

### About the Book

Stephen Wadham, the young minister of the thriving Union Church in London, meets a vision of loveliness while on holiday, the Lady of the Chine. Unfortunately she disappears as quickly as she appeared. Stephen is hiding a shameful secret, and when a small child, cold and hungry, turns up at his church one evening begging for food, he knows his past could be about to unravel. With an elderly maiden aunt trying to control his future, and the reappearance of the Lady of the Chine, the situation become almost unbearable when he is seen on several occasions leaving the Jolly Masons public house, and is accused of drinking and gambling. Another sensitively edited book from White Tree Publishing's favourite author.

### The Lady of the Chine

### Margaret S Haycraft

1855-1936

White Tree Publishing

Edition

Original book first published 1903

This edition ©White Tree Publishing 2018

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-1-912529-19-3

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

The Lady of the Chine 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.

### Author Biography

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

Margaret was a contemporary of the much better-known Christian writer Mrs. O. F. Walton. Both ladies wrote Christian stories for children that were very much for the time in which they lived, with little children often preparing for an early death. Mrs. Walton wrote three romances for adults (with no suffering children, and now published by White Tree in abridged versions). Although Margaret Haycraft concentrated mainly on books for children, she wrote many romances for older readers. Unusually for Victorian writers, the majority of Margaret Haycraft's stories are told in the present tense, but not this one.

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. But be warned, you may need a box of Kleenex handy for some stories!

A problem of Victorian writers is their 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.

£1 at the time of this story may not sound much, but in income value it is worth approximately £120 pounds today (about US$150). I mention this in case sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

This story was sold in a combined volume of two novelettes by Margaret Haycraft, the other being Iona. Our White Tree Publishing edition of Iona is also available as an eBook.

Chris Wright

Editor

### Publisher's Note

This is a short book, and there are only 14 chapters. In the second part 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 help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian fiction, Christian non-fiction, and books for younger readers.

### Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Author Biography

Publisher's Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

More Books from White Tree Publishing

About White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

**A Chine** is a narrow gully or gorge in soft rock running into the sea, with a stream cutting through it. Chines are mostly found on the South East and South coastline of England. The word Chine comes from the Saxon word "Cinan" which means a split or yawn. They are a major feature and attraction in some seaside towns.

### Chapter 1

"Early to Rise"

Glenford-on-Sea can make its own terms in the season, so eager is the rush at holiday time for this fair place of rock and sand and wooded glade. When the masked singers are on the beach (vaguely supposed by the crowd to be earls and baronets), then do the pleasure seekers throng together in such numbers that the local paper can assert, with a clear editorial conscience, that "the great and increasing popularity of our town is attested by the happy multitude noted daily by the observant eye on our beautiful promenade." But even the observant eye would have failed to see much in the way of humanity about 4 a.m. in Glenford Chine. The "happy multitude" slept, and the mysterious vocalists dreamt, presumably, of their ancestral halls.

"Nature's sweet restorer" does not always come at our bidding, however, and Stephen Wadham, the popular young minister of an important suburban church in Londn, being overworked although only in his late twenties, and having private worries of which committees and guilds and church officers were unaware, had been medically counselled to seek the air of Glenford as being ideal for insomnia.

He had arrived two days ago, and as yet had wooed balmy sleep in vain, save for brief and restless periods. At two this morning he had arisen and studied a treatise, sent by the sympathetic wife of a deacon, on Simple Methods of Obtaining Sleep.

Returning to bed, he had put several of these recommendations into practice, such as counting sheep, one by one, passing through a gap in the hedge. He had also rolled his eyes in a particular way, and recited in a drowsy monotone passages of poetry. Onions were specially recommended, but these were not just then handy, and he finally came to the determination that he would keep the song birds company, and be out and about, instead of trying ― according to section ten of the treatise ― to "banish reflection, and encourage the mind to become an absolute blank."

When we go out while others sleep, we do so at first with a sort of self-complaisance that we are superior to the ordinary run of people. What do they know about the pleasures of getting up early, and seeing the grasses pearled with morning dew, and hearing the lark singing at heaven's gate, and watching the sky rose-flushed and calm and tender, telling its message to earth below.

But presently the self-complaisance passes, and we find ourselves thinking things look a little weird. The familiar windows, the well-known highways ― how grey and still and solemn they seem! It is a world of silence as regards humanity. The feeling of loneliness increases almost to oppression, and we walk softly, furtively, timidly, so that when a bend in the road reveals a couple of watchful policemen, moving with silent shoes, we start guiltily, and are aware of keen and suspicious glances dubious as to whether we may not be near the Mayor's garden with intentions on his presentation plate.

The Rev. Stephen Wadham met no policemen that morning, however, nor did pride swell his heart. He went forth depressed by lack of sleep, and scarcely heeding whither his footsteps wandered. Then Nature brought him her gentle healing ― there were trees, wind-swayed, whispering trees, that breathed balm and peace, and that with silvery leaves brought to his remembrance the olive trees in the mountain garden across the Kedron. There were wild flowers in the crannies of the cliff, wet with shining tears, smiling at him.

There were the Chine choristers, singing their morning prayer; there was the gorse like a burning bush; there was the fairy-footed stream that ran down, down between the garlanded rocks. Below, there was the great wide sea, comforter of every heart that believes in Him Whose voice said, "Peace, be still."

And Stephen Wadham was His servant, His messenger, and his soul drank in the gracious influences of the manifold works of the "Over-Heart." He stood alone under the lovely rose-clouds of heaven, and his lips framed the verse:

"I see Thy light, I feel Thy wind

Earth is Thy uttered word;

Whatever wakes my heart and mind,

Thy presence is, my Lord!"

That walk did the young minister more good than any physician or druggist could have wrought. It was worth while losing his way ― and that is done with ease around Glenford ― it was worth while even to have nervous fears as to not getting back in time for the boarding-house breakfast, to see the foam playing amid the caves, and the sea-myrtle wreathing the steeps, and the squirrels darting to and fro amid the fir trees, and the mosses creeping about the broken steps that at last he managed to find, and that brought him back to the Chine path that he knew.

"If you please, could you――"

"Excuse me, would you――"

The words seemed to come simultaneously. Both meant to enquire the time, for neither had brought a watch. Just then a stable clock in the distance struck the hour of six, and answered both.

A moment ago Wadham could have wished it later, for he was getting hungry thanks to Glenford air. Now it seemed to him suddenly that 6 a.m. was the fairest time of the day, and Glenford Chine a bit left over from Eden. Brown eyes were looking at him shyly, but, soon reassured by clerical hat and look, this beautiful girl in pink cotton dress, with uncovered head and hands, who so mysteriously had appeared as from the beach ("like Aphrodite," spoke the minister's heart within him), said with frank dignity: "I meant to ask you the time, but I hear it is six. Please could you tell me how to get back to Muscovy Mansions?"

"I am a stranger here, but if you could give me some idea no doubt I could find the house for you," said the young man, gallantly. He had never before felt such heroic resolve to distinguish himself in the eyes of any house-seeker.

"Oh!" said the girl, with whose auburn hair the morning wind was softly playing as she looked about her in perplexity; "you see, we only came yesterday. Father is ill, and I sat up with him part of the night, while Nurse rested. And then, when she came, I could not sleep, so I thought I would go down to the beach through the Chine; but now I have lost the house where we are staying. There were lots of steps ― I should think hundreds. Haven't you seen any steps that lead up into a garden?"

"Oh, yes, ever so many," he said hopefully, "but how shall we know Muscovy Mansions? Is the name on the Chine entrance?"

"It was," she answered, "but it seems rubbed off, but I should recognise it directly because there was a ginger cat ― it is our landlady's ― asleep on the gatepost."

Mr Wadham was not a romantic man ― hard study and constant work had left him very little time for the sentimental ― but he never forgot that walk through the leafy Chine, side by side with that vision of grace and loveliness, listening to tones that seemed to him sweeter than any music he had ever heard ― not excepting even his own violin, which was dear to him as his kindred (sometimes dearer) − and searching for the gate with the ginger cat leading to the garden steps of Muscovy Mansions.

And Glenford Chine being a luxuriant maze, villa-crowned at the top, it took them nearly half an hour before they found ― not the ginger cat, for that had gone poaching ― but a purveyor of milk, who looked at the two with interest and sympathy, and was able to point to the sought-for gate, "The next to the right, close agin the post with the notice board."

And the lady of the Chine, with one bright smile to her companion, ran nimbly up the mossy steps, anxious lest her father should have asked for her. Like a dream she had come, like a dream she had departed. Somehow the sky did not seem so rosy for awhile, nor the whisper of the leaves so sweet, to the Rev. Stephen left alone beside the notice board, to peruse the threats of the Town Council against any and all who should do trespass and damage to Glenford Chine, or aught pertaining thereto.

### Chapter 2

In Shadow time

At Heathercliff Castle (the boarding-houses at Glenford went in for palatial titles) the breakfast hour in summer was 8.30, and Mr Wadham was late after all, for he had made an expedition whereby he found the front entrance to Muscovy Mansions at last, and then considerable time was taken up in deciding whether he should linger in the main road, apparently waiting for the carrier's cart to Little Glenford, or return to the Chine and occupy the seat at the foot of the garden.

He wondered which method of proceeding would reward him, by showing once more at the window or on the lawn the face he had seen for the first time that morning, yet already realised he must remember all his days. He tried both plans, but saw no more of the fair Chine vision.

When he understood she must be breakfasting, the sound of a gong having come to him faintly down the various flights of garden steps, he sought his boarding house in Glenford Terrace, and ate porridge in a sort of dreamy rapture that caused three unmarried ladies opposite to confide to each other, not altogether inaudibly, that, "The dear man's face is like a halo."

"Have you enjoyed your walk, Mr Wadham?" asked the lady of the house, beaming genially upon him.

"Delightful ― most charming scenery," he replied; then, struck by a diplomatic thought, he added, "What exquisite architecture is to be seen in this neighbourhood. That house with the Corinthian columns, Muscovy Mansions ― what wonderful decoration! What classic taste! Do you happen to know who lives there, Mrs Purton?"

"A person of the name of Gale keeps the house, I believe, Mr Wadham, but I have heard visitors are far from comfortable. Too exposed a position for one thing. I doubt if the chimneys are safe."

Mrs Purton did not approve of too great interest in neighbouring houses. Mr Wadham had forgotten that the lady of his remembrance was not one of the household. The inspiration came to him that he would find her in the visitors' list of the Glenford Globe.

Under the heading of Muscovy Mansions he found the following names: "Jipp (and valet), Biggs, Salman, Crow, Mouser, and Wale." He declined indignantly to bestow upon his sweet companion of the leafy ways any of the surnames in the list. Recalling himself from dreams to duty, he sat down to write to his Aunt Amelia, who kept house for him at St Chrystom's ― and also to his senior deacon ― some account of Glenford-on-Sea, but the Chine insisted on occupying so much space in his correspondence that he had to re-write the letters in case his raptures should induce all the congregation to spend their holidays wandering about these paths.

Henceforth the architecture of Muscovy Mansions was daily studied by one of the visitors to Glenford-on-Sea, and so much did the proprietors, Mr and Mrs Gale, appreciate his interest, that they sent out a liveried boy with an illustrated prospectus of their establishment. Beyond this boy (whom he would fain have questioned, but who was at dinner and desired speedy return to the same), the young minister perceived no one representative of the home life of Muscovy Mansions. He could almost have persuaded himself that the Chine-fairy had been the creation of his own imaginative brain, when one evening, in the twilight, she flashed upon him, star-like and swift, descending from her bicycle at his side in the Station Road.

"Oh, you are the one who was in the Chine the morning I missed my way. You will take my bicycle, won't you, and go for him immediately?"

"Of course I will," he answered, feeling as if to girdle the earth for her on that bicycle would be nothing at her behest. "I will go for him at once; but who is he, and what is he to do?"

"Why, the doctor ― Dr Thornhill. Father wants him ― Mr Lennox, at Muscovy Mansions. Nurse asked me to go, but I can't bear leaving father. He is worse today. I came this way, thinking I should meet the postman. He has a bicycle, and I knew he would take the message into Glenford. But I have missed him. Oh, thank you so much, it is for Dr Thornhill, of Westdingle."

"And I am to return the bicycle to――"

"I am Amarel Lennox. Oh, how good of you! Do ride very quickly, won't you?"

It was a hard task to ride very quickly away from that gleaming vision; but Stephen Wadham was used to hard tasks, and five minutes later he alighted breathless, but bright of countenance ― indeed, in such a glow of eagerness that the eldest unmarried boarder at Heathercliff Castle (who was dining with the Thornhills), catching sight of him and perceiving his rapt expression, believed herself to be the real magnet of the ride, and had hopes from that time forward.

The doctor's dog-cart was brought round, and Stephen Wadham watched his departure. Then he returned the bicycle to Muscovy Mansions, and his inquiries as to Mr Lennox brought not the damsel of the auburn tresses, but Mrs Gale, portly, and in rustling black silk, who told him the patient was, "Doing finely and having leeches."

Cheered by this intelligence, the young man wended his way to Mrs Purton's, repeating to himself the name of "Amarel," and in reverie demanding of the stars and the sea as to whether they had ever heard a lovelier.

### Chapter 3

The Third Time of Meeting

Mr Wadham wrote home such glowing accounts of Glenford air that the officers of his church begged him to prolong his holiday, and one ― a Mr Lidgery ― arrived with his wife and children at Heathercliff Castle, and announced they had come to keep their pastor company and see that he did not mope. After that the young minister had to be the guide of the place, for Mrs Lidgery was one of those who could not know happiness if anything mentioned in the guidebook were missed.

There were special excursions to Little Glenford to see the stocks, and to the moors to see the spot where once stood the gibbet. They also went over the model workhouse, and drove into Glenchester to inspect the county jail. Then they had to examine the local museum, and admire the statue of the mayor who led the men of Glenford in defiant procession down to the shore, when invasion by Bonaparte was feared on that coast.

In short, his holiday time became so full of festivity and excitement that Mr Wadham had scant opportunity to watch for another sight of the fair lodger at Muscovy Mansions. But he wove a dream of her into a violin air, tender and sweet, that he played in the moonlight in the solitude of his room. Those of the boarders who heard it ― especially the one who had hopes ― declared he was a genius, and begged that it might be given at one of their "evenings."

Heathercliff Castle was noted for its "evenings" ― Thursdays ― when after dinner there were recitations, conjuring tricks by amateurs, musical solos and duets. But Stephen Wadham gave them something classical instead. His composition that told of Amarel was not for the drawing room and the electric light, and when they heard it was classical they all looked delighted, and the one who had hopes murmured that she adored "those dear, wonderful people who composed sonatas and charming things like those!"

It was the evening before the return journey to St Chrystom's, and at the time of sunset certain of the boarders at Mrs Purton's strolled down through the Chine to the sea. Mrs Lidgery was packing the family trunks, and required her husband to sit on the various boxes. He called to the minister that he should not be long, and Mr Wadham responded cheerily, "Very well, I shall be just over there," pointing vaguely in the direction of the sunset-crimsoned waves.

"Those sweet mandolinists are on the beach, Mr Wadham," the ladies had said, who sat opposite to him at table; but he knew not when he might look out to old ocean again, and he wanted to be alone as he listened to the voices of the sea ― alone in the hush of evening to bid farewell to the swaying trees and the great rocks garlanded with heather.

The music of the sea was to him a psalm of remembrance. He was a sailor's son, and his first recollection was of a white, thatched cottage in Devonshire within reach of the sound of many waters. His father had been a captain, but he died too early in life to provide for his wife and his twin boys. The mother had toiled early and late at her lace-making to earn bread for the children. There was a tender Te Deum in the young man's heart, that nevermore could those patient hands grow weary, and nevermore could that life of love and prayer know heartache. For the widow's road was a way of tears.

Stephen, passing from village school to grammar school, and thence to college by scholarships that were the wage of hard study, had been her comfort and her pride; but his brother Joseph ― and Stephen had always had a notion she loved Joseph best ― had always been wild and wilful, and had long since shamed their kinship and their name in convict garb, as the penalty of forgery. The bright, clever lad, whose face was like her husband's, was in prison when the widow died. Stephen's eyes and lips were her own over again. He was her heart-rest, but Joseph had been her idol.

It had all happened in the long ago. The convict had been freed at last, and had disappeared from knowledge ― most likely he was dead ― the life he had led was such as too often means an early grave. No one at Union Church, St Chrystom's (save Aunt Amelia) knew or guessed that their pastor had ever possessed a brother, and Aunt Amelia would not have mentioned such a family disgrace for the world. Aunt Amelia was an aged lady ― his father's sister ― who had looked up the Wadhams when Stephen went to college, and who, having but a small annuity and an "unfortunate affliction" ― which no one quite understood, but which was supposed to be "something on the nerves" ― had settled herself under the young minister's roof, and kept vigilant eyes upon the young ladies of the congregation.

Miss Wadham did not approve, she often told Stephen, of a minister marrying till he had £500 a year. "Pecuniary anxiety," she observed, "has ill effects on the pastoral mind." And as her nephew had neither the £500 nor any inclination to change his condition, he did not argue the point, but absorbed himself in his work, leaving to her the household reins.

While tonight he went slowly down the seaward path, thinking of the old home by the waves, and of the mother-face whence every tear had been wiped away, it seemed to him that the work which had grown to be as a burden would be easier henceforth. One spoke to him amid the quiet of the trees, hushing the anxiety as to success and results, bidding him only to love and trust, and to remember that the Lord was partner in all he tried to do.

He was wending his way towards a seat that overlooked the wave-washed cove ― a lonely seat, perched high in a craggy place that Mrs Lidgery, who owned she was "not much of a climber," had never discovered. Someone was there before him this evening. Stephen Wadham recognised the fact, with annoyance that changed to an all-over ecstatic thrill, when he understood who was the wearer of the white dress and the hat with rosebud trimmings. Who but Amarel had curling auburn hair like that, and could so adorn white muslin? But what was the matter with Amarel? Surely she was crying. There was the sound of a sob on the gentle wind of evening, and her face was hidden in her hands.

Surely she had not lost her father. No, she would have been in mourning; but perhaps the doctor had spoken to her gravely of his condition.

"Miss Lennox," he said, in such evident concern that she was fain to excuse the fact that he had discovered her crying, "I am grieved to see you in such trouble. I fear that your father's health――"

"Oh, no!" she faltered, "it is not that. Father is almost well. We are going home tomorrow."

"Are you? It is quite a coincidence ―"

"Indeed! It is a red sky. It will be fine for travelling."

After that there was a pause. Mr Wadham longed to know the neighbourhood meant by "home," but he felt he had no right to ask, and he feared to give offence if he asked the cause of the tears. One little drop on the pretty cheek nearest him was too much for his stoicism, however.

"Miss Lennox," he said gently, "is it impossible that I could be of any help to you in this great trouble? if any advice ―― "

"No, no, it is good of you, but none can help me now. I have tried everything; thought of everything. It is too late; nobody can help me.

"There is One Who always can," he said softly.

She looked up in a startled way. "You mean God? Ah, but it is not the sort of thing to pray about. If I told you why I cried this evening you would laugh. Nobody really cares. It is not a great thing like father's illness. One prays about troubles like that."

"I hope," he said, "it is not in me to laugh at whatever can pain a heart. Believe me, you misjudge God's love that is all-understanding when you think there is any road, save by prayer, out of sorrow, great or little. Whatever is a burden on the heart of His child, is surely big enough to be brought to the Father Who is Love."

She made no answer, but the shadow of despair had passed out of her eyes. His message was one to her of new-born hope.

"Nothing with Him is impossible," said the minister. "With Him it is never too late."

"It happened a month ago," she began, "but no one liked to tell me. I only heard of it last week― ― "

Had some accident happened to a sister, a brother ― or "a nearer one still, and a dearer one yet than all other"?

"Hello, Mr Wadham! There you are. What a pull-up it is, to be sure!"

The rubicund faces of Mr Lidgery and his three eldest boys appeared at the top of the path leading from the beach. The lads each took an arm of their pastor in boisterous triumph, and the smallest mounted his back. Mr Wadham had "such a way with the young," as his congregation often admiringly observed.

Did he regret his popularity at that moment, when, amid the jubilation of the young Lidgerys, Amarel quietly glided away, and he knew that no more should they meet in the heather-covered chine, for did not the morrow mean railway trains and farewell to Glenford alike for both?

### Chapter 4

"The Children's Crumbs"

It was a night of wind and rain ― driving rain from which umbrellas seemed no protection, and wind that pierced through furs and overcoats. And yet Union Church was crowded, and the brightness streaming through the windows looked for once cheerier even than the gleam of the public houses at the corners of the street.

St Chrystom's was the name of a busy London suburb ― "villadom" that had sprung up around an old parish church, and borrowed its name.

On one side, St Chrystom's extended to Selwood, which was a place of parks and "desirable detached residences." On the other side it stretched back to Tarnham Road, which was a vista of gasworks, small tenements, and numerous taverns.

Union Church, St Chrystom's, had been Stephen Wadham's first pastorate, and here he had gone in and out, living and speaking his Master's messages for five busy years. Eighteen months had passed since his holiday at Glenford. It was winter time outside, but sweet singing and bright faces made that Tuesday evening a festal night at Union Church.

On Sunday they had kept their Sunday School anniversary ― always a grand occasion with his people. Tonight the children and friends had had a tea ― and such a tea! At least twenty of the smaller ones were wrapped in slumber as the outcome of that feast. They woke at intervals to sing their festival hymns, but their evening was tomorrow ― a missionary and a magic lantern.

Tonight their minister was preaching the annual sermon to the teachers of the district. It was the sweet, tender story of the Gentile woman who pleaded for her child, and seemed to plead for a time in vain, and his voice rang out even to the porch swept by the bitter wind, as he uttered the words of that mother's heart of love: "The dogs under the table eat of the children's crumbs."

Dogs! Who was talking about dogs? A little lad, five years old, footsore and ragged, chilblained and hopeless, had stolen into the porch for shelter, when the lynx-eyed chapel keeper, who objected to boys, had gone down the aisle to confiscate a bag of gums introduced by a juvenile alto in the school choir.

Dick had been trying to sell matches, but the rain had wetted them, and no one on such a night would stop to buy. A church, he knew, was for grand people who had gloves and umbrellas, not for a child in rags; but oh, the warmth of that porch after the wind in which he had stood at the corner of the street!

Dick was not alone. Huddled in his arms was what looked like an iron-grey ball. It was a Scotch terrier, but neither Dick nor Billy was aware of that; what both most understood was that they were thin and cold and starving, and had no helper beyond each other.

And here was a gentleman calling out something about dogs eating crumbs! If there were any crumbs going, Billy should have some ― Billy, his mate, his chum, his only friend. Dick's mind was resolved on that point.

At the imminent risk, had he only known it, of being seen by the chapel keeper, and given in charge on suspicion of seeking umbrellas, Dick pressed nearer to the open door. With eyes and mouth widely opened, he drank in the utterance which again echoed from that pulpit amid the beautiful shining lights: "The dogs under the table eat of the children's crumbs!"

"Please, lady, please tell me, where are the children's crumbs?"

Two matronly figures ― wives of the church officers ― entered the porch from a side door connected with the covered way leading to the schoolroom where they had been, with frugal minds, arranging left-over cake with a view to sale.

"It is figurative language, my boy. Metaphorical. The language of the East abounds in figures," said Mrs Branton, who had also heard the text through the open door. Mrs Branton smiled graciously as she spoke, in compassion for Dick's ignorance. She was an important person at Union Church. Her husband had built most of the "detached residences," and she took the classes that trained teachers how to teach.

"But he says the dogs can eat the children's crumbs," persisted Dick, the tears in his voice causing his pleading tones to quiver. "Do tell me, lady, aren't there none left for Billy?"

His cold, grimed hand caught hold of Mrs Lidgery's dress. She was not at all intellectual. "Lidgery was a substantial man, praise the Lord!" she was wont to acknowledge, but as a grocer in a small way he had begun, and a grocer he was still, though his borders were much enlarged. Mrs Lidgery could no more have discoursed on metaphors to Dick than she could have taken a normal class, but she had five boys of her own who were usually hungry, and she understood the appeal of that white face.

Mrs Branton swept in to hear the sermon, her black silk making an important rustle as she sought her pew. Mrs Lidgery stroked Billy's sharp backbone, and took Dick's begrimed hand in her own, saying softly, "Poor little laddie! Come with me to the schoolroom. Come, sonny, I will show you and doggie the children's crumbs."

### Chapter 5

Mrs Millen's Lodger

Dick had once, listening to a street-preacher, heard heaven described as a land of milk and honey.

"It's kingdom-come, sure enough, Billy," he confided to his companion, with an ecstatic hug. "Were there not jugs and jugs of milk, and baskets of buns and cut-up cake ― better than honey, better than crumbs!

At sight of the cake Billy sat up on his emaciated hindquarters. Mrs Lidgery looked the sort of person not to harden her heart against uplifted paws.

"Well, to be sure, did you ever? Just see the poor dumb beast! But Jackman won't like their dirty feet on his boards, ma'am."

Mrs Jackman, the assistant chapel keeper, was divided between admiration of the pair, and fear as to what might be her husband's opinion as to letting in "street children" to his nice clean schoolroom.

Mrs Lidgery could not speak, her kind eyes were getting bedewed. If she had a joy in life it was to feed the hungry and warm the cold. Billy had his saucer of milk, and she broke up a scone for him. For five-year-old Dick she warmed some tea, and cut him a goodly slice of bread and butter, but he could not eat as she had expected. Billy's scone was gone, and he was again in begging attitude, but his little master could not manage more than a mouthful of the bread. It dropped from his cold hand, and he fell to one side on the form, fainting through cold and hunger, amid the bountiful fragments of "the children's crumbs."

"Here, Mrs Jackman," said the deacon's wife, "they are singing the last hymn. Let Mr Wadham know there is a child here very ill. I wonder if he will think the poor little lad should be taken to the infirmary."

In a few minutes the congregation began to concern itself as to waterproofs, and Mrs Jackman found opportunity to confide to the minister. "There's a boy took with a fit in the schoolroom, and would you please say what's to be done with him?"

Now, Mr Wadham for the last twenty minutes had been away in spirit from Union Church ― away in a vision of yellow gorse, blue waves, sea-myrtle, and rocky paths. During his sermon his gaze had been suddenly arrested by brown eyes upturned to his face ― eyes that he had looked into so often in fancy and in remembrance!

Was it possible that their owner was here in a back pew of this church, sitting by the side of Mrs Millen, the good woman who came weekly to help their maid, under Aunt Amelia's supervision? Yes, it was indeed his "Lady of the Chine," as in thought he called her, and no other. She looked paler than of yore, but even more beautiful, it seemed to him, in garb of black. Was she then fatherless, and had she come to guardians who perhaps lived in one of the "bijou mansions" of Selwood Park?

Stephen Wadham's mind became a whirl of wonder and of joy. In a short time that sweet voice would be greeting him again, for it would be only acting with pastoral geniality for him to hasten to the bottom of the left aisle ― Mrs Millen's seat was in the left aisle ― and shake hands with all who passed out.

So it happened that Mrs Jackman, with her mention of the boy in a fit, came as an unwelcome interruption. For a moment he hesitated, but then, with the thrill of gladness dying away in his eager heart, he went out by the vestry into the schoolroom, and caught a far-away glimpse of auburn hair disappearing behind Mrs Millen's capacious form.

The "fit" had existed only in the mind of Mrs Jackman, and Mr Wadham had been prepared for convulsions. An expression of pity broke from his lips as he saw the boy's white face with the bluish tint, supported by Mrs Lidgery's arm in front of the schoolroom stove.

"We are much better now, Mr Wadham," she said cheerfully. "He has taken a little milk, and he'll soon be able to tell us where he lives. Please don't fall over the dog, Mr Wadham. Did you ever see such a bag of bones?"

The description applied alike to Billy, curled round in slumber, appreciative of the stove, and Dick, whose long-lashed grey eyes tried to smile up at the minister ― for was not this the gentleman who cared about dogs, and told people where such as Billy could get crumbs?

And when Dick looked at the minister, Mr Wadham grew suddenly white, and a sort of frightened faintness took possession of him. How did it happen that with Dick's look and smile there came back to his mind the thatched cottage in the Devon lane leading to the sea, and the brother who had been his playmate on the beach and the village green?

"Mr Wadham," said Mrs Lidgery, "you are just worn out. I'll get you a cup of coffee this moment. You ought to spare yourself more. Eleven o'clock last night at the Improvement Committee, think of that! I'd improve them, if I were on the committee ― talking and argufying when they ought to be in their beds!"

"He's the bloke," whispered Dick to Mrs Lidgery. "He's the bloke as called out as how the dogs can eat the children's crumbs. Has he got a dog like Billy?"

"No, dearie, and he's the minister. You mustn't say he's a bloke. Mr Wadham, the poor child doesn't understand that text rightly. He thinks you really meant to tell him and Billy where to get food."

"I think Jesus meant that. He chose you to make the application," said the minister, smiling tenderly at the needy pair. "Little one, those words are to teach us that no life ― poor, needy, out-cast, despised ― is away from the love and care of Jesus Christ, our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord!"

"Jesus never comes to see my dad, though," said Dick, thoughtfully. "Nobody ever does. Dad's only got me, and I've got Billy. Oh, please, I must get back to dad. Perhaps he'll be awake by now."

"I will see to him, Mrs Lidgery. He must have a cab," said the minister.

"And if you'll let us have the address, Mr Wadham, the Benevolent Society or the Sunshine Endeavourers will look after the poor things," said the deacon's wife, who was being enquired for now by would-be purchasers of cake.

"I will take you home to your father, my child," said Mr Wadham. "Is he ill? Tell me where you live."

"Yes, sir, dad's always ill. We lives at the Jolly Masons, down Canal Lane."

"And where is your mother, my child?"

"Dad says she's up in the sky. I can't remember no mother. Dad says she were good, but Tim Kettles says mothers drink gin. Tim's mother does. I'd rather have dad than be like Tim."

Mrs Lidgery returned with a packet she had made up for the little waif. He could not walk without a return of the giddiness, and Mr Wadham carried him in his arms to the cab, for which he had sent.

It was late when Stephen Wadham returned to his home, the warm, cosy manse of Union Church. Miss Amelia Wadham had waited supper for him, on purpose to descant on the internal evils she would suffer through delayed nutriment. He seemed absent-minded and out of sorts, answering at random when his aunt remarked on the flatness of the children's voices and the smallness of the collection.

The only time he roused a little was when she informed him, "Mrs Millen has let her front rooms at last. The young person was at the service. A respectable-looking person. She pays twelve shillings a week, a great help, if only Millen will keep the pledge. Did you notice Mrs Millen's lodger? She sat just under the gallery."

Yes, he had seen her; and in making the acknowledgment his pale face flushed so vividly that Miss Wadham at once put Condy's Fluid about the room in saucers, expressing her conviction that he had "caught fever from that child!"

### Chapter 6

In Canal Lane

Sleeplessness was the minister's destiny that night ― sleeplessness caused by memory and shame, and nervous, perhaps cowardly, fear. In some things Stephen Wadham was brave. He had faced infection many a time before now in carrying the message of Hope, and he had confronted wild and angry men in bringing to an end a brutal fight.

But to bare the secret that disgraced his name, that had broken his mother's heart? To set young and old at Union Church discussing how low had fallen the brother of the preacher whose reputation public opinion had lifted so high? No, he could not do it! The young minister felt it was impossible ― doubly impossible, now that the girl with the proud, sweet face, and high-born air of gentle dignity had come to reside in that neighbourhood.

Neither she nor his people should ever know who was the dying man whom little Dick called "Dad." The sick man was himself too ill to know who was the "parson" who had procured for him that night a capable, kindly nurse, for he was too weak for moving him even to be thought of. Stephen Wadham resolved in those watchful hours that every provision should be made for him whose days were numbered, but that they were relations ― brothers ― no, that should never be told.

The following day was the half-yearly time of tribulation for the minister, when the sweep had right of entry into his study, and Mrs Millen was turned loose among his effects for a general clean-out. Hitherto at sight of the worthy woman dealing with his books he had groaned inwardly, but today she was welcome to his sight as flowers in May as she beamed upon him and remarked what a good time they had had at the meeting yesterday, and how everyone said, "The children sung their pieces wonderful, and wasn't it a famous collection ― two and eleven pence halfpenny over what they took last year?"

"I was glad to see you at the meeting, Mrs Millen," he said cordially, "and you brought your new lodger, too?"

"Indeed, sir, and Miss Amarel enjoyed the meeting fine. She sings like a bird herself, she do. She's had grand Italian masters, and no expense spared, sir, and she says we've got a choir at Union to be proud of. She was my young lady, sir, where I used to be cook at Lennox Hall in Norfolk, afore I married Millen. And thankful I am he's a changed man, sir, since he's sat under you and paid heed to your voice! Poor Miss Amarel ought to be as rich as Creases, sir, but her poor father, that's dead and gone last winter of the influenzy, he took to spekilation, and mines, and things like that, sir. And now she hasn't but fifty pound a year of her own, sir, and she's got daily teaching in Selwood Park ― I think they're relations of Mrs Branton, sir ― and she's come to live along of her poor old Maria, bless her! And she know'd your face in a minute, sir. She says as how she have met you in times past at the seaside."

Amarel lost her way that afternoon returning from her engagement to Mrs Milieu's little house in Newport Street. She was alarmed to find herself in back streets, quite in the slums, and her heart was beating nervously as she hurried past an evil-looking tavern, when out of the tap room stepped the very last person she would have dreamt of seeing there ― Stephen Wadham, the young minister who had been more often in her thoughts than, perhaps, till then she realised.

His greeting was confused at first, but soon he was piloting her to Newport Street, and each was glad and satisfied that their goodbye at Glenford had not been a final one. He spoke gently and sympathetically of her loss, and bade her be of good cheer, since hearts that love shall know reunion in the Meeting-Land.

Of her change of fortune he said nothing. Money had never loomed very largely in Stephen Wadham's consideration, but he asked if the trouble that had grieved her at Glenford had been removed, and Amarel said sadly, "No, I prayed about that, but it never came right. At least, it did come right, I am sure, for God's will was done ― not mine ― only what I asked was not given."

Stephen Wadham thought to himself that she had asked for the recovery of one most precious to her. He must have died. A pang of jealousy seized him as concerned the departed, but it passed, and he stood on the pavement for some minutes outside Mrs Millen's door, thinking of her who had entered, and feeling a great deal happier than would have been the case had he known what was transpiring within.

The voice of one of the oldest members of Union Church ― Miss Jane Petersham, upholstress ― was loud and penetrating, and, as she drank tea with the Millens, their lodger caught her utterances, and her face grew puzzled and concerned.

"I assure you, my dear Mrs Millen," Miss Petersham was saying, "you might have knocked me down with a feather at that moment. I was in Canal Lane last night after the meeting, with a message to ask that poor widow woman that lodges at the fish shop to come and do a bit of sewing at some curtains for me today, as I'm extra busy with so many turning out their rooms just now. And as I turned into the fish shop, whom should I see but Mr Wadham himself, coming, quiet-like, out of that low place ― that corner public house, the Jolly Masons. He was walking like as if he didn't want to be seen by anybody, but 'twas him, sure enough! Isn't it a terrible disgrace to the cause?"

"I don't believe a word of it, not if all the Jane Petershams in the world was to swear to it. Mr Wadham ain't one as goes to no pubs," cried Millen, vehemently; and his wife said warmly, "Depend upon it, Jane, my dear, your eyesight deceived you!"

But Amarel Lennox wondered and was troubled, for she knew that the same thing had occurred that afternoon also.

Chapter 7

Whispering Tongues

Miss Jane Petersham had it on her conscience that "the cause" was coming to grief. A terrible secret was locked within her bosom ― at least, she had as yet only confided it to a few very close friends.

"I must be faithful, Mrs Nibbs," she said, shaking her head solemnly as she sewed away at the curtains in conjunction with the widow she had called in to her assistance. "Whatever may be a poor lone woman's own feelings, when she sees one she has looked up to and trusted, on the road to destruction, such feelings has to be buried in one's own bosom. It's on my mind that I ought to see the deacons and call a meeting, and have Mr Wadham confronted with the question: Was you, or was you not, within the doors of the Jolly Masons?"

Mrs Nibbs was divided between awe of her employer, whose tongue was sharp and scornful, and reluctance to think evil of any. Had not Mr Wadham held the hand of her dying husband, and prayed beside him as he passed across the River, and found bread for the little ones in their hour of sorrow and need?

She was heard to murmur something about "leaving tracts," whereat Miss Petersham replied contemptuously that "People don't leave tracts at ten o'clock in the evening, and don't look ashamed and secret-like while they're engaged in any good work."

"I don't know that, Miss Petersham," said the widow. "Once I saw with my own eyes Mr Branton put a sovereign in the collection ― there was only pence in the plate ― and he looked ashamed and secret-like, and tried to hide it under a penny."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Miss Petersham, closing the argument in her favourite way. "When you've lived as long as I have, Maria Nibbs, you'll understand there's a deal of deceitfulness goes on under the veil of sheep's clothing, as the saying is. My conscience tells me I've got to be faithful about Mr Wadham. I'll just consult Mrs Millen, seeing she's my oldest friend in the church, and then the best way will be for me and Mrs Millen to go together and make our statement before the deacons."

"Well, I wouldn't if I was you. It ... it don't seem right to sit in judgment on any."

"Is it judging, Maria Nibbs, to say there's a brick wall in the opposite street to this? Can't it be seen with our own eyes? And with my own eyes I seen Mr Wadham stepping out of the Jolly Masons. That's not judging; that's faithfulness and truth, and being an eye-witness."

"Well, Mrs Millen won't go with her," thought the widow, with some satisfaction. And in this opinion she was right.

"No, no, Jane Petersham, I don't want to seem disobliging to an old friend," said Amarel's landlady, "especially to one as helped me turn the chair covers so as to make them look like new, and Miss Amarel admired them only yesterday. But I'm not going to cast out no hints against Mr Wadham, nor to set no ball rolling to do him mischief. Why, my man wouldn't hear of it, even if I wanted to. Millen wouldn't let me interview no deacons on the subject, Jane, so if you goes laying complaints, you'll have to go without me."

"It's such a relief, Miss Amarel," she said later, "to lay things on Millen's shoulders, when I can't get rid of folks no other way. 'Have your own way, missus,' he says to me, for he's wonderful easy-going of a rule, though he do put down his foot sometimes, and the best of husbands since he's signed the pledge ― and that were Mr Wadham's doing. 'Have your own way, missus,' says Millen, 'but when you gets in a bit of a tangle, and wants to put things all on me, why, I reckon my shoulders is broad enough to carry 'em!' And Jane knows I'm not going contrary to what Millen says, when it's got to do with Mr Wadham, as is the best of men, and speaks like a book, now don't he, Miss Amarel?"

"I like his preaching," the girl answered, trying to speak calmly. She was almost afraid to think what Stephen Wadham's face and voice were becoming to her. At mention of his name she had flushed shyly, but Mrs Millen, if she saw it ― and, being a woman, perhaps she had match-making visions ― went on with the dusting, and lamented that Jane Petersham could not keep a silent tongue in her head.

"I never did hold myself with waking up sleeping dogs," she remarked. "'Tis irritating and interfering; and, what I say is, life is short, and we've got enough to do to mind our own business. Not that the deacons will give heed to any ill gossip. I knows them better, but words dropped here and there might do Mr Wadham harm, and, dear me, if he went to the Jolly Masons, which I don't believe, 'twas to ask the children to come to Sunday School, or mothers' meeting, or something good and benevolent, I'm certain of it."

"I ... I wish she wouldn't," said Amarel indignantly. "I think she is very interfering and unkind, and ... and ... he has looked quite ill lately, and I am sure to think people doubted him would break his heart."

"My dear, he'll know there's the majority trusting of him. And, besides, he knows where to look for strength and guidance. I often wonders what folks do when they're in trouble as has not acquainted themselves with the dear Master ― as is a Brother born for adversity."

Amarel took the broad hand in her own. "How good the Lord has been to me," she said softly. "He let father's pain stop before he died, so that he went so peacefully and gently, just like a little child. And then He guided me to this safe, cosy home with you, and let me hear about the teaching; and ... and ... it is so nice to be in the choir, and to make so many new, kind friends."

"Ah, my dear, love begets love. 'Tis your own sunshiny disposition as wins you friendship. Mrs Lidgery says 'tis a pleasure to see a young bright thing like you with sunbeams a-dancing in your eyes. She's real fond of you, my dear, is Mrs Lidgery. I hope she'll be at home when Jane Petersham calls, for, if that's the case, Jane will have her walk in vain!" And Mrs Millen laughed, knowing the minister had no more loyal champion than Mrs Lidgery.

Her hopes were realised, as it happened. Mrs Lidgery was at home, dispensing tea to her children. The deacon was in London, "Gone to the wholesale houses," his wife explained.

"Do sit down, Miss Petersham," she said heartily, frowning hastily at Benjamin who was inclined to make fun of the bunch of black wax grapes nodding on the visitor's bonnet. "Have a cup of tea? Albert Edward, the cake. I suppose you've called about cutting out for the mothers. Well, do you know, that parcel of material...."

"No, Mrs Lidgery, my business is church business. I'm sorry to miss Mr Lidgery, but when I can see you alone I'm bound to be faithful."

An explosion of juvenile laughter caused the deacon's wife to remark she thought the boys had finished tea, and perhaps Miss Petersham would excuse them.

"Is it about the children in the gallery?" she asked, when they were alone. "They do shuffle their feet a bit, I must admit, but one likes to see them in a place of worship, Miss Petersham. Mr Wadham says the little faces do him good, and the children remember his texts wonderful. Our Benjamin has learnt six since I offered a little prize. 'Tis but a second helping of Sunday pudding, for those that pay attention."

"There's too much bribery and encouragement, Mrs Lidgery, put in the way of young people nowadays. But my interview does not concern them on the present occasion. Mrs Lidgery, is not the church of opinion that Mr Wadham is a total abstainer?"

"Certainly. He manages the Band of Hope most successfully. My Benjamin's going to recite――"

"Mrs Lidgery, many that seem outwardly white is but ravening wolves. Prepare yourself for what it is my duty to tell you. My own eyes have seen Mr Wadham with his own familiar overcoat and umbrella ― the umbrella as the mothers' meeting gave him ― coming secret-like, and as if he shrank from being seen, out of the Jolly Masons, a very low-class place, Mrs Lidgery, where I'd be ashamed myself to cross the threshold."

"I shouldn't be ashamed, if my duty called me there, Miss Petersham. Why, an old servant of mine was taken bad in a public house over at Shadwell, and I sat up with her there two nights, temperance though I am, till the poor dear was taken to a better world. And pastors and teachers have to go to all sorts of places. Mr Wadham had been to speak words of hope to some poor dying creature, of course, or maybe to try to persuade some poor fellow drinking in there to go home to his wife and children. Do have another cup of tea ― you take sugar? ― and about the parcel for the mothers' meeting, if you could help me in the cutting out."

And not another word could Miss Petersham get in about the Jolly Masons, though, had she known it, she left a troubled, uneasy feeling in Mrs Lidgery's heart that anyone could breathe reproach upon the reputation of one who was trying so earnestly to do the Master's work.

Still, resolved to be "faithful," the upholstress went on to the Brantons, and confidentially disclosed her errand. But Mrs Branton did not like Jane Petersham, and being very capable of giving what she called "a piece of her mind" when she judged it necessary, she told her Mr Branton had a great deal too much to do to take notice of foolish tittle-tattle, and nothing harmed a place more than for people to go gossiping and spreading foolish stories from house to house.

Miss Petersham took her leave indignantly, inwardly declaring that Mrs Branton thought herself everybody, just because her father had been a mayor, and her husband had run up a few villas here and there!

She was decidedly out of humour when she happened to come face to face with Mr Wadham himself, and he stopped to enquire as to her lumbago.

"'Tis a little better, Mr Wadham," she answered, less cordially than usual; "but if it isn't one thing it's another, and I've got a trouble on my mind that's worse than any lumbago."

"I am so sorry, Miss Petersham; is it anything ... anything prophetical?" said the minister, to whom she was wont to bring difficult verses of prediction for explanation occasionally.

"No, Mr Wadham. It concerns, if I may so describe it, the Temperance cause in our midst. Is it your opinion, sir, as a minister, that one as makes temperance speeches should enter the doors of a public house?"

"There may be reasons," the minister said, flushing as he spoke, but she interrupted him with a solemn shake of the black grapes. "Ah, Mr Wadham, reasons and excuses can be found for everything, but what I say is, right's right and wrong is wrong, and no excuses can make black white. I'm sorry to have to be faithful, but on all in a congregation there's obligations to speak the truth at all times; and faithful is the wounds of a friend, so I hope you'll bear me no prejudice, whatever may be my path of duty."

"Of course not, Miss Petersham, but will you not explain yourself more clearly?"

"Not at present, Mr Wadham. I must think over the matter. There's much done impulsively that circumspection would have prevented. But you are young, Mr Wadham, and there's your much-respected aunt, Miss Amelia Wadham, to consider. What I have to say, I think I will say to her, in confidence; but my heart is troubled for the cause. I assure you it kept me awake till nigh on midnight."

Stephen Wadham vaguely wondered for a moment if the good lady were quite herself, for her manner was so dignified and mysterious as she bade him goodnight. He had been depressed enough before the interview, and he felt anxious and uncomfortable as he proceeded on his way.

Suddenly, like star-shine at the shadow time, he encountered Amarel, returning from giving a singing lesson. There was sympathy in her beautiful eyes. He took from her the music case, and mentioned he was walking in her direction.

"What ... what nice gas lighting there is about here!" said the girl, who never found it easy in those days to make conversation with Stephen Wadham.

The young minister murmured that it was remarkably fine, and "only three-and-six a thousand."

Whereat Amarel said "Oh," and after a silence asked timidly, "Does your head ache, Mr Wadham? You ... you seemed a little tired when you preached on Sunday."

"I was tired, Miss Lennox. It had been a week of late meetings; and ... and ... just now there is a trouble ... an anxiety ... in addition."

"I am so sorry," said the girl, with a little break in her voice. Perhaps to both the thought came then of the day when he found her crying in Glenford Chine, and had reminded her of the Lord God who understands and cares about every heartache.

"Don't let me depress you," he said, trying to speak cheerfully. "Won't you tell me how you get on with Mrs Branton's nieces, and if you find the walk from Mrs Milieu's too long?"

"Oh, I am getting on splendidly. The children are darlings, and the walk does me good. Thank you. Yes, this is Branton's gate. Goodnight, Mr Wadham ... I ... I wish I could cheer you up. May I quote that verse of Whittier's you repeated in your sermon the other evening. It is such a help to me. Do you remember it?" and she said softly, forgetting even in her earnestness that, in giving her back the music case, he was still holding her hand:

"The roads to trouble are many,

And never but one sure way

Leads out to the light beyond it,

... Let us pray."

### Chapter 8

On the Underground

Three months later there was a stir of pleasurable excitement amid the congregation of Union Church, and the deacons began to think about newly papering the manse, and Mrs Branton planned a ladies' committee to gather in subscriptions with a view to something electroplated.

The news was in the air before their pastor made the announcement officially. Some little bird must have carried it, though the District Railway seemed a strange place for birds to take cognisance of courtship.

Amarel had used the District Railway to attend the meeting of a London County Council candidate ― the father of her little pupils. In the success of this speaker. the Rev. Stephen Wadham felt such interest that he, too, had to be present at the meeting, and hence it came to pass that Amarel found herself provided with an escort home.

The young people had seen a good deal of each other during the last few weeks. Wadham had managed daily, sometimes twice a day, to have business near Newport Street when Amarel was likely to be coming or going. And, being musical, he had always been so interested in choir matters that none felt surprised at his patient attendance at the practices. Mrs Millen had spread the report of her young lady's voice, and Amarel was in the choir, rendering help which was to her heart a delight.

"What ... what a beautiful place Glenford Chine was. Would you not like to be there again, Mr Wadham?" she asked nervously, that evening of the County Council meeting. They were sitting on the platform in a specially gloomy atmosphere, and the long silences had become too much for Amarel.

"I would not be there now for worlds," he said fervently. "This is better than any chine."

At that she laughed outright, feeling intensely happy ― so happy that the dews were in the brown eyes when his hands took possession of her own.

"Dear, I cannot offer you wealth and a home such as once was yours, but you have been in my heart and in my prayers ever since I looked upon your face. If you will trust yourself in my keeping, Amarel...."

Here he broke down. His pulpit eloquence was the theme of newspapers and of his admiring people, but only his eyes finished the sentence, and told her what the benediction of her love and her presence would mean to him.

And after that evening none spoke lightly or unfeelingly of the District Railway in the minister's hearing, for someone buying papers at the bookstall perceived them, and took the news to Union Church that evidently it was "all settled," and they had better begin to think about a nuptial testimonial.

The last person to comprehend the state of affairs was Miss Amelia Wadham. She was enlightened by Mrs Branton, who called in next day to pay a blanket-club subscription.

"I suppose I must offer my congratulations, Miss Wadham," she said, smiling in a confidential way.

"Whatever for? Is anybody going to be married? I have warned Susan against the joiner."

"It is not Susan. My dear Miss Wadham, has Mr Wadham really said nothing to you? Perhaps I am premature, but a little bird has told me...."

"I have not seen Stephen today. I breakfasted upstairs. My unfortunate neuralgia."

"Ah, then, of course he has not had the opportunity, but nobody can be surprised. We have all seen for some time the interest he takes in that sweet girl in the choir ― Miss Lennox ― the one who lodges with Mrs Milieu. Everyone is delighted with his choice. She is already quite a favourite. And very good mental ability. She attends my Normal class, and really seems to have a grasp of my meaning."

An acid expression rather spoilt the effect of Miss Wadham's reply. "Well, I wish Stephen every happiness. I only hope he may not be marrying in haste to repent at leisure. Of course, I have supervised his domestic arrangements at great inconvenience to myself, as I should much have preferred continuing my apartments at Kilburn. I trust he will not consider me in any way, but bring home this young person as his bride whenever he so desires. At the same time, I must conscientiously say I have always on principle opposed a ministerial marriage under a stipend of £500 a year, and I have yet to learn that the church pays that amount to Stephen. Also, I do not consider Miss Lennox at all suitable for a pastor's wife. Her appearance is not sufficiently impressive and circumspect, and that kind of thing, and I doubt if she is fitted to conduct the mothers' meeting."

Aunt Amelia was a martyr to neuralgia at teatime, and when Stephen, with a shining face, told her of his happiness, she responded tearfully that nobody need think of her ― she was ready to turn out tomorrow and to go into the Union. She knew she had been an encumbrance for years, though who else had cut out for the mothers she would like to know, and who had kept the coal-club books ― and without one blot ― sitting up to enter them as late as a quarter-past ten sometimes!

Next day she brought herself to wish Amarel happiness in a sepulchral sort of way, and to invite her in to supper. Amarel afterwards wished she had not gone, for it appeared that Miss Wadham's acquaintance was large among ministers' wives, and she had related how they had one and all, weeping on her bosom, confided to her, "Oh, Miss Wadham, had we only known what marrying ministers meant, gladly would we have kept single, and never sowed seeds of bitter repentance all our days!"

These confidences became extremely depressing, and it was not till Stephen came in late, ready to see her home, that the girl's smiles returned, and she could look forward to the future with thankfulness and faith and courage. Yet there was something about Stephen that bewildered her just a little. He did not account for his absence at supper time, and Miss Wadham had hinted that she found his reserved and secretive ways very trying to her open disposition.

Amarel could not understand why he seemed confused when she said playfully, "Where have you been playing truant? Miss Wadham said she had made your favourite pudding, Steve. I wish you had been here to eat it."

"I had to see somebody who is ill," he said abruptly.

Amarel could see he did not wish to pursue the subject, but she felt a little chilled and disappointed. She had quite forgotten the matter, however, when a few weeks later ― and weeks of joy and sunshine those had been! ― there came to her an anonymous letter, evidently written in a feigned hand. The contents were as follows:

My young Friend,

Far be it from me to be the means of discord and suspicion, but a rumour has reached my ears which leads me to be anxious as to your future should you become the bride of the minister at Union Church. Can it be possible that the serpent of inebriation lurks in the path of that young man? He has been seen, by a member of the congregation of long standing, to frequent a low tavern in the slums near the Canal. This is either for the purpose of drink or gambling, or perhaps both.

It is feared this will have to be brought before the church. It is to save you from the fate of the drunkard's wife (too often lacking food and warm clothing) that the above painful communication has been penned, from a sense of duty, by yours, in deep sympathy,

A Well-Wisher.

Chapter 9

Amarel's Question

The little ripple made by Miss Jane Petersham had spread till it bade fair to become a dark and turbulent torrent. "Mr Wadham is not what people had believe him to be ― not what a guide and leader of the young ought to be. He has secret haunts of which he would fain keep his congregation in ignorance."

No one exactly said these things aloud, but one and another whispered that a church meeting ought to be called, and if Mr Wadham did frequent public houses, his resignation was a duty to Union Church.

At first the deacons indignantly hushed any murmur of the kind, and Mrs Lidgery, the most indulgent of mothers, sent her Benjamin to bed for repeating their cook's observation that, "Ministers was no better than other people, and sometimes worse." But the secret influence of suspicion and doubt went on, and Stephen Wadham, not knowing the cause, felt as if his preaching fell, Sunday by Sunday, on hard and rocky ground.

"Begging your pardon, gentlemen," said Jackman, the chapel keeper, coming up to a group of the officers gathered for a committee in the vestry one evening, "but there's tongues busy saying things that shouldn't be spoken of the minister of their church. It isn't for me to dictate to the officers of Union, but Mr Wadham have come in and out among us year by year, and we've seen and known his walk and conversation, and it's time as the right thing were done by our minister. What satisfies the officers will satisfy the members. 'Tisn't fitting as things should be said behind our minister's back. If one of you gentlemen would put a plain question to him, and hear what answer he makes, and then let the people know as how you've got every confidence in him more than ever."

"Jackman is right," said Mr Branton, and he held out his hand to the speaker right heartily. He knew how often Jackman had disagreed with the minister as to church arrangements, and he the more admired the staunchness of his championship now.

When Mr Wadham came in that evening, they opened their little gathering with prayer, and then the oldest deacon, a gentle-hearted, white-haired man, told the young pastor of the rumours that were afloat, and assured him that his word that he had not been to the tavern would be amply sufficient to still the whispering tongues.

"But I cannot say that," said Stephen Wadham. "The one assurance I can give you is that my errand to that place was an errand of duty and mercy."

"God bless you ― that is enough!" cried out Mr Lidgery, and his words were echoed by all the rest.

Every hand was held out to the minister, and Mr Branton was heard to remark that if they all followed duty as he did, it would be well for them and for the neighbourhood. Then the business of the committee proceeded, but it was a trying hour for the minister. Their very love and faith in him made him ask himself the question, "Am I doing wrong in not telling them the whole?"

It was the night of the weekly choir practice. Stephen Wadham entered the lecture hall at its close, that he might take Amarel back to Newport Street. He was weary and heart sore, and the hymn they were singing before they separated came to his soul as a heavenly message:

"Why restless, why cast down, my soul?

Hope still, and thou shalt sing

The praise of Him who is thy God,

Thy health's eternal spring!"

In his pocket was an anonymous letter. He had given no heed to it. He did not believe in its mysterious allusions to "a wealthy American gentleman now attending your ministry who is not insensible to the charms of a certain lady member of the choir, and who seems destined to plant a thorn within your heart in the immediate future."

Stephen Wadham's jealousy, if such existed, was retrospective. He thought sometimes of a lover who had died, or in some way come to grief, but never with any concern of Mr Moat, an elderly gentleman from Boston who was visiting friends at Selwood, and came over every Sunday to hear the pastor of Union Church. Should he tell Amarel of that ridiculous letter, he wondered? No, it was only fit for the fire, and it should go there as soon as he returned indoors.

"Steve, dear," began Amarel softly, her hand trembling as it rested on his arm, "I am rather in a dilemma, and you can help me out of it."

"You have no right to be in a dilemma, sweetheart. Your troubles belong to me."

"Steve, I have had an anonymous letter. Do not be angry if I tell you about it."

"Does it inform you that I am paying attention to some moneyed member of the congregation? Is my sweetheart doing me the honour to be jealous?"

"No, no, I should never believe that. Steve, dear. You ... you ... are not beginning to bet, are you?"

"Do you need to ask me that, my dearest?"

"I am ashamed to, Steve, but ... but ... the letter says you often go to a low public house, and it must be to drink or gamble. I wouldn't take any notice of such a letter, only ... once I saw you coming out of a horrid-looking place. It was called the Jolly Masons. Do you go there to leave tracts, Steve, dear?"

"No, I do not. I go there on private business." His tone was curt and cold, and she knew not how her doubts had wounded him to the quick.

"Private business? But, Steve, I think you ought to explain. We are engaged, and I think when I am so anxious you ought to set my mind at rest. Will you not tell me just why you go to such a dreadful place? I cannot think how you can bear to."

Is she seeking an excuse to be off from the minister, and on with the man of dollars? The unworthy thought flashed through Stephen Wadham's mind, leaving its sting behind. He had borne that evening almost as much as he had power to bear.

"Amarel, if you cannot trust me utterly and wholly, pray do not consider yourself bound to me by a promise which, perhaps, you have begun to repent."

Her pride took fire instantly, and she pulled off her glove and held out the tiny circlet of pearls.

"Very well," she said coldly, "please take back your ring, Mr Wadham, and kindly let me continue this walk alone. Certainly I do prefer not to be bound to a person who is in the habit of frequenting taverns."

He knew nothing of the agony in her heart as she turned away. Her indignant eyes could not read the meaning of his white, stern, suffering face. It seemed to him that for an hour he walked to and fro, seeing nothing of the streets or the faces that he passed. Then he went to the bedside of the sick man, beside whom the motherly nurse was watching.

Billy, with ribs less visible than of yore, was curled up in her lap, and Dick at her knee was saying the prayer that Christian heart had taught him. "I pray, God, bless my dad and make him quite well very soon, and make me a good boy, and bless the gentleman that's been so kind to dad, and Billy, and me, and please don't ever forget him, and please pay him back, dear God, and keep him under Thy wing."

As Stephen Wadham listened, the merciful dews relieved the headache and the heartache. The Lord had not forsaken him, since this child of the pitiful, tender spirit was pleading his cause before the Throne!

### Chapter 10

Nurse Wiggins' Patient

The people who kept the Jolly Masons knew nothing of "Joe Mallow," as their lodger called himself. Mallow had been the maiden name of the mother now at rest beneath the Devon flowers. They knew nothing beyond the fact that some time back he had taken their top garret, and had paid the rent pretty regularly while he had strength to make and sell mechanical toys.

Stephen remembered his brother's skill at toy-making in their boyhood's days. Even now he had, locked away with his mother's treasures, something she had received from the child toy-maker with joy and pride. It was a model mill, and a climbing miller who emptied sacks of grain, somewhat stiffly and jerkily, but with success if wound up with sufficient perseverance. Joe had been the cleverer, the brighter, the more inventive of the two.

Stephen Wadham recognised the fact, and thought sadly of the ruined life, tempted at first by the brilliant qualities that made him popular among those who cared only for their own amusement, and not at all for the young footsteps that were beginning to go astray.

At last had come the convict prison, and a sense of bitter indignation on the part of the student who was winning high honours, that his career should be in danger of disgrace. Then the mother had died, and Stephen had been invited to a religious conference in New York. He was in America, attending the meetings, when Joseph was freed, and from that time to the present he had known nothing, enquired nothing as to what had befallen his brother.

Dick had smiled up at him with Joe's long-lashed, grey-black eyes, and the curls that fell over the little lad's brow were like a picture of those the mother loved to twine above the forehead of her boy in the cottage within the sound of the sea. The minister's heart had told him this child, neglected, starving, and in rags, must be his own nephew, and "Dad," the street-seller of toys, the dweller in the slums, could be none other than his convict brother.

"His name isn't rightly 'Dick,' sir," the sick man had told him, when strength to speak increased. "I named him after my brother. He's done wonderful well in life, people say, has my brother, and he deserved to, for he was always our mother's stay and comforter. Yes, the boy is called 'Stephen,' after my brother, but I wasn't sure that my brother, who's always kept himself respectable, would like us giving his name to the child, seeing we were so low down ― all through the drink. It all began with the drink. And I said to my wife ― and a better wife and mother couldn't be, though she only worked the machine at Hall's mills, and never knew what it was to be free from worry and trouble till she went to be with the angels, dear soul! I said to my wife, 'Let's call him Dick. It's short, and it answers for his second name, which was my father's.' The boy is 'Stephen Richard,' sir. I often wonder if my brother that went to college, and gets talked of in the newspapers, would be angry to think the poor little chap bears his name."

"No, no, you must not agitate yourself now by talking so much," Mr Wadham had said huskily. He was aware that "Mallow" did not know his name. He had asked the nurse, who was well known to him, that this might not be told to the sufferer, and she had given the promise, praising Wadham in her heart as one who would not even let his left hand know the kindnesses bestowed by his right.

Who could have guessed that these two were brothers? The one well-built, intellectual, looked up to and respected by all. The other prematurely old, with hair thin, broken down constitution, and haggard, remorseful face.

It was not easy for Stephen Wadham here to read and pray, as by other beds of sickness. It was not easy for him to speak of the all-forgiving Lord, the mercy that covers our sins and has no more remembrance of the past transgressions. Sometimes Mallow's wistful eyes seemed to ask for the old, old story, for the Name of healing and of salvation. And then little Dick would creep near, and listen with awed, reverent face, to what was spoken by him, whom Dick always vaguely associated with tender care as to remembering hungry dogs.

But in his own heart, Stephen Wadham knew there was that which caused constraint, even as he spoke the Gospel message. He had not forgiven his brother. Yes, he was willing to open his purse, but love and pardon as yet were strangers to his soul.

Mrs Lidgery had often asked him for the address of the place to which he had taken the little waif, saying the Sunshine Endeavourers would look into the case, but his answer was that the case was being helped already; and, busy with many duties, the deacon's wife forgot the matter at last. Stephen Wadham did not desire that any from the Church should visit that garret. Some utterance of the sick man might betray the name of the brother who had "done wonderful well in life."

The night that Amarel returned her ring was to bring the minister a fresh disquietude.

"The doctor as you sent here, sir, says Mr Mallow's fit to be moved by this time," said Nurse Wiggins. "I've long thought this noisy place, and far from clean, isn't much help to one who's so weak and gets so little rest. Not but what she's a good-hearted body enough downstairs. You see, they'd been waiting six weeks for their rent, when you was generous enough to settle what poor Mallow owed. But if he could get to some clean, quiet place, where there's more air than in these back streets, why, I shouldn't wonder but what he'd take a new lease of life. He says he's only twenty-nine, sir. Would you believe it?"

"He looks much older," said the minister. "Well, Mrs Wiggins, I will think it over. Perhaps, if he could be sent into the country...."

"Not just now, sir; he couldn't stand the travelling. He don't seem to have no friends that takes notice of him, and really, sir, begging your pardon, he's been too much of an expense to you already. But isn't there some charity as would help him now? There's the Poor Home as might spare him a bed in their infirmary. It's so clean there you could eat off the boards. I knew a case was in there three months, and ladies driving up to visit in their carriages, and the best of everything when so ordered by the medical man."

"I will think it over," he answered. "I am glad he is so much better."

Was he glad, he wondered deep down? Was it a joy to him that the life which was sure to fall back into the mire ― for had not Joe been a shame and a trouble all his days? ― would be spared and prolonged, to be an anxiety day by day to him; perhaps to render his public ministry impossible by scandal and disgrace?

"God help me!" cried Stephen Wadham. "Have I sunk lower than my mother's lad? Am I a murderer in my heart?"

Then under the stars there came to him the remembrance of the innocent little voice that had prayed for him: "Dear God, don't ever forget him; keep him under Thy wing." Would not the Father hear the cry of that tender soul, and help him now in his sorrow and heart-battle? Yea, was there not One, stainless, unblemished, without sin ― his Elder Brother, touched with the feeling of his infirmities, ever living to make intercession for him, and for every heart tempted by evil?

"O Christ, O Victor, in the time of temptation," he cried out within him, "plead for me, help me, teach me how to pardon, breathe into me love like Thine!"

Chapter 11

Mr Moat's Confidences

The sweet soprano singer came no more to Union Church. It became known that the engagement between the pastor and Miss Lennox no longer existed. Mrs Millen was eagerly interrogated, but was silent and mysterious. "I prefer to say nothing whatsoever," was her reply to all enquiries, and, considering her entire ignorance on the subject, it was the wisest she could give.

Rumour gave various reasons as to the breaking of the engagement. The one which found most favour being that doctrinally the betrothed couple could not agree. "I always feared," said Miss Amelia Wadham, solemnly, "that the young person's notions were not entirely orthodox, and my dark suspicions have now been verified. Of course, in my nephew's position he, no doubt, felt it due to the Church to dissolve the tie that might have proved a pitfall on the road to heretical doctrine."

But whatever the people said among themselves, they felt for Mr Wadham too much not to be silent on the subject in his presence. The more observant ones were concerned about him. He looked so thoroughly ill and worn out, and the insomnia from which he had suffered some time back had now returned. He was pressed to take a holiday, but there was a temperance mission approaching in which his help had been promised, and he said he would rather not be absent at that time from his post.

Only once did he meet Amarel face to face. Her pupils' parents had brought her to a "sanitary conference," where he had promised to explain a ventilating scheme invented by a working man of his congregation who had begged for his interest in the matter. Amarel did not see him at first. She was looking round the room under the escort of Mr Moat, who had some time since managed to obtain an introduction to her.

When the girl became aware who was near them, her languor of manner gave place to an air of interest and pleasure that complimented Mr Moat's conversational powers, and Stephen had not realised till that moment all that Amarel was to him. They exchanged a courteous bow, and then she seemed to forget his presence in the room, for she and Mr Moat conversed in a low voice at intervals.

He could not guess it was about the law of patents, concerning which Mr Moat was explaining American procedure to ears that heard very little of his discourse, even while he endeavoured to be lucid as to the ventilator, and was conscious-stricken as to not doing the explanation justice. However, a mistake in his information was the means of bringing the inventor indignantly to the forefront. He had obtained a ticket of admission, but had felt he could not speak. Now, fortunately for his ventilator, Mr Wadham's absent-mindedness loosened his own tongue.

"What a delightful evening we have had, to be sure!" said Mr Moat, hurrying up to Wadham later on in the street, and linking his arm through his in a friendly way. Mr Moat was a great admirer of the minister of Union Church.

"Very interesting and instructive," murmured Mr Wadham, "that debate as to microbes."

"Ah, was not that colossal?" said the American. "It is a pity, though, our scientific friends had come to different conclusions. But, my dear sir, let us speak of something more charming, infinitely more charming. I am in hopes, before I leave your delightful country, of asking you to do me a great kindness ― to tie 'the knot there's no untying,' as the poet so aptly expresses it."

"Indeed!" said Stephen Wadham, thankful that the other could not see his face.

"Well, sir, I cannot say I have put the question into words as yet, but there is a young lady, known to friends of my own ― by the way, I used to see her at your church, but not of late. High-born, sir, and of remarkable brain power, and of most pleasing appearance. Perhaps you noticed us conversing together this evening."

"Yes, I did," said Wadham. "Excuse me, Mr Moat, but I promised to see someone down this next turning."

"I am sorry, for I always appreciate congenial company. Well, sir, that young lady who honoured me with her conversation is the star of my hopes, and if you will be so obliging as to officiate...."

But the minister had disappeared to the tavern. Nurse Wiggins was startled by his look of pallor when he entered Mallow's room.

"I am afraid, sir, you are doing too much. You look quite ill," she began.

But he said gently, "I have come from heated rooms; there is nothing amiss. Mrs Wiggins, I find there is ample room at my own house for our patient. When can he be moved? I will send for him an invalid carriage."

"At your own house, sir? Won't it put you and your aunt out to have an invalid there? And what about the boy and his dog?"

"No, no, parson," said a faint voice from the bed. "You've done more for me than I'm worth. Send us off to the Union now. I'm not the sort to come under a parson's roof ― if you knew...."

Stephen Wadham laid his broad strong hand over the thin fingers on the coverlet. "I had a mother," he said slowly. "She is in glory now. She used to say that when we shelter the homeless and the sufferer, there is One who says, 'Ye did it unto Me.' Let me have this privilege, this blessing ― for His sake, and in memory of my mother."

He did not say how after a long, lonely night of prayer, a fitful sleep had ended in a dream wherein a sweet saint stood beside his bed, and whispered the words that in life she had often spoken: "Help Joe this once, dear Steve, my good son, my comfort. Remember he is your brother, and he has no other friend on earth."

Mrs Wiggins gazed at him admiringly. "I'm sure Mr Mallow ought to be very thankful, sir," she said, "and we'll do our best to nurse him back to health sharp and quick, so that he can get to work and keep himself and the child again. It's such a nice house where you are going, Mallow," she said cheerfully to the invalid. "Such a nice, open street, and a beautiful garden, and the church next door, and you'll hear all the sweet hymns they're singing."

But the man said nothing. Only the thin fingers closed round Wadham's hand as the minister bent over him to wish him goodnight. Joseph had always been like his father, but at that moment Stephen recalled the look of the mother-face in his dream, and it seemed to speak a benediction that made his heart glow with the peace that earth cannot give nor take away, as he went home in the star-shine to the shelter that was to be his brother's also.

Chapter 12

On the Top of an Omnibus

Miss Petersham had met with an accident. "One of our most energetic members," wrote Aunt Amelia to an absent friend, "has, by the mysterious dispensation of Providence been laid aside, having, in the pursuit of her calling as an upholstress, slipped over a footstool she was re-covering, and sustained shock to the system and fractured bones."

In this case there was not much mystery concerning the mishap. Miss Petersham could have explained how it occurred. She had sprung up hastily to rush to the window, scenting a most interesting piece of gossip as she perceived Amarel Lennox passing her window, and being overtaken by Mr Moat wearing a charming flower in his coat, and hurrying to meet her in evident delight.

"Poor Mr Wadham!" she reflected. "So he has lost her, and the other is to win her. Well, it is his own fault. He is his own enemy, as I remarked to Mrs Jackman only yesterday, though she did fly in a temper and say she wished some she could name was half as good!"

Thus reflecting, and craning her neck to perceive how Amarel returned Mr Moat's salutation, Miss Petersham fell prone over the footstool and injured her foot, wrist, and arm. Now to Miss Petersham's credit, be it said, she had been sending a weekly sum towards the rent of an elderly sister in the country, a sister with whom she always disagreed when they lived together, but who was by no means in her declining years to be allowed to want. But how was the weekly two-and-sixpence to be found, how were her own needs to be supplied, when her busy, much-sought-after needle would have to stop a while? And just then she had the order to make two new sets of chintzes for Mrs Branton's furniture!

Miss Petersham had never known much about pain or sickness or sorrow, and she and sympathy had been well-nigh strangers. "Shiftless and unthrifty" had been her usual description of the unfortunate, and she had been wont to hint at "Providential judgments" when sudden calamity befell some darkened life. What could she expect to reap now in her time of need save similar remarks, and neighbourly surprise that she had not put by more for a rainy day?

The setting of the bones was very painful, and the upholstress was not so young as in days gone by. Certain it was that she cried herself to sleep at last, and she dreamed that Amarel and Mrs Millen were beside her, Amarel's cool hand laid upon her aching brow, and Amarel's soft voice saying, "Let me put the grapes beside her. Real Muscat grapes, Mrs Millen. My little pupils gave me some, because it is my birthday."

"Sing to her, dearie. There's nothing like singing to lull one to sleep, and she is very restless, poor dear."

And Amarel's soft voice sang tenderly, "Oh, rest in the Lord," and the sleep grew deep and restful. When Jane Petersham woke she felt sorry she had ever hinted to one and another of the congregation that Amarel was one that loved "fine feathers," and it remained to be seen how one that dressed herself in the fashions could become the part of a Christian minister's wife!

The minister himself came on the morrow to read and pray with the sufferer. He was a little nervous in doing so, for he had an impression somehow that Miss Petersham was suspicious of him, and communicated that feeling to others. But when he got upon his knees, his own burdened heart seemed naturally to turn to Him Who is acquainted with grief.

"What a gift he has in prayer!" Mrs Millen had often said, when he had led the worshippers at the prayer meetings; but she did not say so then. She too faltered "Amen," the tears raining down her cheeks.

As for Jane Petersham, she seemed to have caught a vision of the great Burden-bearer, and to realise that he who was bringing to the Mighty One her pain and her griefs, was himself carrying a weight of trouble ― a weight she had helped to increase. But she said nothing. Words of self-abasement did not come easily to one who had been accustomed to think herself in the right, and all the rest mistaken.

Presently, there was Mrs Lidgery in the room, with a great basket of comforts ― even to Benjamin's picture book, which he insisted on sending the sufferer, though conscious that she kept reproachful eyes on him on Sundays when he ate toffee-drops surreptitiously.

Close upon Mrs Lidgery came Mrs Branton, leaving something bright in the invalid's hand, and saying the chintzes could well wait till Miss Petersham was quite well. But Mrs Millen and Mrs Jackman, the chapel keeper's wife, made mysterious signs to Mrs Branton. Both were good needlewomen, and they had concocted a scheme of making the covers between them. And they would have carried it out too, aided by Amarel, only that very afternoon who should arrive but Miss Petersham senior, all the way from Lincolnshire.

Mrs Millen had sent her a telegram, saying her sister had met with an accident. Both sisters had been trained as upholstresses, though the elder was feeble now from a kind of stroke. She was not too feeble, however, to manage the chintz covers, and as Jane Petersham heard the familiar voice and saw her stitching away in the same room, like a vision of the past, she fairly broke down and said, "He hath remembered me in my low estate; for His mercy endureth for ever!"

It was difficult for Stephen Wadham to look in again on his brother that day, for he knew the invalid who filled his thoughts seemed anxiously expectant till he heard his step, to look into the face that always had a tender smile for the wee laddie. But at the evening hour Mr Wadham came with a weary step into the little street, and asked if Miss Petersham's pain were easier.

"Ask him to come up," murmured Miss Petersham, and thinking she might be worse he went up to speak his sympathy.

"Why, how bright and comfortable you look," he said, touching a bunch of violets with gentle fingers. Did he guess that Amarel had placed them in the glass? "And is this your sister from the country? Well, now, that is kind to come so soon. I think our patient will do finely now."

"Indeed I shall, sir. Better, far better than I deserve."

"Why, my friend, how would any of us fare if we received at the Lord's hands only what we feel we have deserved? Far beyond our deservings is His abounding grace for ever."

"It is, it is. He has not forgotten me, though I've been one to exalt myself, and to be suspicious of others. Mr Wadham, when you was praying today beside my bed, a veil seemed taken from my eyes. The evil I've thought of you sprang from my own suspecting heart. I knew then that none could speak to the Master as you do, and be leading a wrong life, and deceiving the people. Sir, I've done you harm. I've spoken words I can't take back. I misjudged you, and caused others to misjudge ... maybe I was the beginning of ... of ... I mean about Miss Amarel."

"Dear friend," he said gently, "if there is aught to forgive and forget, believe me, all is forgiven, even as may the Lord God forgive my own mistakes. For should He be swift to mark our shortcomings, which of us is blameless in His sight?"

Mr Moat's wooing had to proceed under difficulties. To begin with, Amarel was so frank and friendly that it was quite evident she had no idea it was his wish to become her suitor. Then, the only opportunity he had of meeting her was in the street or at a station. Although it occurred to him he could declare his admiration by letter, he found the composition of a model love letter far from easy, and gave up the attempt after various unsatisfactory compositions.

He even consulted Mr Wadham as to how he could make an opportunity of personally offering to the lady his heart and hand. Being a mutual acquaintance, the thought crossed his mind that Mr Wadham might introduce him to his aunt, and she might ask him one evening to meet Amarel at supper, and leave them together in the drawing room at the Manse, when he would use the opportunity afforded, and be much obliged ever after to the Wadhams.

Stephen wondered how he could listen to Mr Moat's rhapsodies and not feel at his own heart a sharper, sorer pain. Just then his mind was full of his poor brother and the child, for he had yet to break the news to Miss Wadham of new inmates coming to the Manse, and in the perplexities connected with Joe and Dick's future, beautiful Amarel seemed like a sweet, brief, bygone dream.

Finding that Amarel frequently used the outside seat of a certain omnibus, Mr Moat one day dropped triumphantly into a vacant place beside her, and held his umbrella over her, for it was drizzling with rain, and the inside places were all full.

"Oh, thank you, Mr Moat," she said. "I always notice it rains when I forget to bring my umbrella. But you are getting all the drops. Pray do not let me deprive you of the umbrella."

"It is a pleasure, I assure you," said Mr Moat, with a beaming face;. "Quite ... quite like a poem. I wish it could last for ever."

"Why, the Church Treat is to be in three weeks. You do not want it to be raining then!"

"Not the rain. I mean this ... sitting side by side with you."

Amarel flushed, and drew a little away. She liked Mr Moat very much, but something in her heart ― a dull pain ― stirred and cried out then in memory of the only tender tones that her own heart had re-echoed.

"Mr Moat, please do not speak like that. I am sure when I ask you..."

"My dear, you know very little about me as yet, but write to Fletcher & Co. of Croker Street, W. or the Secretary of the Cereal Association, Ltd., Great Hutchings Street. I am a substantial man, my dear young lady, and able to give you a good time of it as my wife, and to provide for you comfortably as my widow. For I am older than yourself by many years, but I have a real regard for you, and I've been thinking, if you can respond to my feelings, and agree to become Mrs Moat before I sail, then Mr Wadham, for whom I have considerable regard, can join you and me in holy matrimony, and give us a sermon suited to the happy occasion. And it would mean a few extra dollars in his pocket, for there's nothing I'll grudge on the auspicious day that gives me so charming a young lady as the partner of my joys and sorrows."

Amarel's face was pale enough now. It was evident he did not mean to hurt her, only he knew nothing about what had been before doubt crept into her troubled heart, and she had returned the ring that even now she missed so sorely from her finger.

"A young lady like you," he said, oblivious to her thoughts, "is not fitted to battle with the world. You look tired out today with the teaching. As Mrs Moat, you will lead a life of ease and comfort, protected from the stormy winds of fate, and sheltered by my sincere affection."

"Mr Moat," she said earnestly, "you would not counsel anyone to marry for the sake of an easier life. Unless marriage be a matter of ... of ... real love"

"But, my dear," he faltered, "would not that be possible, if ... if ... you gave me opportunities of the privilege of your friendship?"

"No, it could never be possible. Once ... once ... that is all over now, but there can never, never be a second time, Mr Moat."

"I beg your pardon," he said simply, "I did not mean to pain you, poor child."

Presently the rain cleared up, and he remarked that the next street was his stopping place. For a moment he held Amarel's hand in a yearning grasp, then, with a murmured, "God bless you, child, and give you yet your heart's desire," he was gone.

Amarel looked after him with tear-dimmed eyes, for she was sadly lonely, and she had prized his friendship; only ... only ... no other ring could ever take the place of that hoop of pearls! No, single she would live and single die, but she must take a resident appointment. She must go away from the neighbourhood of St Chrystom's. She must not run the risk of meeting him whom she had trusted and who had shadowed all her future life.

Just then, through the mist of tears, she became conscious that he was on the opposite seat. Stephen Wadham had been to secure an appointment concerning his brother with a great consulting physician, and now he was returning with a heavy heart to the Manse, for he knew what he had to go through with Miss Wadham before the room would be prepared for the invalid.

How silly she was to colour and tremble and feel as if she must hold the rail to keep herself from falling! Amarel felt angry with herself, and responded to his lift of the hat by saying in a would-be careless tone, "How wet the streets are, and it rained on Monday too."

"Yes ... I ... I am afraid you must be very wet. It came down sharply just now."

"Thank you. Mr Moat has just gone ... I ... had his umbrella."

"Oh, indeed!" The tone was cold and unconcerned. Was she to seem more moved, more susceptible than he did?

"I hope Miss Wadham is well," she said, gathering her belongings together.

"Thank you; the neuralgia is rather troublesome. Do you get out here? Is not Brick Street nearer for you?"

"Yes, but I ... I want to get out, thank you. There is a shop here where I buy my tea ... and candles," she faltered, almost breaking down as he handed her the purse she had dropped.

"He might have asked me to shake hands," she thought, hurrying off to the grocery stores in indignant pride, and then reflecting, when laden with the tea, that Mr Lidgery kept a much better kind, and she had meant not to go to that store again.

"She might have held out her hand," thought the young man, sadly, "but her new friendship with Moat has put the past out of her heart and mind. Well, if somehow I have managed to miss happiness, I know that to be blessed is better, and I am blest in the love of that pure-soulcd Amarel. There are some, Mrs Browning says,

'Anointed with His odorous oil

To wrestle, not to reign!'

I think I am meant to be one of the wrestlers. May He, by His Almighty power, yet give me the victory! The hardest of the fight is before me now. But for my mother I can go through with it, and I will, even to the time of hoary hairs, for her dear sake, who is now where sorrow and sighing for ever flee away!

Chapter 13

The Deposition

Miss Wadham assured her nephew that to bring a person from Canal Lane into the house was really not respectable. It would create a scandal, and though she had refrained from hurting his feelings by mentioning it she felt it her duty to say now that there was already a sort of feeling in the church.

Stephen had made up his mind he would not distress his aunt by telling her of Joseph's identity, but it was hard for him now to keep silence. When she heard that the new residents would include a sick nurse, a child of five, and a dog, she had one of her neuralgic attacks immediately.

On recovery she called on the deacons and requested them to remonstrate. "Really, my poor nephew's eccentricity is too wearing to my poor nerves," she explained. "You must make his change his mind."

No one responded to this request of Miss Wadham's, but at the next officers' meeting when his presence was urgently required, Stephen Wadham was absent, and two of them went round to the Manse to see if he were unwell.

"I could not come," he told the deacons. "My brother is dying. He has burst a blood vessel, and the doctor gives no hope. Forgive me that I kept the secret out of cowardice. The man I brought here from Canal Lane is my twin brother."

The young man's voice broke down, and Mr Branton said huskily, "We will pray for him and for you. Did you think none of us knew you had a twin brother? Many of the friends know his history, but it was not our business, and in no way reflected on our pastor. We too thank God that your own choice brought him under this roof."

So they had known, and the secret that he had dreaded would estrange his people from him had never abated their love and confidence! Ashamed of his selfish fears, he went back to the sick room where Nurse Wiggins was being helped now by the chapel keeper's wife, Mrs Jackman, and where little Dick, with wondering, frightened face, sat on the bed clasping his father's arm.

The sick man could not speak, but he tried to make a sign towards the little lad.

"You are asking me to befriend him?" said the minister, gently. "Listen, can you hear me? He shall be to me as my own. God helping me, I will bring him one day to meet you and his mother ― and our mother ― in the Father's House. Joe ... dear Joe ... he belongs to me. You belong to me. We are both changed since the old days in the old home, but I am your brother Steve, ― your old playmate. You can trust the child to Steve?"

A great light came upon the wan, drawn face. Mrs Wiggins and Mrs Jackman looked at each other then with the tears streaming down their faces.

"Steve ... didn't you know ... I was ... at Portland...."

"Joe, dear old chap, you must not talk," and Stephen Wadham bent down and pressed his lips to the cold, damp brow.

"Steve ― Steve ― I knew you the first evening you brought the little lad home; but I never meant to shame you by telling you I knew ― and I never, never guessed you would call me 'brother' again!"

A grey shadow moved across his brow. Nurse Wiggins drew near, and tried to give a few drops of the beef essence she was holding. The effort to swallow hurt him; his pleading eyes were on Stephen.

"Let us pray," said the minister, and he poured out his soul to the Saviour of sinners, the Shepherd of the lost, as never before he had prayed at his brother's side.

Still kneeling, with Joseph's hand clasped in his own, he whispered: "Jesus said, 'Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,'' and the last words of the dying man were these: "Steve did not cast me out. O Christ, O Lord Christ, now I know Thou never wilt!"

"My dear," said Mrs Lidgery, meeting Amarel in Newport Street a few weeks after all that was mortal of Joseph Wadham had been laid to rest ― and one of the fairest memorial wreaths was that twined by Jane Petersham, aided by Amarel. "My dear, I was coming in search of you, for do you know Lidgery wants to go to Glenford. Our minister's there, but he's at a boarding house, and Lidgery likes rooms best. Lidgery thinks a blow by the sea will do us good, and we want you to come with us, my dear, for Lidgery's a better walker than I am, and you'll be such company for me when he goes for his long walks. You're working very hard just now, I hear, and you're losing your fine looks. That mustn't go on. Won't you give yourself a little holiday and run down with us next week to Glenford-on-Sea?"

Amarel was aware she looked less bright and sunshiny than of yore. She might have been on her way to Boston by this time had such been her desire, but not for a moment did she regret her refusal of "an easier life." In bidding the minister farewell, Mr Moat had mentioned confidentially that his hopes in that direction had been blighted. Stephen Wadham had wrung his hand so warmly that Mr Moat had been quite struck by his sympathy.

The "dollars" had certainly not been able to tempt Amarel, but she was overworked and sad-hearted, and she longed for the change to Glenford; but she could not put herself in the way of meeting Stephen Wadham there, and she gratefully declined the invitation.

She was then on her way to see Miss Amelia Wadham, who had sent her an urgent summons that afternoon. An attack of spasms had convinced Miss Amelia that her end was near, and she had drawn up a deposition which she placed in Amarel's hands as the girl entered the room. She was then much better, but Stephen's troubles and the death of her other nephew had really given her a shock.

She said to Amarel, "I don't know when the call may come, and I want to set things right for Stephen if I can. He has always been a kind, open-hearted lad, and I'm not going to be a barrier to his happiness any longer, child. You and he shall be happy, and you can find me apartments. I have fifteen shillings a week of my own."

But Amarel kissed her, and told her that she knew he never would let his aunt live all alone. Could they not all live happily together?

And then, with burning cheeks, she read the "deposition" which told her how Miss Amelia Wadham, to retain the rule of the Manse, had written anonymous letters endeavouring to part the betrothed couple. And the only reason Stephen had gone in and out of that tavern was because his brother was there, sick and starving, till Stephen had ministered to him, brought him home, owned him before all, made his dying bed one of peace and hope, and now he was caring for the needy orphan child!

Miss Amelia and Amarel were in tears together before reading that long letter was finished. Then the girl kissed her again. "This one for Stephen," she whispered, and on her way home she called at Mrs Lidgery's to say that on second thoughts she would be ready next week for Glenford.

### Chapter 14

(Last Chapter)

The Restoration of Tammas

It was winter everywhere else, but winter never comes to Glenford Chine. There were soft winds playing and sunbeams shining out round the girl who, in a sheltered nook, was feeding the "breast-burnt birds." A tender quiver softened the beautiful lips. There was a risk of being misunderstood ― for might he not have changed his mind, and ceased to care for the heart that could not trust him? She felt that should they ever meet again, she must entreat his pardon that ever she could have thought him less than the noblest and the best.

Should they ever meet again? She had a notion that his favourite walk would be the Chine, and that perchance he would climb even to that hidden seat amid the trees that faced south and caught all the golden brightness.

Stephen Wadham, coming suddenly upon her, caught his breath in doubt for a moment as to whether he looked upon vision or reality. But as she turned at the sound of steps, and her gentle face blushed like a rose of June, he lifted his hat and tried to speak composedly.

"Good morning, Miss Lennox. This is my nephew."

"Good morning, Mr Wadham. And this is my dog!"

"Excuse me, this is Billy," began the minister, as little Dick and his dog Billy came running after his uncle; and Dick cried out protestingly, "He's uncle's and mine."

But Billy settled the point by a screech of rapture and a leap into the girl's extended arms. It was tantalising to Stephen Wadham to see the soft lips pressed so tenderly to the dog's iron-grey bristles.

"Miss Lennox, there must be some mistake. My nephew has had Billy for many months."

"He isn't Billy, he's Tammas. He came from Stirling. I have all his pedigree. Dad bought him for five guineas when he was a month old. I lost him ― at least the Dollertons did ― two years ago nearly. Tell me, darling, was it you who found my Tammas?"

Her voice was full of sweetness as she drew young Dick within her arms. Stephen had dreaded to tell her of the family shadow. He saw now that she would know that his nephew was the rescuer of Tammas.

"Yes," said Dick, feeling himself of importance, "I saved him from being killed by trains. He was fast asleep on the railway line, and dad let me keep him for my own, and dad's gone to heaven, and uncle won't let you take away my dog, will you, uncle? If you won't take away my doggie, lady, I'll give you...." Then he said, "Uncle Steve," and his voice became anxiously confidential, "what do you suppose the lady would like most?"

"How should Uncle Steve know?" said Amarel. "Oh, Tammas, dear, how fat you are! Mr Wadham, what do I owe you for his board?"

"What do you suppose I should like most?"

"How could I guess? But, oh, I can hardly believe it is Tammas. You know it was Tammas I was crying about on this very seat ― and I prayed I might find him ― but the prayer was never answered. Oh, how can I say that? It is answered today!"

"It was Tammas you cried about?" exclaimed the minister, all the retrospective jealousy vanishing like a mist. "I wish you had told me you had lost your dog. I could have helped you to find him."

"They laughed at Muscovy Mansions," she said, "when I could not help crying about Tammas. And everything had been done. You see, the Dollertons had advertised and offered rewards and all that before they told me, but it was all useless. My friend, Mary Dollerton, offered to take care of him for me at their house in London, because father was suddenly ordered here while we were visiting the Dollertons, and they will not take dogs at Muscovy Mansions. Dear, I shall be grateful to you as long as I live for being so good to him ― and so will Tammas."

"But I can't let my doggie go," said Dick, beginning to cry.

"And I can't, either," said Amarel, beginning to laugh as Tammas put himself in suppliant attitude, as though requesting them to settle his fate amicably.

"There is only one way to arrange matters," said the Rev. Stephen Wadham, who was used to act as peacemaker and arbitrator. "Tammas likes his home at the Manse, and there is plenty of room there for ― everybody. Little Dick, cheer up and race him to the stream and back. Amarel, let me tell you now ― I ought to have told you long since ― whom it was I went to see in that public house."

"Steve, I know it all. I ought to have known that you were doing something sweet and merciful. Oh, isn't it just like summer today? Oh, Steve, and have you carried it about all this time?"

It was a hoop of pearls, and only a bright-eyed robin saw what passed when it went back on Amarel's finger.

Dick and Tammas had so many races that they both fell asleep in a sunny nook at last, and enjoyed prolonged slumber while the other two made up their conversational arrears.

Mrs Lidgery could not manage that steep ascent, but she and her husband were down by the sea when at last their young visitor joined them.

"Oh, Mrs Lidgery!" cried Dick, in great excitement, "I've got such news to tell you."

"I can guess it," said the deacon, looking with glad eyes at the two standing side by side in the sunlight.

"Oh, no, excuse me," said Dick politely, "but really you can't, Mrs Lidgery. It's all about Billy. He isn't Billy, but Tammas, and he cost five golden guineas, and he's the lady's dog, and he got losted, and I found him and saved his life from being killed by trains ― and now I can't part from him, really, and uncle can't, he's that fond of him ― and the lady can't, either, so the lady will soon be coming to stay at our house always, and we're all going to live with dear Billy ― I mean Tammas"

"Hallelujah!" cried Mr Lidgery. "I hope I am not irreverent, Mr Wadham, but I rejoice in your joy. You have known great darkness, but there's always light ahead, isn't there? Our hearts sing praise to God this day for your sakes. The Lord bless you both, and keep you in His sweet sunshine."

The "praise to God" was surely heard that evening in the violin music that floated from the minister's room at Heathercliff Castle. The visitors gathered in silence on the lawn to listen to the spontaneous recital. It was like a silver rain of memories, of tender hopes, of dream-flowers, but they told him next day that although they could not hear quite distinctly, because Tammas howled at the high notes, they thought the ending was not quite original. It had sounded a little familiar. Was not the concluding melody suggestive of the "Wedding March"?

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. For more details of each title and cover photo, and 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! All our books are fully typeset. No "photocopies" or bad OCR. So check for our name, **White Tree Publishing** , before downloading! Long sentences and paragraphs are broken into shorter lengths, and modern punctuation is used for easier reading. Many books are sensitively abridged, but in all our books no doctrine or teaching is changed. The full list of published and forthcoming books is on our website www.whitetreepublishing.com. Please visit there regularly for updates.

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

All our books are in eBook format only, unless otherwise stated

### Four short books of help in the Christian life:

Chris Wright

So, What Is a Christian?

An introduction to a personal faith.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

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

Starting Out

Help for new Christians of all ages.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7

Help!

Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7

Running Through the Bible

A simple understanding of what's in the Bible.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5

### The Gospels and Acts

### In Simple Paraphrase

### with Helpful Explanations

### together with

### Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

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

Paperback ISBN: 978-0995454958

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

Chris Wright

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

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

### English Hexapla

### The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

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

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

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

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

### Bible People Real People

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

J Stafford Wright

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

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

### Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

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

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

### The Authority and

###  Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

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

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN 978-0-9957594-2-8

### Howell Harris

His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

### Roddy Goes to Church

### Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

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

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

William Haslam

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

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

### Building From the Top

William Haslam

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-12-4

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

### The Life of Billy Bray

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-01-8

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

### Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

### Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

White Tree Publishing New Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### 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 ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### Seven Steps to

### Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

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

Also available from the author as a printed booklet

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

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

Also available from the author as a printed booklet

### Seven Ways to

### Prepare for Revival

Lin Wills

e-Book ISBN: 978-1-912529-21-6

Also available from the author as a printed booklet

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

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

Paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

### Faith that Prevails

### The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

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

### Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

### Musings on Life, Scripture

### and the Hymns

Marty Magee

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

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

### Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

### A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

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

Also in full colour paperback

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

### Living in the Sunshine:

### The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

### Real Religion

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-10-0

### As Jesus Passed By

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-05-6

### The Lost Christ

Gipsy Smith

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-20-9

### Rifted Clouds

Bella Cooke

All Three Parts

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-08-7

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-09-4

### Deeper Experiences

### of Famous Christians

James Gilchrist Lawson

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-15-5

### Secrets of Happy Home Life

JR Miller

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-16-2

<><><><>

Return to Table of Contents

Christian Fiction

**The majority of these books are Victorian classic romances that have been sensitively edited and abridged for today's readers**

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Una's Marriage

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-5-9

### Miss Elizabeth's Niece

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### The Clever Miss Jancy

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

### Freda's Folly

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Sybil's Repentance

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Sister Royal

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Iona

Margaret S. Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-14-8

### The Lady of the Chine

Margaret S Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-1-912529-19-3

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

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

### The Secret of Ashton Manor House

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-11-7

### The Mystery of

### Grange Drayton

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing Edition

e-Book ISBN: 978-1-912529-22-3

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

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

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

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

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

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

White Tree Publishing Edition

A Romantic Mystery

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

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

White Tree Publishing Edition

A Romantic Mystery

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

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

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

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

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

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

### Stepping Heavenward

Elizabeth Prentiss

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-23-0

<><><><>

Return to Table of Contents

Books for Younger Readers

(and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

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

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

### The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

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

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

### The Old House Adventure

The Fifth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-07-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-06-3

### The Lost Island Adventure

The Sixth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-17-9

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-18-6

### 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)

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

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

### Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

A similar format to **Mary Jones**

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

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

### Pilgrim's Progress

Special Edition

The original story retold

Chris Wright

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

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

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

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

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

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

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

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

Please visit our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for full details on all these books, and their availability.

Return to Table of Contents

