the young soldier was no more. A heart that was bound up in the lost one could never have found such relief in tears.

Mrs. Agmere's eyes had been dry and tearless the while Sybil wept beside her. And Montgomerie, in secret dreams of his own, guesses whither the heart of Sybil's womanhood has gone out, but he will not ask her if he guesses right, for she is heiress of Beech Glen, and he is an author, with but a small income that is certainty.

"I have not seen your mother since the first day I came," he says, breaking a somewhat painful silence. "But the doctor told me a quiet visitor would not hurt her now. Can I see her before I leave?"

"I fear that seeing you may recall the memory of her loss," says Sybil; "but mother has forgotten much. She has never mentioned her trouble since she has been ill. Her mind is clouded, but little things give her pleasure as to a small child, and I do believe she is calmer, happier now than she has been for many a year. No storms can reach her now, through the mists of her mind; but she is very restful, very sweet and patient."

Montgomerie goes gently forward towards the cosiest room in the house, and there in a snug armchair supported by pillows sits the invalid. She has grown to look very old, but old age has brought with it the peace of childhood, and she looks towards the open door with happy, eager interest. She will always wear her smartest shawl and cap -- Sybil thinks she is secretly expecting her boy yet -- and she looks so sweet and flower-like that Montgomerie, to whom weakness is always a claim for reverence and love, goes tenderly forward and kisses her as a son -- with the kiss Jasper sent her from his far off army hospital bed.

To their surprise, the old lady clasps rapturous hands, and holds him close to her, and calls him "Jasper!" and bids him never leave her again. Henceforth, whenever she sees him, that look of gladness overspreads the old lady's face, and he quietly responds to the name she loves. Sybil can see it is in mercy that the mists have hovered around the mother's memory, and that she is able thus to stretch forth welcoming hands to Montgomerie in the name of her son.

### Chapter 15

"A Little Child Shall Lead Them"

IT is certain that as time passes on, the memory of past injustice becomes to Sybil an ever-present torture. She has not yet joined the chapel as a member, but she regularly attends service there, and has become much interested in the Sunday school work she was long since persuaded to undertake. Hitherto she has gone on the even tenor of her way, a general favourite in Market Wickham, and revered and beloved among Mr. Dymok's people as a right worthy representative of the respected family of Beech Glen.

But gradually it comes to pass that Sybil is not satisfied, for she looks into her own secret heart, and she knows that, whatever the outward appearance may be, the Lord God seeth not as man seeth. To outsiders she is the kindly, gracious, charitable lady of Beech Glen; to her invalid aunt, sitting so quietly, day by day, in the premature gloaming of her life, she is the most devoted of children; but her inmost soul has begun to wake and to cry after God, and she sees herself as she is, and she knows that there is no peace for her heart till she finds rest in Him.

There has been a spirit of faith and gladness moving amid the little ones of her class. Owen Montgomerie, ere he went away, held with the minister's assistance a series of special services for the young, and several from Sybil's own class have given up their little hearts to the Lord, and have been banded, with others, into a sort of Bible Study Union for the purpose of deepening and helping their Christian life.

Sybil looks at the bright faces of the innocent children around her, gathered for the instruction of the teacher they love, with an inward sense of misery and unworthiness and sin. Is she fitted to hear their verses and hymns, and open up to them God's holy word, when her own soul has not found the Master yet, and when she despairs of ever hearing His voice of peace? Surely it is too late, too late to undo the years of injustice and of wrong.

"How can I proclaim the truth now?" she asks herself again and again. "And what would be the use or purpose of telling the secret of the will I found? It does not exist, and therefore what difference can it make to anyone now? Aunt could never be made to understand the facts of the case, and I should be disgracing and lowering myself uselessly in people's eyes.

"I think, as I feel now, I would have taken secret council with Mr. Potter, grandfather's solicitor, but he has lost his memory, they say, and his successor knew nothing of grandfather or the wills he made. Oh, if only I had someone to advise me now -- someone as wise, as true, as gentle, as \-- but, no, he, least of all, must never know how I have deceived. I never, never could bear his abhorrence, his contempt!

"No, things must go on just the same. Dick Agmere was sought for, I know, and they never found him -- he cannot be alive; and so, perhaps, after all, my concealment has been no injustice, only, when I begin to pray my conscience feels so miserable, and I cannot shake off the sense of wrong. Oh, if only I could forget all about the past!"

One Sunday, the school is over for the afternoon, and Sybil is gathering her books together and preparing to start homeward for the quiet Sunday evening she spends with her aunt, relieving Mrs. Agmere's attendant, when she feels somebody pull her dress, and she looks down to behold Nan Abbott -- a girl of seven, the youngest, shyest, dullest lassie in Sybil's large class. Sybil is weary, depressed, and a little impatient, and Nan is always so slow and hesitant of speech.

"Well, Nan, have you lost your hymnbook again? Or is it your picture card this time? Make haste, it is getting late!"

"I hain't lost nothing, teacher." Nan is a timid, nervous child, and her blue eyes scan Miss Agmere's face with an expression half of affright; but she interlocks her trembling little fingers, and plunges into her speech. "Please, teacher, about three weeks since, you said we wasn't never to play dogs in class; and last Sunday I did play dogs, only you didn't see me, teacher, and Kate Brooks was my dog, and I had a string to her foot, and ... and ... I wanted to tell you, teacher; 'twas all my fault -- I give her a peppermint ball to be my dog."

Sybil gazes at the blushing face in a little perplexity, but reflection shows her the state of the case. A somewhat peculiar game going on furtively in the class has been revealed to her by the discovery of certain strings connecting some little girl with one of her neighbours. Some member of the class has chosen a little friend as her "dog" and kept possession over the individual in question by a bit of string tied to her foot. Quiet as the game has been (the pleasure of it consisting chiefly in imagination), it has led to an occasional reminder from the dog's owner by pulling the string held in her hand, and an outcry has resulted from the "dog" thus called to order. Sybil, having made enquiries into the nature of this pastime, has strictly forbidden its recurrence in class time. Now she comprehends that Nan Abbott has transgressed her commandment, and that last Sunday she privately tied the string of ownership to a classmate's foot as her canine property.

Sybil is inclined to feel a little amused at first, but she sees that Nan's little breast is heaving, and that the disobedience has indeed laid as a weight upon the child's heart. Knowing Nan's painful shyness, she feels that it has cost her scholar more than human heart can understand to come and make this confession.

"Teacher, I will obey you. I won't play dogs in class. I won't bring no more string. Don't be angry, teacher. I knowed I didn't ought to do it."

"I am not angry, Nan. You are a good, brave child to come and tell me. What made you say anything about it when I had not found you out?"

"Please, teacher, I wants to be good. I wants to please Jesus. I does love Jesus, teacher; and when I've been a-going to say my prayers, I've thought of that there picture card you gave me last Sunday 'cause I were good, and all the time I were a-holding that there string round my dog. I had to tell you, teacher. I couldn't rightly say my prayers without."

Sybil says nothing. She only bends down wistfully to the flushed face, and puts back the curls from the little hot brow of her dullest, smallest scholar.

"I'm glad I've told you, teacher," says Nan, drawing a deep breath of relief. "Will I give you back my card?"

"No, no," says Sybil; "keep the card. You will not transgress the rules again."

"No, that I won't -- I'll be good," says Nan, and lifts her lips for a kiss that seems somehow to stir the fountain of contrition within the heart that Sybil has been coldly hardening.

"O God, make me even as a little child -- humble my pride, help my unrepenting -- at any cost, leave me not to myself," she sobs that night, utterly broken down in the solitude of her room, forgetting her status as the lady of Beech Glen, the ignominy of confession, the perplexing consequences involved -- feeling only that if God will speak to her, will turn and look upon her, her heart of stone will break, and she will do aught that is His bidding.

Half the night Sybil lies awake, praying, weeping, searching the Scriptures, reading of Him who spake to despairing hearts, "Thy sins are forgiven thee." And at last, towards morning, she falls asleep, the text from the First Epistle of John on which her tired, dim eyes have been gazing so long, ringing still like music in her ears. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."

As she sleeps, she dreams. She seems to stand in some great judgment hall, such as her fears have often pictured as the result of her childhood's wrong-doing. Accusing voices ring around her, and in the darkness she defends herself from their blame, declaring she is not so bad as they assert, and that she has helped in many a good work for many a year, and is well known in connexion with all the charities of Market Wickham. And through all her protestations and descriptions of her justifying works, there seems to ring one voice, so sad, so tender, so divine, that at last it hushes all her eloquence, "I never knew you; depart, depart -- ye that work iniquity."

"O Christ, is it Thou?" she cries in her dream, forgetting the throng around, forgetting the darkness, only knowing that she has heard the voice of God.

"Oh, show me where Thou art -- O God, be merciful to me, a sinner!"

And then it seems to her that a little child, with a young, earnest face like Nan's, takes her hand and leads her on. And she sees a Face -- and such fear and awe as she has never known before silence her now, and keep her gazing into those solemn, searching, pitiful Eyes till their love thrills her through and through, and falling down before His feet she confesses all -- tells out all she has done and concealed -- her deceit, her hypocrisy, the dark stains upon her helpless soul. And a Hand touches her then, with a touch of pardon, peace, and power. Cool winds seem to breathe around her, and the light from the Saviour's form has made the darkness morning.

Where are her sins? Where is the stain? She knows she is made clean. All her transgression has been told, but the mocking voices of condemnation have died away, and she hears the singing of angels. Where are her accusers now? Where is the piercing agony of her own thoughts -- the load that her Redeemer has lifted forever away? In her dream she looks up to Him. Who shall say that the vision, born of the midnight Gospel reading, is not a heavenly message?

"Hath none condemned thee?"

"Master, no,"

She answers, trembling sore.

"Neither do I condemn thee. Go,

and sin not any more."

### Chapter 16

(Last Chapter)

"When God Gives Quietness"

WHEN Sybil wakes it is the day. The servant has softly entered, finding her sleeping later than usual, and laid her letters beside her, together with a basket of wild flowers gathered by some of her Sunday school children in the early morning from the dewy woods.

Sybil wakes mid the breath of violets, and draws them closer to her tear-wet face, together with clear, pure, wide-open primroses and trembling anemones and the little scrap of paper that says the flowers come, "For teacher, from Nan, and Kitty, and Bess."

Upon her knees, in the golden glow of the morning, Sybil yields herself up -- spirit, soul, and body -- to her Maker and her Redeemer, praying Him, in the loving faith of a little child, "Teach me to do Thy will, for Thou art my God."

The first envelope she opens is addressed in the firm, characteristic hand she recognises with a trembling start. Owen Montgomerie is forwarding to her a book she has desired to see, and for a moment the recollection of that name makes her shrink and falter in her new-born resolution of confession of the mistake she has aided and abetted, whatever the cost and consequence may be.

But there is a higher Name, a more sovereign claim, even than that of the friend she holds most dear, and she lays aside the note. There is also a notice, which the school secretary omitted to give her yesterday, of a meeting to be held this Monday evening, for the choice of a superintendent for the girls' division, which is conducted in a large room upstairs.

The reminder of this meeting comes to Sybil now almost as a divinely vouchsafed opportunity. She thinks of the teachers and friends assembled, among whom her position is so high and unique, by reason of education and wealth. Will she ever have strength and courage to speak out the truth before a meeting like this? Sybil's nature, now it is aroused to see in very truth the sin of her concealment, cries out for the fullest measure of public reparation. As regards the setting right of the wrong, she knows to be impossible; for there is only her own voice to bear any witness at all of the last will Squire Agmere signed, and the just heir has disappeared -- and even if he could be traced how could Mrs. Agmere be made to understand her will should be in his favour?

"I cannot set things right," she cries, clasping her helpless hands. "I can only see one step before me. At whatever cost of shame and sorrow to myself, I will tell the truth. The next step after that only God can see."

Sybil Agmere comes in to the teachers' meeting with a face so white that many gaze towards her with whispered admiration of her devotion and self-sacrifice in the sickroom.

"She has a look of the old squire about her tonight," thinks old Mr. Dymok, sitting among them, though his son now holds ministerial charge. "I have seen just such a firm, undaunted, heroic expression in my dear old friend's eyes many a time when he has been speaking in public on behalf of the denomination he loved so well."

A ballot is taken as concerns the superintendence of the girls' department, and it is found to be decidedly in favour of Miss Agmere, who is accordingly proposed by the Rev. Martin Dymok and heartily seconded by Mr. Drury.

Everyone waits for Sybil's reply, expecting she will, in her quiet, pleasant way, ask time to consider the proposal, or decline on the score of being so much occupied. But instead of answering from her seat as usual, Sybil rises up and says in a low voice that she has something on her mind which she wishes them to know.

"I have been the means," she says, "of bringing about an injustice that has lasted for many years, and I have moved among you and done my work in your midst as a deceiver and a hypocrite. Yes, I have been a hypocrite. I am the last one to take the lead and oversight of the teachers. Let me stay with you, if you will, but let it be in the last and lowest place. Only let me stay and work for God -- for I am not a hypocrite now. I have asked my Saviour to purge away my sins, and I know the power of my Lord's redeeming love. And because He has forgiven me, I must speak out all the truth.

"I want you to know and understand what I have done and hidden all these years. Within a few days of my grandfather's funeral I found his last will, leaving his property away from my beloved aunt, and to his grandson Richard Agmere, who disappeared in childhood from our knowledge. This will, in order that aunt might keep the property, I allowed our dog to destroy, and I burnt the fragments, and, ever since, I have hidden this secret away, and at last I almost forgot it, but of late it has been burning within me like a fire. This is what I did -- and you know how ill my aunt is now -- I have done that which can never be set right -- oh, pray for me, my friends, for I do repent from my heart. God knows I do. May He have mercy on me!"

There is a strange, awed silence in the room as Sybil's voice breaks down. Mary Drury rises up and comes over to Sybil and takes both her chill, trembling hands, and young Mrs. Martin Dymok comes to her other side. Martin Dymok himself is looking bewildered, and staring at Sybil as though trying to realize the full force and extent of what she has told. Some of the women break down into tears, but old Mr. Dymok rises up, with his white locks, bowed form, and furrowed face, and says, "Because our dear young sister -- this child of our prayers, for whose conversion I have wrestled with God for months and years -- has come to the cross of Calvary and found the Lord, let us arise and give thanks to Heaven."

In a moment all the assembly has risen, and the old man's quavering voice begins the strain, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow," in the midst of which Sybil goes out into the starlit night, motioning back Mary Drury who comes forward to join her, but who understands her wish to be alone this hour with God.

Sybil goes on half blindly towards Beech Glen, the home that has come unjustly to her aunt and herself. Yes, it will be hers at last -- oh, if she had only known this complication of troubles when she sinned for the benefit of others, as she deemed!

"Tell me, God, what more can I do?" she cries, standing by the old parish church, and listening to the singing at the week-evening choir practice within. "My childish hands have made a chain of injustice and of wrong! I have confessed, my God! I cannot set things right. I can only lift up helpless hands of appeal unto Thee."

And the sweet hymn floats out to her from the old church, reaching her in her loneliness like an echo from her own trembling, penitent heart:

"Jesus, answer from above,  
Is not all Thy nature love?  
Wilt Thou not the wrong forget,  
Suffer me to kiss Thy feet?  
If I rightly read Thy heart,  
If Thou all compassion art,  
Bow Thine ear, in mercy bow,  
Pardon and accept me now."

Sybil is ill in bed for many days after that Monday evening. Her system seems weakened by the strain she has undergone, but Mary Drury comes to sit beside her, and there are others from the school and congregation, some of them quite in the humbler ranks of life, who ask if they can see Miss Agmere and bring her eggs and flowers, and ask after her health with respect as true as formerly, and with a warmth of love that seems new born.

"Oh, Sybil, it was brave of you to stand up there and make confession!" says Mary, seeing how her friend is bowed down and prostrated with remorse. "I do not think I could have borne an ordeal like that."

"You, Mary? You never could have acted the hypocrite's part as I have done. Sometimes the sense of pardon, Mary, is so full, so sweet, and I realize how Jesus loves, and my whole heart seems outpoured before Him. And then again I remember how irreparable is the injustice I have wrought, and how my conscience has refused to listen to God's voice warning me, through many a year, that I was far from Him; and I feel I am hopeless, lost."

"Well, dearest," says Mary tenderly, "Jesus came to seek and to save the lost, so it is just you He is wanting."

Sybil's face trembles to brightness as she thinks over Mary's words. "God bless you for your comfort, dear," she says. "But, oh, if by any means I could make up the wrong to the boy who should have inherited. Mr. Potter's successors are renewing the search for him. I have told them all, though they seem to think my words are wild, and that I imagined the whole occurrence of destroying the will. They seem to have heard no tidings of him."

"Sybil, my brother Martin says he thinks...."

Sybil looks up to Mary, and sees a strange, blessed light quivering through her tears. "What is it, Mary? Does Martin think, as we all do, poor little Dick Agmere is dead?"

"He would not be little now," says Mary, putting back Sybil's curling hair. "How the trees are budding in your garden, Sybil. This is a real spring day. Even the roses are waking now. I must not stay, Sybil. I know you are to have another visitor this morning. Mr. Montgomerie returned to the town last night, and Martin told him all. As he has been so much here we thought you would wish him to know -- he is coming today, Sybil."

"Mary, I cannot see him! I will not meet him! I am thankful he knows. My measure of shame is full to the brim. Mary, if you only knew -- oh, I cannot read the contempt in his eyes! Don't let him come here, Mary. I can never meet him again."

Mary puts her gently back within her chair. "You must see him, Sybil," she says. "There is a reason why you should grant him an interview. And that is his step in the hall. He has come early indeed."

Mary glides away, leaving Sybil bowed like some statue of shame, her face hidden within her hands.

"Sybil," says the dearest voice of all earth's voices at her side. It is the first time he has ever used her name. "Sybil, look up -- take courage, my child! I thank God for your heroic confession. I bless Him for the strengthening grace He gave you. Think not, dear child, that your Master and mine will remember the sins of our youth, and we will forget the past, Sybil, save as a stepping-stone to help us into deeper love and thankfulness. Sybil, do you know what I once heard a great writer say? Speaking of the poem, 'The Ancient Mariner,' where the ship is worked by dead men, he said it suggested to him that the dead mistakes and faults and sins of our bygone days might, by God's pity, be used as helps and aids forward, inspiring our souls with love to Him who puts our sins behind His back, and casts them away to the very depths of the sea. My child, God has helped you to do the right Can you not believe that your Redeemer has forgiven you?"

"Yes," says Sybil, looking with a great consciousness of aid and sympathy into the earnest blue eyes bent down to her. "Yes, Mr. Montgomerie, but I cannot forgive myself. I stole this inheritance from little Dick Agmere. Suppose he is living now, and in want, while we have plenty! Oh, Mr. Montgomerie, if you would only help me to find little Dick Agmere!"

"I will, Sybil; my hand upon it," he says, taking both her own into his strong, restful clasp. "But Dick Agmere is not little now, you know."

She glances up at him as he repeats the same words Mary used just now. "Suppose he had a beard and a weather-beaten face -- and suppose you just came up to his heart?"

"What do you mean?" asks Sybil faintly, in a frightened tone.

"There, Sybil, do not be afraid. I ought to have made my confession more gently, but I did not understand my little cousin was so timid and so frail. Sybil, up to the time I began to write, I was called Agmere. Martin Dymok knew me by that name at college, and believed I must be some relation, but his mind was not clear as to the Beech Glen family matters. He was quite little when my grandfather died. Gradually people began to use my nom-de-plume, 'Owen Montgomerie,' and in my literary pride I rather gave this title the preference.

"During my time with poor Jasper in his illness, we compared notes and discovered our relationship. The poor lad said to me one day, 'I suppose you will be heir now I am going hence,' thinking that the estates might, by law, devolve really to me as the next male heir. I would not use my real name in bringing the news of Jasper's death. I shrank from seeming to put forward then any claims of my own. And afterwards I found that Mrs. Agmere had power to will her property to whom she chose, and that all would be yours.

"I have often been on the point of telling you we are cousins in a sense," he adds, looking at her frightened face with a tenderness she does not lift her dark eyes to behold. "I have told you the story of my childish need, and how my ragged-school teacher took me for his own, and have sometimes wondered you did not guess my identity, but I dare say you have forgotten all about the little waif who ran away from this place so long ago. I remember you, though, Sybil -- your eyes are just the same."

"Oh, how could I know?" sobs Sybil. "You have grown so different, and yet I might have known you were an Agmere. Oh, this is terrible! It is you I have wronged -- I have robbed you of Beech Glen! Oh, Mr. Montgomerie, could mother make another will, or shall I sign a paper or something? Oh, tell me what to do! Let me not stand here as a thief."

"Call me Dick, and then I will tell you what you can do."

"Cousin Dick"

"No, no, we'll leave out the cousin. Sybil, I have made you one confession, and now I'll make another. With my poor £200 or £300 a year, I was too proud to tell you what I might long since have owned -- that 1 love you, my darling, with the whole love of my heart. But as circumstances stand, and seeing how my loss of property is torturing you, I will drop the pride and take your money if you will give it to me. Shall we settle it thus, Sybil? Shall we take care of Beech Glen and mother together -- God forbid any trouble should cloud her last peaceful years."

Sybil looks up at him, blushing, trembling, weeping, only half comprehending his meaning. "Sybil, sweetheart," he whispers, "you can give me back Beech Glen if you will, by becoming my wife. Is it yes or no, Sybil?"

"Oh, I am not good enough," begins Sybil, bowing her face on his arm; but he raises her up and whispers of their sunlit life together, and as his lips claim hers she knows that the labyrinth of difficulty and of dread has been opened up in brightness beyond her dreams.

Is this, she wonders, how God forgives \-- not pardon alone, but joy and comfort and benediction along this mortal life and through the shining years? The birds without are tuning their new-found anthem of life that arises out of wintry death, every blade of tender grass is gemmed in the morning rays, and Sybil, leaving behind her fears, her perplexities, her hardening of heart for ever, gives thanks to Christ that within and without it is springtide now.

THE END

### More Books

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More 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 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

Christian Fiction

Younger Readers

Return to Table of Contents

## 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 -- thejesusbus@hotmail.co.uk

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!_

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

God has a special plan for each and every one of us -- that includes YOU! He has given all of us unique gifts. Not sure what that might mean for you? _Seven Keys to Unlock Your Calling_ is a very short book that will help you discover how to explore those gifts and encourage you to go deeper into all that God has for you.

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

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

### 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

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

If you only intend to read just one Christian book, this should be the one! You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon. Well, William Haslam is that man. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851, and revival immediately broke out. Later, another of William Haslam's "famous" sermons will cause a mass walkout of assembled clergy in St Paul's Cathedral! Once he starts to preach the Gospel with zeal, you can rejoice over powerful conversions in nearly every chapter.

Haslam's Journey consists of selected passages from William Haslam's two autobiographies: From _Death_ Into Life (published 1880, his Cornish ministry) and Yet Not I (published 1882, set mostly in Bath, Norfolk and London), abridged and lightly modernised. Just under half of the originals is included. With copious notes and appendices by Chris Wright, editor of _Haslam's Leaves_ also from White Tree Publishing. William Haslam writes with humour and great insight.

_William Haslam writes about his early life:_ "I did not see then, as I have since, that turning over a new leaf to cover the past is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. I thought my acceptance with God depended upon my works. This made me very diligent in prayer, fasting and alms deeds. I often sat and dreamed about the works of mercy and devotion I would do."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

Now followed a difficult time, because he knew that in order to preach to others, he had to be able to read the Bible, both for himself and aloud to others. He writes, "I began to practise preaching. One Sunday I entered a turnip field and preached most eloquently to the turnips. I had a very large and most attentive congregation. Not one of them made an attempt to move away." When he started preaching to people, and came across a long word in the Bible he was unable to read, he says he stopped at the long word and spoke on what had gone before, and started reading again at the word after the long one!

Gipsy Smith quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he soon became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He joined the Salvation Army for a time, until being told to resign. Instead of this being a setback, he now took up a much wider sphere of work in England, before travelling to America and Australia where he became a much-loved preacher. In spite of meeting two American presidents at the White House, and other important figures in society, Gipsy Smith never forgot his roots. He never pretended to be anything other than a Gipsy boy, and was always pleased to come across other Gipsy families in his travels. Like Billy Bray and others uneducated writers, Gipsy Smith tells the story of his life in a simple and compelling way. This is the account written by a man who gave himself fully to the Lord, and was used to help lead thousands to Jesus Christ as their Saviour.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

### Living in the Sunshine:

The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Hannah Smith, who suffered so much in her personal life, has an amazing Bible-based grasp of God's love for each of us. She writes in this book: "Why, I ask myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable Christian lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

"But here, perhaps, you will meet me with the words, 'Oh, no, I do not blame the Lord, but I am so weak and so foolish, and so ignorant that I am not worthy of His care.' But do you not know that sheep are always weak, and helpless, and silly; and that the very reason they are compelled to have a shepherd to care for them is just because they are so unable to take care of themselves? Their welfare and their safety, therefore, do not in the least depend upon their own strength, nor upon their own wisdom, nor upon anything in themselves, but wholly and entirely upon the care of their shepherd. And if you are a sheep, your welfare also must depend altogether upon your Shepherd, and not at all upon yourself!"

Note: This is Hannah Smith's final book. It was first published as _Living in the Sunshine_ , and later republished as _The God of All Comfort_ , the title of the third chapter. The edition used here is the British edition of _Living in the Sunshine_ , dated 1906.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

This book is a selection of 19 talks given by Gipsy Smith which will provide inspirational reading, and also be a source of help for those who speak. There are also 20 "two-minute sermonnettes" as the last chapter! Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

"I can't help praising the Lord!" said Billy Bray. "As I go along the street I lift up one foot, and it seems to say 'Glory!' and I lift up the other, and it seems to say 'Amen'; and so they keep on like that all the time I am walking."

Billy was a tin miner by trade and he loved his native Cornwall, but his love for souls was greater. When he was criticized for building a new chapel he replied, "If this new chapel ... stands one hundred years, and one soul be converted in it every year, that will be one hundred souls -- and one soul is worth more than all Cornwall!"

Billy Bray (1794-1868) found a real excitement in his Christian life, and discovered the secret of living by faith. His outspoken comments are often amusing, but the reader will be challenged by their directness.

This book has a strong message of encouragement for Christians today. Billy believed and accepted the promises in the Bible, and lived a life that was Spirit filled.

FW Bourne, the writer of the original book, The King's Son, knew Billy Bray as a friend. In it he has used Billy's own writing, the accounts of others who had met Billy, and his own memories.

Chris Wright has revised and edited FW Bourne's book to produce this new edition, adding sections directly from the autobiography of William Haslam who met Billy, and from Billy Bray's own handwritten Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture this amazing man of God.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-912529-01-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-00-1

5x8 inches 86 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

eBook Coming 23rd April 2018

### As Jesus Passed By

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

To introduce this book of some of his evangelistic talks in 1905, Gipsy Smith writes: "After much pressure I have consented to the publication of these Addresses. They were delivered to crowded audiences with a burning desire to bring those who heard them to an immediate decision for Christ. Here they are, practically as they were spoken, and if I am so led, they will be preached again, for God has been pleased to bless them to thousands. Whether heard or read, my one desire is the extension of Christ's kingdom all over the world."

"Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-912529-05-6

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

White Tree Publishing 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

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

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.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

### 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. Keith 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

### 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, where she 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

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

"When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich."

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

### 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

### 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

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

Two grownup sisters live under their older brother's thumb. He is obsessed with perfect Christian doctrine and farming, and cannot see why his sisters should want any company but his own. Marie is fond of a local artist, but her brother will not allow such a marriage. Marie's only hope of freedom is to run away and marry in secret. When she returns to the family home eight years later with a child, surely she will be welcome by a brother who professes religion. This story by Eliza Kerr again takes the theme of rejection, but her stories are all very different as well as involving.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

**ISBN:** **978-1-9997899-8-5**

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

When Rollica Reed is left an orphan at the age of sixteen, a friend of her father's takes her in, much to the dismay of his wife and two older daughters who consider themselves to be the cream of Victorian society. The wife and daughters resent Rollica as an intruder, and try to make her life wretched, humiliating her in front of friends and telling her she is too common to be a lady. The two unmarried daughters are concerned by Rollica's naturally good looks, and want to cut her off from meeting any of their friends. Rollica soon learns she must not show any sign of weakness if she is to survive. But can she ever forgive?

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

### Freda's Folly

Margaret S Haycraft

Freda Beresford is an aspiring young writer whose work is constantly rejected. Her young brother wants to go to university, but money is scarce. One day Freda receives a letter from a distant aunt, congratulating her on getting a story published in a leading literary journal. Enclosed is a large cheque and a promise to help Freda to a literary career. The money would mean that her brother can go to university, and Freda begins to feel famous at last. Unfortunately, Freda did not write the story, but she accepts the cheque and the deception starts. What begins as a light hearted novella, from one of White Tree Publishing's favourite authors of fiction, gets darker as Freda's deception has far reaching consequences. Readers will share Freda's unease as her initial deception leads her deeper and deeper towards the inevitable disgrace.

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-02-5

eBook coming 14th May 2018

### Sister Royal

Margaret S Haycraft

Beryl Rosslyn Aylmer, known from childhood as Bride, is suffering from seizures. Her young brother, Bonny, calls in Dr. Gildredge, but quickly realises he has made a mistake, for he takes an immediate dislike to the man. Dr. Gildredge is determined to become famous throughout Europe, and diagnoses a rare condition in Bride that he will attempt to treat, and write about it in the medical journals -- whether she recovers or not. Dr, Gildredge soon sees that the only way to keep control of Bride's treatment is to persuade her to marry him, and also stop young Bonny from seeing her. As is to be expected, the outcome is far from straightforward. This story by Margaret S Haycraft is a very readable mix of romance and revenge.

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-03-2

## 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! This is the first Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

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. This is the second Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

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

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

188 pages 5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

### 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? This is the third Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

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

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

188 pages 5x8 inches

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

What is hidden in the old spoil tip by the disused Midnight Mine? Two men have permission to dig there, but they don't want anyone watching -- especially not Jessica and James, the Two Jays. And where is Granfer Joe's old tin box, full of what he called his treasure? The Easter holiday at Midnight Farm in Cornwall isn't as peaceful as James's parents planned. An early morning bike ride nearly ends in disaster, and with the so-called Hound of the Baskervilles running loose, things turn out to be decidedly dangerous. This is the fourth Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Also available in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

200 pages 5x8 inches

### 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

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

Available from major internet stores

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

Return to Table of Contents
