 Chapter 15 of Esther Read Esther stood before her mirror arranging some disordered braids of hair. She had come up from the dining-room for that purpose. It was just after dinner. The family, with the addition of Mr. Foster, were gathered in the back parlor with her she was in haste to join them. How things do conspire to hinder me, she exclaimed impatiently, as one loose hairpin after another slid softly and silently out of place. This horrid ribbon doesn't shade with the trimming on my dress either. I wonder what can have become of that blue one. With a jerk, Sadie's finery box was produced, and the contents tumbled over. The methodical and orderly Esther was in nervous haste to get down to that fascinating family group. But the blue ribbon, with the total depravity of all ribbons, remained a silent and indifferent spectator of her trials, snugged back in the corner of a half-open drawer. Esther had set her heart on finding it, and the green collar box came next under inspection, and being impatiently shoved back toward its corner when the quest-proofed vane took that opportunity for tumbling over the floor and showing its contents right and left. What next, I wonder, Esther muttered, as she stooped to scoop up the disordered mass of collars, ruffles, cuffs, laces, and the like, and with them came, face up, and bright black letters, scorching into her very soul the little card with its, I solemnly agree as God shall help me. Esther paused in her work and stood upright with a strange beating of her heart. What did this mean? Was it merely chance that this sentence had so persistently met her eye all this day, put the card where she would? And what was the matter with her anyway? Why should those words have such a strange power over her? Why had she tried to rid herself of the sight of them? She read each sentence aloud slowly and carefully. Now, she said decisively, half irritated that she was allowing herself to be hindered. It is time to put an end to this nonsense. I am sick and tired of feeling as I have of late. These are all very reasonable and proper pledges, at least the most of them are. I believe I'll adopt this card. Yes, I will. That is what has been the trouble with me. I've neglected my duty. Rather, I have so much care and work at home that I haven't had time to attend to it properly. But here it is different. It is quite time I commenced right in these things. Tonight when I come to my room I will begin. No, I cannot do that either, for Abbey will be with me. Well, the first opportunity then that I have. Or no, I'll stop now, this minute, and read a chapter in the Bible and pray. There is nothing like the present moment for keeping a good resolution. I like decision in everything. And I dare say Abbey will be very willing to have a quiet talk with Mr. Foster before I come down. And sincerely desirous to be at peace with her newly troubled conscience, and sincerely sure that she was in the right way for securing that peace, Esther closed and locked the door and sat herself down by the open window in a thoroughly self-satisfied state of mind to read the Bible and to pray. Poor human heart, so utterly unconscious of its own deep sickness, so willing to plaster over the unhealed wound. Where should she read? She was at all times a random reader of the Bible, but now with this new era it was important that there should be a more definite aim in her reading. She turned the leaves rapidly, eager to find a book which looked inviting for the occasion, and finally seized upon the Gospel of John as entirely proper and appropriate, and industriously commenced. In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. Now that wretched hairpin is falling out again as sure as I live, I don't see what is the matter with my hair today. I never had so much trouble with it. All things were made by him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. Here are Mr. and Miss Hastings. I wonder if they are going to call here. I wish they would. I should like to get a newer view of that trimming around her sack. It is lovely, whatever it is. And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. Now it was doubtful if it had once occurred to Esther who this glorious word was, or that he had ought to do with her. Certainly the wonderful and gracious truths embodied in these precious verses, truths which had to do with every hour of her life, had not this evening so much as made an entrance into her busy brain. And yet she actually thought herself in the way of getting rid of the troublesome thoughts that had haunted her in the days just past. The verses were being read aloud. The thoughts about the troublesome hair and the trimmings on Miss Hastings' sack were suffered to remain thoughts not put into words. Had they been, perhaps even Esther would have noticed the glaring incongruity. As it was she continued her two occupations, reading the verses, thinking the thoughts, until at last she came to a sudden pause, and silence reigned in the room for several minutes. Then there flushed over Esther's face a sudden glow, as she realized that she sat, Bible in hand, one corner of the solemnly worded card marking the verse at which she had paused. And that verse was, he came unto his own, and his own received him not. And she realized that her thoughts during the silence had been. Suppose Miss Hastings should call and should inquire for her, and she should go with Aunt Helen to return the call, should she wear Mother's black lace shawl with her blue silk dress, or simply the little ruffled cape which matched the dress. She read that last verse over again with an uncomfortable consciousness that she was not getting on very well. But try as she would, Esther's thoughts seemed resolved not to stay with that first chapter of John. They roved all over New York, visited the places that she had seen, and a great many that she wanted to see, and that seemed beyond her grasp, going on mean time with the verses, and keeping up a disagreeable undercurrent of disgust. For those same restless thoughts there came a tap at the door and Maggie's voice outside. Miss Read, Miss Abby sent me to say that there was company waiting to see you, and if you please would you come down as soon as you could? Esther sprang up. Very well, she responded to Maggie, I'll be down immediately. Then she waited to shut the card into her Bible to keep the place, took a parting peep in the mirror to see that the brown hair and blue ribbon were in order, wondered if it were really the Hastings who called on her, unlocked the door, and made a rapid passage down the stairs, most unpleasantly conscious, however, at that very moment that her intentions of setting herself right had not been carried out, and also that so far as she had gone it had been a failure. Truly after the lapse of so many years the light was still shining in darkness. In the parlor after the other company had departed Esther found herself the sole companion of Mr. Foster at the further end of the long room. Abby, half sitting, half kneeling on an ottoman near her father, seemed to be engaged in a very earnest conversation with him in which her mother occasionally joined, and at which Ralph appeared occasionally to laugh. But what was the subject of the debate they at their distance were unable to determine, and at last Mr. Foster turned to his nearest neighbor? And so, Miss Esther, you manufactured me into a minister at our first meeting? In view of their nearness to cousinship the ceremony of surname had been promptly discarded by Mr. Foster, but Esther was unable to recover from a sort of awe with which he had at first inspired her, and this opening sentence appeared to be a confusing one, for she flushed deeply and only bowed her answer. I don't know, but it is a most unworthy curiosity on my part, continued Mr. Foster, but I have an overwhelming desire to know why, or rather to know in what respect, I am ministerial. Won't you enlighten me, Miss Esther? Why said Esther, growing still more confused? I thought, I said, I—no, I mean I heard your talk with that queer old woman, some of it, and some things that you said made me think you must be a minister. What things, Miss Esther? Everything, said Esther desperately, you talked, you know, about religion nearly all the time. A look of absolute pain rested for a moment on Mr. Foster's face, as he said. Is it possible that your experience with Christian men has been so unfortunate that you believe none but ministers ever converse on that subject? I never hear any, Esther answered positively, but your example as a Christian lady, I trust, is such that it puts to shame your experience among gentlemen? Oh, but, said Esther, still in great confusion, I didn't mean to confine my statement to gentlemen, I never hear anything of the sort from ladies. Not from that dear old friend of ours on the cars? Oh, yes, she was different from other people, too. I thought she had a very queer way of speaking, but then she was old and ignorant. I don't suppose she knew how to talk about anything else, and she is my one exception. Mr. Foster glanced in the direction of the golden brown head that was still in eager debate at the other end of the room before he asked his next question. How is it with your cousin? Oh, she, said Esther, brought suddenly and painfully back to all her troublesome thoughts, and then, after a moment's hesitation, taking a quick resolution to probe this matter to its foundation, if it had one. Mr. Foster, don't you think she is very peculiar? At which question Mr. Foster laughed, then answered good humoredly. Do you think me a competent witness in that matter? Yes, Esther answered gravely, too thoroughly and earnest to be amused now. She is entirely different from any person that I ever saw in my life. She don't seem to think about anything else, at least she thinks more about this matter than any other. And that is being peculiar? Why I think so, unnatural, I mean, unlike other people. Well, let us see. Do you call it being peculiarly good or peculiarly bad? Why, said Esther, in great perplexity. It isn't bad, of course, but she... no, she is very good, the best person I ever knew, but it is being like nobody else, and nobody can be like her, don't you think so? I certainly do, he answered with utmost gravity, and then he laughed again, but presently noting her perplexed look, he grew sober and spoke with quiet gravity. I think I understand you, Miss Esther. If you mean, do I not think Abby has attained to a rare growth in spirituality for one of her age, I most certainly do. But if you mean, do I not think it almost impossible for people in general to reach as high a foothold on the rock as she has gained, I certainly do not. I believe it is within the power, and not only that, but it is the blessed privilege, and not only that, but it is the sacred duty of every follower of the cross to cling as close and climb as high as she has. I don't think so, Esther said, with a decided shake of her head. It is much easier for some people to be good Christians than it is for others. Granted, that is, there is a difference of temperament certainly, but do you rank Abby among those for whom it was naturally easy? I think so. This time Mr. Foster's head was very gravely shaken. If you had known her when I did, you would not think so. It was very hard for her to yield. Her natural temperament, her former life, her circle of friends, her home influences were all against her, and yet Christ triumphed. Yes, but having once decided the matter, it is smooth sailing with her now. Do you think so? Has Abby no trials to meet, no battles with Satan to fight, so far as you can discover? Only trifles, said Esther, thinking of Aunt Helen and Ralph, but deciding that Abby had luxuries enough to offset both those anxieties. I believe you will find that it needs precisely the same help to meet trifles that it does to conquer mountains of difficulty. The difference is in degree, not in kind. But I happen to know that some of Abby's trifles have been very heavy and hard to bear. However, the matter rests just here, Miss Esther. I believe we are all too willing to be conquered, too willing to be martyrs, not willing to reach after and obtain the settled and ever-growing joys of the Christian. Esther was thoroughly ill at ease. All this condemned her, and at last resolved to escape from this network of her awakening conscience, she pushed boldly on. People have different views on this subject as well as on all others. Now Abby and I do not agree on our opinions. There are things which she thinks right that seem to me quite out of place and improper. Yes, he said inquiringly, and with the most quiet and courteous air, would you object to mentioning some of those things? Well, as an instance, it seemed to me very queer indeed to hear her and other young ladies speaking in your teacher's prayer meeting. I never heard of such a thing, at least not among cultivated people. And you thought it improper? Almost, yes quite, perhaps, at least I should never do it. Were you at Mrs. Burton's on the evening in which our society met? This, to Miss Esther's surprise, was her companion's next very wide-of-the-mark question. She opened her eyes inquiringly, then concluding that he was absent-minded, or else had no reply to make, and was weary of the subject, answered simply and briefly in the affirmative. I was detained that night. Were there many out? Quite a full society, Abby said, the rooms were almost crowded. Pleasant? Oh, very! I hardly wished to go, as they were strangers to me, but I was very happily disappointed and enjoyed the evening exceedingly. Were there reports? Very full ones, and Mrs. Burton was particularly interesting. She had forgotten her notes, but gave her reports from memory very beautifully. Oh, I am sorry for that. It must have destroyed the pleasure of the evening for you. I don't understand, Mr. Foster. Why, you remarked that you considered it improper for ladies to take part in such matters. And, of course, what is an impropriety you cannot have enjoyed. Oh, that is a very different matter. It was not a prayer meeting. I beg pardon. I did not understand. It is only at prayer meetings that it is improper for ladies to speak. May I ask why? Esther was growing vexed. Mr. Foster, she said sharply, you know that it is quite another thing. There are gentlemen enough present, or ought to be, to do the talking in a prayer meeting. There is generally a large proportion of gentlemen at the society. I presume there were those present capable of giving Mrs. Burton's report. Well I consider a society a very different thing from a gathering in a church. Ah, then, it's the church that is at fault. If that is the case, I should propose holding prayer meetings in private parlors. Would that obviate your difficulty? No, said Esther sharply. Not if there were gentlemen present. It is their business to conduct a religious meeting. Then, after all, it is religion that is at the foundation of this trouble. Pray, Miss Esther, was Mrs. Burton's report irreligious? Mr. Foster said Esther with flushing cheeks and in a whirl of vexation. Don't you understand me? I think I do, Miss Esther. The question is, do you understand yourself? Let me stake the case. You are decidedly not a woman's rights lady. I am decidedly not a woman's rights gentleman, that is, in the general acceptance of the term. You would think, for instance, that Abby was out of her sphere in the pulpit or pleading a case at the bar. So should I. In fact, there are many public places in which you and I, for what we consider good and sufficient reasons, would not like to see her. But, on the other hand, we both enjoy Mrs. Burton's reports, either verbal or written, as she may choose. We, in company with many other ladies and gentlemen, listen respectfully. We both greatly enjoy hearing Miss Ames sing. We both consider it perfectly proper that she should so entertain us at our social gatherings. At our literary society, we have both enjoyed to the utmost Miss Hanley's exquisite recitation from Katharina. I am sure not a thought of impropriety occurred to either of us. We both enjoyed the familiar talk on the subject for the evening after the society proper had adjourned. So the question resolves itself into this. It seems that it is pleasant and proper for fifty or more of us to hear Mrs. Burton's report in Mrs. Burton's parlor, to hear ladies sing, to hear ladies recite in their own parlors or in those of their friends, to converse familiarly on any sensible topic. But the moment the very same company are gathered in our chapel and Mrs. Burton says, pray for my class, and Miss Ames says, I love Jesus, and Miss Hanley says, the Lord is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. It becomes improper. Will you pardon my obtuseness and explain to me the wherefore? But Esther was not in a mood to explain if indeed she had ought to say, and she only answered with great decision and emphasis. I have never been accustomed to it. No, I think you told me that you were unaccustomed to hearing poetical recitations from young ladies. Does that condemn them? To which question Esther may no sort of answer, but sat looking confused, ashamed, and annoyed all in one. Her companion roused himself from his half-reclining attitude on the sofa and gave her the benefit of a very searching look. Then he came to an erect posture and spoke with an entire change of tone. Miss Esther, forgive me if I have seemed severe in my questionings and sarcastic in my replies. I am afraid I have. The subject is one which awakens sarcasm in me. It is so persistently twisted and befodged and misunderstood. Some of the very best people seem inclined to make our prayer meetings into formidable church meetings for the purpose of hearing a succession of not very short sermons, rather than a social gathering of Christians to sympathize with and pray for and help each other, as I believe the Master intended them to be. But may I say a word to you personally? Are you quite happy as a Christian? Do you find your love growing stronger and your hopes brighter from day to day? Esther struggled with herself, tour bits of down from the edge of her fan, tried to regain her composure and her voice, but the tender, gentle, yet searching tone seemed to have probed her very soul, and the eyes that at last were raised to meet his were melting into tears, and the voice which answered him quivered perceptibly. No, Mr. Foster, I am not happy. Why, may I ask you, is the Saviour untrue to his promises or is his professed servant untrue to him? Esther's heart was giving heavy throbs of pain, and her conscience was whispering loudly, untrue, untrue, but she had made no answer when Ralph came with brisk step toward where they sat. Two against one isn't fair play, he said, with a mixture of mischief and vexation in his tone. Foster, don't shirk. You have taught Abby, now go and help her fight it out like a man. Come take yourself over there and get her out of this scrape. I'll take care of Esther. She looks as though she has been to camp meeting. And Mr. Foster, with a wondering look for Ralph and a troubled one for Esther, moved slowly toward that end of the long parlor where the voices were getting louder and one of them excited. CHAPTER XVI. OF VICTORY This is really the most absurd of all your late absurdities, Mrs. Reed was saying, in a rather loud tone and with a look of dignified disgust bestowed upon Abby as Mr. Foster joined the group. Will you receive me into this circle and enlighten me as regards this particular absurdity, he said, seating himself near Mrs. Reed? Oh, it was nothing remarkable that Lady replied in her most sarcastic tone. At least, it is quite time we were growing accustomed to this new order of things. Abby is trying to enlighten her father on the new and interesting question of temperance, especially as it is connected with wedding parties in which she is particularly interested just at present. Abby bestowed an appealing glance on Mr. Foster and remained entirely silent. I believe I can claim equal interest then in the matter, he answered brightly, and will petition you, Mrs. Reed, to explain the point at issue. Indeed, Mr. Foster, I am not a temperance lecturer and do not consider myself competent to perform the awful task. I refer you to Abby, who seems to be thoroughly posted and very desirous of displaying her argumentative powers. Still silence on Abby's part and only a little tremble of the lip told a close observer how deeply she felt the sharp tones and unmotherly words. Mrs. Reed spoke at last in calm measured accents. My daughter and I, Mr. Foster, differ somewhat in regard to the duties and privileges of a host. I claim the right to set before my guests whatever I consider proper. She objects to the use of wine, as perhaps you are aware. Indeed, I believe she has imbibed her very peculiar views from you. But I say to her that as I have always been in the habit of entertaining my guests with that beverage, I presume I shall continue to do so. Mr. Foster did not seem in the mood to argue the question, but responded with genial good humor. Ah, but, Mrs. Reed, you ought to gratify your daughter in her parting request. That is only natural and courteous, is it not? Mrs. Reed felt called upon to reply. We have gratified so many of her requests already that the whole thing bids fair to be the most ridiculous proceeding that New York has ever witnessed. Fancy a dozen rough boys banging and shouting through my house, eating cake enough to make them sick for a month to say nothing of the quantity which they will stamp into my carpets, and all because they chanced to belong to Abby's mission class. Ralph and Esther had joined the group in the meantime and the former here interposed. That last argument isn't valid, mother. Haven't I promised to hoe out the rooms myself immediately after the conclusion of the solemn services? And Mr. Foster bestowed a sudden troubled look on Abby, which she answered by saying in a low voice, I should recall my invitations to them under such circumstances. You will do no such thing, her father replied sharply. The invitations are issued in your parents' names, and we shall have no such senseless proceedings connected with them. When you are in your own house you will doubtless be at liberty to do as you please, but in the meantime it would be well to remember that you belong to your father's family at present. Ralph was watching the flushing cheek and quivering lip of his young sister, and at this point flung down the book with which he had been idly playing with an impatient exclamation. It strikes me, Father, that you are making a tremendous din about a little matter. I don't object to a glass of wine myself almost under any circumstances, and I think this excruciating sensitiveness on the subject is absurd and ridiculous and all that sort of thing. But at the same time I should be willing to undertake the job of smashing every wine-bottle there is in the cellar at this moment if I thought that Siss's last hours in the body, or at least in the paternal mansion, should be made any more peaceful thereby. During this harangue the elder Mr. Reed had time to grow ashamed of his sharpness and answered in his natural tone. I am precisely of your opinion, my son. We are making much ado about nothing. We certainly have often entertained company before, and Abby has sipped her wine with the rest of us without sustaining very material injury thereby so far as I can see. And here is Esther, as stanch a church member as any of you, I believe, but that doesn't seem to forbid her behaving in a rational manner and partaking of whatever her friends provide for her entertainment. Why cannot the rest of you be equally sensible? During the swift second of time which intervened between that sentence and her reply, Esther had three hard things to endure, a sting from her restless conscience, a look of mingled pain and anxiety from Mr. Foster, and one of open-eyed and mischievous surprise from Ralph. Then she spoke rapidly and earnestly. Indeed, Uncle Ralph, I beg you will not judge of any other person by my conduct in this matter. I am very sorry and very much ashamed that I have been so weak and wicked. I think just as Abby does, only I am not like her and have been tempted to do wrong for fear you would think me foolish. No one but Esther knew how much those sentences cost her, but the swift, bright look telegraphed her from Abby's eyes seemed to repay her. Ralph laughed outright. For against one, he said gaily, I've gone over to the enemy's side myself, you see, on account of the pressure. Father, I advise you to yield while you can do it gracefully, and also to save me the trouble of smashing the aforesaid bottles. But persisted Mr. Reed, I haven't heard an argument this evening. What is there so shocking in a quiet glass of wine enjoyed with a select gathering of one's friends? John now presented himself at the door with a respectful, if you please, sir, there is a person in the hall who persists in seeing Mr. Foster. Show him in, then, was Mr. Reed's prompt reply. John hesitated and then added, He is a very common-looking person, sir, and I said show him in, I believe, interrupted the gentleman of the house in a tone which plainly indicated that he was expending on John the irritation which he did not like to bestow further on either his children or his guests. John vanished and Mr. Reed added, You can take your friend into the library, Mr. Foster, if it proves to be of private matter. There was a marked emphasis on the word friend in this sentence, but Mr. Foster only bowed his reply, and presently John returned ushering in a short, stout man dressed in a rough working suit, twirling his hat in his hand, and looking extremely embarrassed and out of place in the elegant parlor. Mr. Foster turned toward him immediately and gave him a greeting both prompt and cordial, Ah, Mr. Jones, good evening. I have been in search of you today, but some way managed to miss you. At this point Abby advanced and placed a small white hand in Mr. Jones's great hard brown one as she repeated the friendly greeting and inquired at once, How is Sally tonight, Mr. Jones? Well, ma'am, it is about her that I am come, and I beg your pardon, sir, turning to Mr. Foster, for making so bold as to come up here after you. But she is just that bad tonight that I could not find it in me to deny her anything, and she is in a real taking to see you. She has sighed and cried about it most of this day, and tonight we felt, her mother in me, that we couldn't stand it any longer, and I said I'd not come home till I found you and told you how much she wanted to see you. It's asking a good deal, sir, that she is going fast she is, and here Mr. Jones' voice choked, and he rubbed his hard hand across his eyes. I'll be down immediately, was Mr. Foster's prompt reply. Certainly you should have come for me. I should have been very sorry indeed to disappoint Sally. Tell her I will be there in half an hour, Mr. Jones." And with a few added words of kindness from Abby, Mr. Jones departed looking relieved and thankful. That man, said Mr. Foster, turning to Esther as the door closed after him, is the son of our old lady, don't you think? You remember I engaged to see her conveyed to his home in safety, and my anxiety for her future welfare was such that my pleasure was very great in discovering that the son was a faithful member of our mission Sabbath school and a thoroughly good man. And who is Sally, Esther inquired, very much interested? Mr. Foster's face grew graver. Sally is his one treasure, a dear little girl, one of our mission scholars, and a beautiful example of how faithful Christ can be to his little lambs. What is supposed to be the matter with Sally? This question came from Ralph, who had been half amused, half interested with the entire scene. The gravity on Mr. Foster's face deepened into sternness as he answered. Sally is only one of the many victims of our beautiful system of public poisoning. The son of her mother's employer, in a fit of drunken rage, threw her from the very top of a long flight of stairs, and now she lies warped and misshapen, mourning her life away. By the way, he continued, turning suddenly toward Mr. Reed, I believe you were asking for arguments to sustain my peculiar views. Here is one of them. This man of whom I speak, whose crazed brain has this young sad life and death to answer for, I chance to note to a certainty commenced his downward career in a certain pleasant parlor in this city, among a select gathering of friends, taking a quiet glass of wine. And Mr. Foster made his adieu's very brief and departed. Ralph's laugh was just a little nervous as he said when the family were alone. Foster is very fortunate in having an incident come to our very door with which to point his theories. Abby had deserted her ottoman and taken one close by her father's side. Now she laid her bright head lovingly against his breast and looked with eager, coaxing eyes into his stern gray hands. Father, she said softly, you'll let your little curly have her own way just this time, won't you? I will promise not to coax you again until I want something very bad indeed. Mr. Reed had decided his plan of action some moments before. He was prepared to remind his daughter in tones of haughty dignity that he was not in the habit of playing the part of a despot in his own family, and that she and her future husband were so very positive in their very singular opinions, and so entirely regardless of his wishes or feelings, he should, of course, not force his hospitality on her guests. He made one mistake. For just a moment he allowed his eyes to meet the sweet blue ones looking lovingly and trustingly into his, and whatever it was, whether the remembrance that his one daughter was so soon to go out from her home, or the thought of all the tender and patient love and care which she had bestowed on him in those early morning hours, the stern gray eyes grew tender, the haughty lines about his mouth relaxed, and with a sudden caressing movement of his hand among the brown curls, he said in a half-moved, half-playful tone, Did you ever ask anything of anybody in your life that you didn't get? Then, more gravely, you shall have your way once more. Abbey, it would be a pity to disfoil you of your scepter at this late day. Fiddle-sticks, ejaculated Mrs. Reed. Before she had added anything to that original sentiment, Abbey was behind her chair, both arms wound around her neck, and then came soft, quick loving kisses on her cheeks, on her lips, on her chin, and even on her nose. Nonsense, added her mother. Then she laughed. Your father would consent to have the ceremony performed in the attic if you should take a fancy that the parlors were too nicely furnished to suit your puritanic views, and I don't know but I should be just as foolish. That man has gained complete control over her, Mrs. Reed said, looking after Abbey with a little sigh and addressing her remarks to Esther as they stood together for a moment in the further parlour. He is a first-class fanatic, grows wilder and more incomprehensible in his whims every day, and bends Abbey to his slightest wish. My only consolation is that he is a man of wealth and culture, and indeed in every other respect entirely unexceptionable. A new light dawned upon Esther. This was the secret of Abbey's strangeness. Mr. Foster was one of those rare and wonderful men about whom one occasionally reads but almost never meets, and of course Abbey, being so constantly under his influence, was constantly led by him. Very few could expect to attain to such a height. Certainly she, with her social disadvantages and unhelpful surroundings, must not hope for it. She was rapidly returning to her former state of self-satisfaction. There were certain things to be done. For instance, that first chapter of John should receive more close attention at her next reading, and there were various other duties which should be taken up and carefully observed. But on the whole Esther felt that she had been rather unnecessarily exercised and that she must not expect to be perfect. And so once more there was raised a flag of truce between her conscience and her life. CHAPTER XVI. They lingered together for a few minutes in the sitting-room. Abbey, Esther, Ralph, and Mr. Foster. They had been having a half-sad, half-marry talk. It was the evening before the wedding. Air this time to-morrow, Abbey would have left them, and in just a little while the ocean would roll between them. Esther drew a heavy sigh as she thought of it all. This magic three weeks which had glowed in beauty for her, such as she told herself her life would never see again, were just on the eve of departure. Only two days now before she would carry that same restless, unhappy heart back among the clattering dishes in that pantry and dining-room at home. Ralph broke the little moment of silence which had fallen between them. Foster, listen to the sweet tones of that distant clock. It is the last time that you, being a free man, will hear it strike five. Unless I prove to be an early riser on the morrow, which necessity will compel me to become if I tarry longer here at present. Abbey, I must be busy this entire evening. That funeral obliged me to defer some important business matters that I meant should have been dispatched early in the day. It isn't possible that you have been to a funeral today. How you do mix things, Ralph uttered the sentence in real or pretended horror. Why not, Mr. Foster answered gently and added, It is true, though, life and death are very strangely mixed. It was our little Sabbath school girl, Sally, whom we laid to rest today. It didn't jar as some funerals would have done. One had simply to remember that she had reached home. Miss Esther, if you will get that package for me, I will execute your commission with pleasure. Esther went away to do his bidding, and Ralph, promising to meet him at the store in an hour, sauntered away. And for a few moments Abbey and Mr. Foster talked together alone. Good-bye, all of you, he said, smiling, as he glanced back at the two girls a few moments later. Take care of her, Esther, until I relieve you. It will not be long now. Take care, Esther answered gaily. You have forgotten the slip that there may be between the cup and the lip. But he answered her with an almost solemn gravity. I never forget that more worthy expression of the same idea we know not what a day may bring forth, but I always remember with exceeding joy that God knows and will lead us. He is graver than ten ministers, Esther said, as they turned from the window. Come, Abbey, let us go upstairs. It was two hours later when Abbey entered the sitting-room where Esther awaited her and curled herself into a small heap of white muslin at Esther's feet. There, said she, with a musical little laugh, mother has sent me away. The measure of her disgust is complete now. Dr. Dowding is in the sitting-room, and I have been guilty of going in to see him. Imagine such a fearful breach of etiquette taking place in the house of Reed. Do you know, I don't quite know what to do with myself. There is really nothing more to busy myself about unless I eat the wedding-cake. You don't act in the least like a young lady who is to be married tomorrow, was Esther's answer, as she regarded her cousin with a half-amused, half-puzzled air. Don't I? asked Abbey, trying to look alarmed. What have I done now? I'm forever treading on bits of propriety and crushing them. It will be a real relief to me when I am safely married and can relapse into a common mortal again. Why, Esther, what have I been guilty of just now? You are not a bit sentimental, are you, Abbey? And at this gravely put question Abbey's laugh rang out again. Now don't, please, add that item to the list, she said merrily. Esther, is it very important that one should be sentimental on such an occasion? I wish you were married, I really do, so that I might be told just how to conduct myself. How can you and mother be so unreasonable as to expect perfection when it is all new and I really never practiced in my life? Then it changed as sudden as it was sweet flushed over Abbey's face. The merry look died out, and in its place a gentle, tender softness rested in the blue eyes, and her voice was low and quiet. You think my mood a strange one, I fancy, dear Esther, almost unbecoming in its gaiety. Perhaps it is, and yet I feel it bright and glad and happy. The change is a solemn one, but it seems to me that I have considered it long and well. I remember that my new home is to be very near my old one, that my brother will have a patient, faithful, lifelong friend in Mr. Foster, and this makes me feel more hopeful for him. And, indeed, it seems to me that I feel like repeating, the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places. I do not, therefore, affect a gravity that I do not feel. I am gloriously happy to-night, and the strongest feeling in my heart is thankfulness. My heavenly Father has brimmed my earthly cup, so that it seems to me there is not room in my heart for another throb of joy. And so you see, Esther, what on earth can be going on downstairs? Have you noticed the banging of doors and the general confusion that reigns through the house? Positively, if I wasn't afraid of shocking mother into a fainting fit, I would start on a voyage of discovery. Suppose I go, Esther answered, laughing. In as much as I am not going to be married, there can be no harm in seeing what new developments there are below stairs. I mean to go. I'll send you word if it is anything very amazing. And with a laughing adieu, Esther closed the door on the young bride-elect and ran swiftly downstairs. There did seem to be a good deal of confusion in the orderly household, and the very air of the hall seemed to be pervaded with a singular subdued excitement. Voices of suppressed loudness issued from the front parlor, and as Esther knocked she heard a half scream from Mrs. Reed, mingled with cries of, Don't let her in. Growing thoroughly alarmed, Esther now abruptly pushed open the door and entered. Oh, for mercy's sake, Don't let her come! almost screamed Mrs. Reed, starting wildly forward. Mother, hush! said Ralph's voice in solemn sternness. It is only Esther. Where is Abby? In her room, what is the matter? Why do you all act so strangely? I came in to see what caused so much noise. And then her eyes and voice were arrested by a group around the sofa. Mr. Reed and Dr. Downing, and stooping over some object which was hidden from her, was the man who had been pointed out to her as the great Dr. Archer. As she looked in terrified amazement, he raised his head and spoke. It is as I feared, Mr. Reed, the pulse has ceased. It is not possible, and the hollow aw-struck tone in which Mr. Reed spoke cannot be described. And then Esther saw stretched on that sofa a perfectly motionless form, a perfectly pale and quiet face, rapidly settling into the strange solemn calm of death, and that face and form were Mr. Foster's. And she stood as if riveted to the spot, stood in speechless, moveless horror and amaze. And then the swift coming thoughts shaped themselves into two woe-charged words. Oh, Abby! What a household was this into which death had so swiftly and silently entered. The very rooms in which the quiet form lay sleeping all decked in festive beauty in honor of the bridal mourning. But, oh, there was to come no bridal. Esther shrank back in awful terror from the petition that she would go to Abby. I cannot, I cannot, she repeated again and again. It will kill her, and, oh, it would kill me to tell her. Mrs. Reed was even more hopeless a dependence than Esther, and Mr. Reed cried out in the very agony of despair. What shall we do? Is there nobody to help us? Then Ralph came forward, grave almost to sternness, but very calm. Dr. Downing, he said, addressing the gentlemen who had withdrawn a little from the family group. It seems to me that you are our only hope in this time of trial. My sister and you are sustained, I barely believe, by the same power. The rest of us seem to have no sustaining power. Would you go to my sister, sir? Dr. Downing turned his eyes slowly away from the calm, moveless face which seemed to have fascinated him, and said simply, I will do what I can for Abby. It is blessed to think what a helper she has, one who never faileth. God pity those who have no such friend. So they showed him up to a brightly lighted library and sent a message to the unconscious Abby. Dr. Downing, she said, turning briskly from the window in answer to Maggie summons, whatever does he want of me, do you suppose, Maggie? I'm half afraid of him to-night. However, I'll endeavor to brave the ordeal. Tell Miss Esther to come up to me as soon as she can, and be ready to defend me if I am to receive a lecture. This as she flitted by toward the door, and a pitying cloud just then hid the face of the August moon, and veiled from the glance of the poor young creature, the white frightened face of Maggie. With what unutterable agony of fear did the family below wait and long for, and dread the return of Dr. Downing, or some message from that dreadful room? The moments that seemed ours to them dragged on, and no sound came to them. She has not fainted, then, muttered Ralph at last, or he would have rung. Esther, do you know what Maggie said? Would you not go to her? Esther cowered and shrunk. Oh, Ralph, don't ask me. I cannot. Then they waited again in silence, and at last shivered with fear as Dr. Downing softly opened the door. There were traces of deep emotion on his face, but just now it was wonderful for its calmness. She knows all, he said, addressing Mr. Reed, and the widow's god is hers. Mrs. Reed, she makes a special request that she need see no living soul to-night, and indeed I think it will be best. And now, my friends, may I pray with you in this hour of trial. So while quick, skillful fingers prepared the sleeper in that front parlor for his long, long rest, a group such as had never bowed the knee together before, knelt in the room just across the hall, and amid tears and moans they were commended to the care of him who waits to help us all. By and by a solemn quiet settled down upon that strangely stricken household. In the front parlor the folding doors were closed, and the angel of death kept guard over his quiet victim. From the chamber overhead came forth no sound, and none knew, save God, how fair the struggle between despair and submission in that young heart. In the sitting-room Esther waited breathlessly while Ralph gave the particulars, which she had not until now been able to hear. We were crossing just above the store, had nearly got across, he was just saying that his preparations were entirely perfected for a long absence. It is a long journey, he added, and if I never come back I have the satisfaction of thinking that I have left everything ready even for that. It is well to be ready even for death, Ralph, he said, with one of his glorious smiles. It makes life pleasanter. I don't know how I can tell you the rest, and Ralph lips grew white and tremulous. Indeed, I hardly know how it was. There was an old bent woman crossing just behind us, and there was a carriage and a wretch of a drunken driver pushing his way through. I don't know how Foster came to look around, but he did, and said, There is my dear old lady behind us, Ralph. She ought not to be out with a mere child for a companion. And then he uttered an exclamation of terror and sprang forward, and I know nothing clearly that followed. I saw him drag that old woman fairly from under the horse's feet. I heard the driver curse and saw him strike his frightened horses, and they reared and plunge, and I saw him fall. But it all seemed to happen in one second of time, and how I got him home and got Dr. Archer and kept it from Abby I don't seem to know. Oh, God help my poor little fair darling, and Ralph choked and stopped and wiped from his eyes great burning tears. Oh, Ralph, said Esther, as soon as she could speak, then all this misery comes because that driver was intoxicated. Yes, said Ralph, with compressed lips and flashing eyes. And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to wake out of sleep, for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed. End of Chapter 17. Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 18 of Esther Read. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Esther Read by Pansy. Chapter 18. Light Out of Darkness. Slowly, slowly, the night wore away, and the eastern sky grew rosy with the blush of a new morning, the bridal morning. How strangely unreal, how even impossible did it seem to Esther, as she raised the curtains and looked drearily out upon the dawn, that this was actually the day upon which her thoughts had centered during the last three weeks. What a sudden shutting down had there been to all their plans and preparations. How strangely the house looked, here a rumbidect in festive beauty for the wedding, there one with shrouded mirrors and floating folds of crepe. Life and death, a wedding and a funeral. They had never either of them touched so close to her before, and now the one had suddenly glided backward and left her heart heavy with the coming of the other. Mechanically, she turned to look upon the silvery garment gleaming among the white furnishings of the bed, for she was that very morning to have assisted in arraying the bride in those robes of beauty. Her own careful fingers had laid out all the bewildering paraphernalia of the dressing room, sash and gloves and handkerchief and laces. Just in that very spot had she stood only yesterday, and talking the while with Abbey had altered a knot of ribbons and given the ends a more graceful droop, and just at that moment Abbey had been summoned below stairs to see Mr. Foster, and now he was waiting down there, not for Abbey, but for the coffin and the grave, and Abbey was, and here Esther gave a low, shuddering moan and covered her eyes with her hands. Why had she come into that room at all? And why was all this fearful time allowed to come to Abbey? Poor, poor Abbey, she had been so bright and so good, and Mr. Foster had been so entirely her guide. How could she ever endure it? Esther doubted much whether Abbey could ever bear to see her again. She had been so closely connected with all these bright days over which so fearful a pall had fallen. It would be very natural if she were to refuse even to see her, and indeed Esther almost hoped she would. It seemed to her that this was a woe too deep to be spoken of or endured, only she said with a kind of desperation, things must be endured, and there was a wild thought in her heart that if she could but have the ordering of events, all this bitter sorrow should never be. There came a low, tremulous knock as an interruption to her thoughts, and Maggie's swollen eyes and tear-stained face appeared at the door with a message. "'If you please, Miss Esther, she wants you.' "'Who?' asked Esther, with trembling lips and a sinking of her heart. "'Miss Abbey, ma'am, she asked for you and said "'would you come to her as soon as you could?' But it was hours after that before Esther brought herself to feel that she could go to her. Nothing had ever seemed so hard to her to do. How to look, how to act, what to say, and above all what not to say to this poor widowed bride?' These questions were by no means answered when she suddenly, in desperate haste, decided that if it must be done, the sooner it was over the better, and she made all speed to prepare herself for the visit. And yet there was enough of Esther's personal self left, even on that morning, to send a little quiver of complacency through her veins as she bathed her tear-stained face and smoothed her disordered hair. Abbey had sent for her. Abbey wanted her. She had sent twice. Evidently she had turned to her for help. Miserably unable as she felt herself to give it, still it was a comfort to feel that she was the one selected from the household for companionship. Esther knew that Mrs. Reed had been with her daughter for a few moments and that Ralph had rushed in and out again to overcome to stay. But Esther had asked no questions and received no information concerning her. She pictured her lying on the bed with disordered hair and swollen eyes, given over to the abandonment of grief, or else the image of stony despair. And it was with a very trembling hand that at last she softly turned the knob and let herself into the morning-room, which she and Abbey had enjoyed together. And just as she pushed open the door, a neighboring clock counted out twelve strokes, and it was twelve o'clock that Abbey was to become a wife. Midway in the room Esther paused, and as her eyes rested on Abbey, a look of bewildering astonishment gathered on her face. In the little easy chair by the open window, one hand keeping the place in the partly closed book, sat the young creature whose life had so suddenly darkened around her. The morning robe of soft pure white was perfect in its needness and simplicity, the brown curls clustered around her brow with their wanted grace and beauty. And while under her eyes indeed there were heavy rings of black, yet the eyes themselves were large and full and tender. As she held out the disengaged hand there came the soft and gentle likeness of a smile over her face, and Esther, bewildered, amazed, frightened, stood almost as transfixed as if she had been one of those who saw the angel sitting at the door of the empty tomb. Stood a moment, then a sudden revulsion of feeling overcoming her, hurried forward and dropping on her knees, bowed her head over the white hand in the half-open Bible, and burst into a passion of tears. Dear Esther! This said Abby in the softest, most soothing of tones. The mourner turned comforter. Oh, Abby! Abby! How can you bear it? How can you live? Burst forth from the heart of this friend who had come to comfort this afflicted one. There was a little bit of silence now and a touching tremble to the voice when it was heard again. The Lord knoweth them that are his. I try to remember that. Each knows it all, and he loves me, and he is all powerful, and yet he leads me through this dark road. Therefore it must be right. But, said Esther, raising her eyes and staying her tears for very amazement, I do not understand, I do not see. How can you be so calm, so submissive, at least just now, so soon, and you are to have been married to-day? The blood rolled in great purple waves over neck and cheek and brow, and then receded, leaving a strange, almost death-like pallor behind it. The small hands were tightly clasped, with a strange mixture of pain and devotion in the movement, and the white lips moved for a moment, forming words that met no mortal ear. Then the sweet, low, tender voice sounded again. Dear Esther, I pray, there is no other way. I pray all the time. I keep right by my Saviour. There is just a little, oh, a very little veil of flesh between Him and between my husband and myself. Jesus loves me, Esther. I know it now, just as well as I did yesterday. I do not and cannot doubt Him. A mixture of awe and pain and astonishment kept Esther moveless and silent, and Abby spoke no more for some moments. Then it was a changed, almost bright voice. Esther, do you remember we stood together alone for a moment yesterday? I will tell you what He said, the last words that were intended for just me only, that I shall hear for a little while. They are my words, you know, but I shall tell them to you so that you may see how tender Christ is, even in His most solemn chastenings. See here, He said, I will give you a word to keep until we meet in the morning, the Lord watch between thee and me while we are absent one from another. I have been thinking, while I sat here this morning, watching the coming of this new day, which you know is His first day in heaven, that perhaps it will be on some such morning of beauty as this, that my long, long day will dawn, and that I will say to Him, as soon as ever I see His face again, the word was a good one, the Lord has watched between us, and the night is gone. Think of it, Esther, I shall surely say that some day, some summer morning. The essence of sweetness and the sublimity of faith which this young Christian threw into these jubilant words cannot be repeated on paper. But, thank God, they can in the heart. They are but the echo of those sure and everlasting words, my grace is sufficient for thee. As for Esther, who had spent her years groveling in the dust of earth, it was the recital of such an experience, as she had not deemed it possible for humanity to reach. And still she knelt immovable and silent, and Abby broke the silence yet again. Dear Esther, do you know I have not seen him yet, and I want to. Mother does not understand, and she would not give her consent, but she thinks me safe while you are with me. Would you mind going down with me just to look at his face again? Oh, Esther would mind it dreadfully. She was actually afraid of death. She was afraid of the effect of such a scene upon this strange Abby. She raised her head, shivering with pain and apprehension, and looked a volume of petition and remonstrance. But ere she spoke, Abby's hand rested lovingly on her arm, and her low, sweet voice continued the pleading. You do not quite understand, my mood, Esther. I am not unlike others. I have wept bitter tears this past night. I have groaned in agony of spirit. I have moaned in the very dust. I shall doubtless have such struggles again. This is earth, and the flesh is weak. But now is my hour of exaltation, and while it has given me now to feel a faint overshadowing of the very glory which surrounds him, I want to go and look my last upon the dear clay which is to stay here on earth with me. And Esther rose up and wound her arm about the tiny frame which held this brave true heart, and without another spoken word the two went swiftly down the stairs and entered the silent solemn parlor. Yet, even while she went, a fierce throb of pain shook Esther's heart as she remembered how they had arranged to descend the staircase on this very day, in what a different manner and for what a different purpose. Apparently no such thought as this touched Abby. She went softly and yet swiftly forward to the still form, while Esther waited in almost breathless agony to see what would result from this trial of faith and nerve. But what a face it was upon which death had left its seal. No sculptured marble was ever so brand in its solemn beauty as was this clay-molded face upon which the glorious smile borne not of earth rested in full sweetness. Abby, with clasped hands and slightly parted lips, stood and almost literally drank in the smile. Then, sweet and low and musical, there broke the sound of her voice in that great solemn room. So he giveth his beloved sleep. Not another word or sound disturbed the silence, and still Abby stood engaged on the dear dead face, and still Esther stood near the door and watched with alternations of anxiety and awe the changeful expressions on the scarcely less white face of the living, until at last, without sound or word, she dropped upon her knees a cloud of white drapery floating around her and clasped her hands over the lifeless breast. Then on Esther's face the anxiety gave place to awe, and with softly moving fingers she opened the door, and with noiseless tread went out into the hall and left the living and dead alone together. There was one more scene for Esther to endure that day. Late in the afternoon, as she went to the closed room, there was bending over the manly form a gray-haired old woman, by whose friendly hands she had been permitted to enter, Esther did not stop to wonder. She had seen her but once before, but she knew at a glance the worn wrinkled face, and, as if a picture of the scene hung before her, she saw that old queer form leaning trustfully on the strong arm, lying nervous now, being carefully helped through the pushing throng, being reverently cared for as if she had been his mother, and she, looking after the two, had wondered if she should ever see them again. Now she stood in the presence of them both, yet what an unmeasurable ocean rolled between them. The faded tearful eyes were raised to her face after a moment, and a quivering voice spoke her thoughts aloud, rather than addressed anybody. He gave his life for poor old useless me, and it was such a beautiful life, and was needed, oh, so much. But what am I saying? God let it be him instead of me, who wanted so to go, and after trusting him all along, am I, at my time of life, going to murmur at him now? He came to see me only yesterday, this in a more natural tone of voice addressed to Esther. He told me good-bye. He said he was going on a long journey with his wife, and now, may the dear savior help the poor darling, for he has gone his long journey without her. Esther waited to hear not another word. The heavy sense of pain, because of Abby, which she had carried about with her through all that weary day, had reached its height with that last sentence, he has gone his long journey without her. She fled from the room, up the stairs, to the quiet little chamber, which had been given to her for her hours of retirement, locked and bolted the door, and commenced pacing up and down the room in agony of soul. It was not all because of Abby that this pain knocked so steadily at her heart, at least not all out of sympathy for her bitter sorrow. There was a fearful tumult raging in her own soul, her last stronghold had been shattered. Of late she had come to think that Abby's Christian life was but a sweet reflection of Mr. Foster's strong, true soul, that she leaned not on Christ, but on the arm of flesh. She had told herself very confidently that if she had such a friend as he had been to Abby, she should be like her. In her hours of rebellion she had almost angrily reminded herself that it was not strange that Abby's life could be so free from blame. She had someone to turn to in her knees. It was a very easy matter for Abby to slip lightly over the petty trials of her life so long as she was surrounded and shielded by that strong, true love. But now, ah, now, the arm of flesh had faltered, the strong staff had broken, and broken too only a moment as it were before it was to have been hers in name as well as in spirit. Naturally Esther had expected that the young creature, so suddenly shorn of her best and dearest, would falter and faint and utterly fail. And when, looking on, she saw the triumph of the Christian's faith, rising even over death, sustained by no human arm and yet wonderfully triumphantly sustained, even while she bent for that last time over that which was to have been her earthly all, looking and wondering, there suddenly fell away from her the stupor of years and Esther saw with wide open eyes and thoroughly awakened soul that there was a something in this Christian religion that Abby had and she did not. And thus it was that she paced her room in that strange agony that was worse than grief and more sharp than despair. No use now to try to lull her conscience back to quiet sleep again. That time was past and it was thoroughly and sharply awake. The same all-wise hand which had tenderly freed one soul from its bonds of play and called it home, had as tenderly and as wisely, with the same stroke, cut the cords that bound this other soul to earth, loosed the scales from her long closed eyes, broke the sleep that had well nigh lulled her to ruin, and now heart and brain and conscience were thoroughly and forever awake. When at last, from sheer exhaustion, she ceased her excited pacing up and down the room and sank into a chair, her heart was not more stilled. It seemed to her, long after, in thinking of this hour, that it was given to her to see deeper into the recesses of her own depravity than ever mortal had seen before. She began years back, at that time when she thought she had given her heart to Christ, and reviewed step by step all the weary way up to this present time, and she found nothing but backslidings and inconsistencies and confusion, denials of her savior, a closed Bible, a neglected closet, a forgotten cross. Oh, the bitterness, the unutterable agony of that hour! Surely Abby, on her knees, struggling with her bleeding heart, and yet feeling all around and underneath her the everlasting arms, knew nothing of desolation such as this. Fiercer and fiercer waged the warfare, until at last every root of pride or self-complacence or self-excuse was utterly cast out. Yet did not Satan despair. Oh, he meant to have this poor sick weak lamb if he could get her. No effort should be left unmade. And when he found that she could be no more coaxed and lulled and petted into peace, he tried that darker, heavier temptation, tried to stupefy her into absolute despair. No, she said within her heart, I am not a Christian. I have never been one. I never can be one. I've been a miserable, self-deceived hypocrite all my life. I have had a name to live, and I am dead. I would not let myself be awakened. I have struggled against it. I have been only too glad to stop myself from thinking about it. I have been just a miserable stumbling block with no excuse to offer. And now I feel myself deserted, justly so. There can be no rest for such as I. I have no savior. I have insulted and denied him. I have crucified him again, and now he has left me to myself. Thus did that father of lies continue to pour into this weary soul the same old story which he has repeated for so many hundred years with the same old foundation. I, I, I. And strange to say, this poor girl repeated the experience which has so many times been lived, during these past hundreds of years, in the very face of that other glorious pronoun in very defiance it would seem, to that old, old explanation, surely he hath borne our griefs and curied our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed. Yes, Esther knew those two verses. She knew yet another which said, We all, like sheep, have gone astray. We have turned everyone to his own way, and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. And yet she dared to sit with hopeless folded hand, with heavy despairing eyes, and repeat that sentence, I have no savior now. And many a wandering sheep has dared, even in its repenting hour, to insult the great shepherd thus. Esther's Bible lay on the window-seat, the large somewhat worn Bible which Abby had lent her, to mark just as much as she pleased. It lay open as if it had opened of itself to a familiar spot. There were heavy markings around several of the verses, markings that had not been made by Esther's pencil. Some power far removed from that which had been guiding her despairing thoughts prompted her to reach forth her hand for the book, and fix her attention on those marked verses, and the words were these. For thus saith the high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is holy. I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones. For I will not contend for ever, neither will I be always wroth, for the spirit should fail before me, and the souls which I have made. For the iniquity of his covetousness was I wroth and smote him. I hid me, and was wroth, and he went on frowardly in the way of his heart. I have seen his ways, and will heal him. I will lead him also, and restore comforts unto him, and to his mourners. I create the fruit of the lips. Peace, peace to him that is afar off, and to him that is near, saith the Lord, and I will heal him. Had an angel spoken to Esther, or was it the dear voice of the Lord himself? She did not know. She only knew that there rang through her very soul two sentences as the climax of all these wonderful words. Peace, peace to him that is afar off, and I will heal him. A moment more, and with the very promise of the crucified spread out before her, Esther was on her knees, and at first with bursts of passionate, tearful pleading, and later with low, humble, contrite tones, and finally with the sound and her voice of that peace which comes only to those to whom Christ is repeating, I have blotted out as a cloud thy transgressions, and as a thick cloud thy sins, did Esther pray. Do you know, dear Esther, there must have been two new joys in heaven today? First they had a newcomer among those who walk with him in white, for they are worthy, and then they had that shout of triumph over another soul for whom Satan has struggled fiercely and whom he has forever lost. This said Abbey as they nestled close together that evening in the purple twilight. And Esther answered simply and softly, Amen. The time fixed for Esther's return home had long passed, and yet she tarried in New York. Abbey clung to her, wanted her for various reasons, and the unselfish, pitying mother, far away, full of tender sympathy for the stricken bride, smothered a sigh of weariness, buried in her heart the thought of her own need of her eldest daughter's presence and health, and wrote a long, loving letter, jointly to the daughter and niece, wherein she gave her full consent to Esther's remaining away, so long as she could be a comfort to her cousin. Two items worthy of record occurred during these days. The first time the family gathered at the dinner table, after the one who had been so nearly a son of the house, had been gathered to his rest in that wonderful and treasured city of Greenwood, Ralph, having been helped by John as usual to his glass of wine, refused it with a short, sharp, almost angry. No, take it away and never offer me that accursed stuff again. We should have had him with us today, but for that I'll never touch another drop of it as long as I live. Which startling words Mr. and Mrs. Reed listened to without comment, other than a half-frightened look bestowed on Abbey, to see how she would bear this mention of her dead, and she bore it this way, turning her eyes, glistening with tears, full on her brother's face, she said, with a little quiver of tender gladness in her voice, O Ralph, I knew it had a silver lining, but I did not think God would let me see it so soon. Then Mr. and Mrs. Reed concluded that both their children were queer and that they did not understand them. The other item was a productive of a dissertation on propriety from Mrs. Reed. Ralph and his father were in the back parlor, the former standing with one arm resting on the mantel while he talked with his father, who was half-buried in a great easy chair. That easy chair in his own elegant parlor and his handsome son standing before him in that graceful attitude were Mr. Reed's synonyms for perfect satisfaction, and his face took on a little frown of disappointment as the door opened somewhat noisily, and Mrs. Reed came in wearing a look expressive of thoroughly defined vexation. Ralph paused in the midst of his sentence and wheeled forward a second easy chair for his mother, then returned to his former position and waited patiently for the gathered frown to break into words which event instantly occurred. I really do not think, Mr. Reed, that this nonsense ought to be allowed, besides being a very strange unfeeling thing to do, it is in my opinion positively indecent, and I do think, Mr. Reed, that you ought to exercise your authority for once. If you would kindly inform me what you are supposed to be talking about, and where my authority is specially needed at this time, I might be induced to consider the matter. This, from the depths of the easy chair and its owner's most provokingly indifferent tone, which fortunately Mrs. Reed was too much preoccupied to take special note of, and continued her storm of words. Here it is not actually quite a week since he was buried, and Abby must needs make herself and her family appear perfectly ridiculous by making her advent in public. Mr. Reed came to an upright posture, and even Ralph asked a startled question, where is she going? Why, where do you suppose but to that absurd little prayer meeting, where she always would insist upon going every Thursday evening? I used to think it was for the pleasure of a walk home with Mr. Foster, but why she should go tonight is incomprehensible to me. Nonsense, said Mr. Reed, settling back into the cushions. A large public that will be. I thought at the very least she was going to the opera. If the child finds any comfort in such an atmosphere, where's the harm? Let her go. Where's the harm? Now, Mr. Reed, that is just as much as you care for appearances, sometimes, and at other times you can be quite as particular as I am, though I certainly believe there is nothing that Abby might take a fancy to do that you would not uphold her in. Mr. Reed's reply was uttered in a tone that impressed one with the belief that he was uttering a deliberate conviction. You are quite right as regards that, I suspect. At least I find myself quite unable to conceive of anything connected with her that could by any twisting be made other than just the thing. Mrs. Reed's exasperated answer was cut short by the entrance of Abby, a tiredest furrow walk or ride, the extreme pallor of her face and the largeness of her soft eyes enhanced by the deep morning robes which fell around her like the night. Now, Abby, said Mrs. Reed, turning promptly to her, I did hope you had given up the strangest of all your strange whims. What will people think? People are quite accustomed to see me there, dear mother, at least all the people who will see me tonight, and if I ever needed help I do just now. I should think it would be much more appropriate to stay at home and find help in the society of your own family, that is the way other people do who are in affliction. Mrs. Reed had the benefit of a full, steady look from Abby's great solemn eyes now, as she said. Mother, I want God's help. No other will do me any good. Well, answered Mrs. Reed, after just a moment of rather awestruck silence, can't you find that help anywhere but in that plain, common, little meeting-house? I thought people with your peculiar views believed that God was everywhere. An expression not unlike that of a hunted deer shown for a moment in Abby's eyes, then she spoke in tones almost despairing. Oh, mother, mother, you cannot understand. Tone or words or both, vexed Mrs. Reed afresh, and she spoke with added sharpness. At least I can understand this much, that my daughter is very anxious to do a thing utterly unheard of in its propriety, and I am thoroughly ashamed of you. If I were Esther, I should not like to uphold you in such a singularly conspicuous parade. Remember, you have no one now but John to depend upon as an escort. Ralph had remained a silent, immovable listener to this strange, sad conversation up to this moment. Now he came suddenly forward with a quick, firm tread and encircled Abby's trembling form with his arm, while with eyes and voice he addressed his mother. In that last proposition you are quite mistaken, my dear mother. Abby chances to have a brother who considers himself honored by being permitted to accompany her anywhere she may choose to go. Mrs. Reed looked up at her tall, haughty son in unfeigned astonishment, and for an instant was silent. Oh, she said at last, if you have chosen to rank yourself on this ridiculous fanatical side, I have nothing more to say. As for Mr. Reed, he had long before this shaded his eyes with his hand, and was looking through half-closed fingers with mournful eyes at the sable robes and pallid face of his golden-haired darling, apparently utterly unconscious of, or in different to, the talk that was going on. But will Ralph ever forget the little sweet smile which illumined for a moment the pure young face as she turned confiding eyes on him? Thenceforth there dawned a new era in Abby's life. Ralph, for reasons best known to himself, chose to be released from his vacation engagements in the neighboring city, and remained closely at home. And Abby went as usual to her mission class, to her Bible class, to the teacher's prayer meeting, to the regular church prayer meeting, everywhere she had been want to go, and was always and everywhere accompanied and sustained by her brother. As for Esther, these were days of great opportunity and spiritual growth to her. So we bridged the weeks between and reached the afternoon of a September day, bright and beautiful, as the month draws toward its closing, and Esther is sitting alone in her room in the low, easy chair by the open window, and in her lap lies an open letter, while she, with thoughtful, earnest eyes, seems reading, not it but the future, or else her own heart. The letter is from Sadie, and she has written thus. My dear city sister, mother said tonight as we were promenading the dining room for the sake of exercise, and also to clear off the table, Maggie had the toothache and was off duty. Sadie, my dear child, haven't you written to Esther yet? Do you think it is quite right to neglect her so, when she must be very anxious to hear from home? Now you know, when mother says, Sadie, my dear child, and looks at me from out those reproachful eyes of hers, there is nothing short of mixing a mess of bread that I would not do for her. So here I am, placed third story front, time eleven thirty p.m., position foot of the bed, Julia being soundly sleeping at the head, one gator off and one gator on, somewhat after the manner of my son John, so renowned in history. Speaking of bread, how abominably that article can act. I had a solemn conflict with the batch of it this morning. Firstly, you must know I forgot it. Mother assured me it was ready to be mixed before I awakened, so it must have been before that event took place that the forgetfulness occurred. However, be that as it may, after I was thoroughly awake and up and down, I still forgot it. The fried potatoes were frying themselves fast to that abominable black dish in which they are put to sizzle, and which, by the way, is the most nefarious article in the whole kitchen list to get clean, save in accepting the dishcloth. Well as I was saying, they burned themselves, and I ran to the rescue. Then many wanted me to go to the yard with her to see a deer-cunning little brown and gray thing with some greenish spots that walked and spoke to her. The interesting stranger proved to be a fair-sized frog. While examining into and explaining minutely the nature and character and occupations of the entire frog family, the mixture in the tin pail behind the kitchen stove took that opportunity to sour. My, what a bubble it was in, and what an interesting odor it emitted when at last I returned from frog-dump to the ordinary walks of life and gave it my attention. Maggie was above her elbows in the wash-tub, so I seized the pail and in dire haste and dismay ran up two flights of stairs in search of mother. I suppose you know what followed. I assure you I think mothers and soda are splendid. What a remarkable institution that ingredient is. While I made sour into sweet with the aid of its soothing proclivities, I moralized. The result of which was that after I had squeezed and mushed and rolled over and thumped and padded my dough the requisite number of times, I tucked it away under blankets in a corner and went out to the piazza to ask Dr. Douglas if he knew of an article in the entire round of Materia Medica which could be given to human beings when they are sour and disagreeable and which, after the manner of soda in dough, would immediately work a reform. On his acknowledging his utter ignorance of any such principle, I advanced the idea that cooking was a much more developed science than medicine, hence followed an animated discussion. But in the meantime what do you suppose that bread was doing? Just spreading itself in the most remarkable manner over the nice blanket under which I had cuddled it. Then I had an amazing time. Mothers said the padding process must all be done over again, and there was abundant opportunity for more moralizing. That bread developed the most remarkable stick-to-attiveness that I ever beheld. I assure you, if total depravity is a mark of humanity, then I believe my dough is human. Well, we are all still alive, though poor Mr. Holland is, I fear, very little more than that. He was thrown from his carriage one evening last week and brought home insensible. He is now in a raging fever and very ill indeed. For once in our lives both doctors agree. He is delirious most of the time and his delirium takes the very trying form which leads him to imagine that only mother can do anything for him. The doctors think he fancy as she is his own mother and that he is a boy again. All this makes matters rather hard on mother. She is frequently with him half the night, and often Maggie and I are left to reign supreme in the kitchen for the entire day. Those are the days that try men's souls, especially women's. I am sometimes tempted to think that all the book knowledge the world contains is not to be compared to knowing just what and how and when to do in the kitchen. I quite think so for a few hours when mother, after a night of watching in a sick room, comes down to undo some of my blundering. She is the patientest, dearest, lovingest, kindest mother that ever immortal had, and just because she is so patient shall I rejoice over the day when she can give a little sigh of relief and leave the kitchen, calm in the assurance that it will be right side up when she returns. Esther, how did you make things go right? I'm sure I try harder than I ever knew you to, and yet salt will get into cakes and puddings and sugar into potatoes. Just here I'm conscious smitten. I beg you will not construe one of the above sentences as having the remotest illusion to your being sadly missed at home. Mother said I was not even to hint such a thing, and I'm sure I haven't. I'm a remarkable housekeeper. The fall term at the academy opened week before last. I have hidden my schoolbooks behind that old barrel in the northeast corner of the attic. I thought they would be safer there than below stairs. At least I was sure the bread would do better in the oven because of their ascent. To return to the scene of our present trials, Mr. Holland is, I suppose, very dangerously sick, and poor Mrs. Holland is the very embodiment of despair. When I look at her in perspective misery, I am reminded of poor dear cousin Abbey, to whom I would write if it didn't seem a sacrilege, and I conclude that there is really more misery in this world of ours than I had any idea of. I've discovered why the world was made round. It must be to typify our lives, sort of a treadmill existence, you know, coming constantly around to the things which you thought you had done yesterday and put away, living over again today the sorrows which you thought were vanquished last week. I am sleepy, and it is nearly time to bake cakes for breakfast. The tip of the morning to you, as Patrick O'Brien greets Maggie. Yours nonsensically, Sadie. CHAPTER 20 AT HOME Over this letter Esther had laughed and cried, and finally settled as we found her into quiet thought. When Abbey came in after a little, and nestled on an ottoman in front of her with an inquiring look, Esther placed the letter in her hands, without note or comment, and Abbey read and laughed considerably, then grew more sober, and at last folded the letter with a very thoughtful face. Well, said Esther, at last, smiling a little, and Abbey answered, O Esther, yes, said Esther, you see they need me. Then followed a somewhat eager, somewhat sorrowful talk, and then a moment of silence fell between them, which Abbey broke by a sudden question. Esther, isn't this Dr. Douglas gaining some influence over Sadie? Have I imagined it, or does she speak of him frequently in her letters, in a way that gives me an idea that his influence is not for good? I'm afraid that is very true, his influence over her seems to be great, and it certainly is not for good. The man is an infidel, I think. At least he is very far indeed from being a Christian. Do you know I read a verse in my Bible this morning which, when I think of my past influence over Sadie, reminds me bitterly of myself. It was like this. While men slept his enemy came and sowed tears. If I had not been asleep I might have won Sadie for the Saviour before this enemy came. Well, Abbey answered gently, not in the least contradicting this sad statement, but yet speaking hopefully. You will try to undo all this now. Oh, Abbey, I don't know. I'm so weak, like a child just beginning to take little steps alone instead of being the strong disciple that I might have been. I distrust myself. I am afraid. I'm not afraid for you, Abbey said, speaking very earnestly, because in the first place you are unlike the little child in that you must never even try to take one step alone. And besides, there are more verses in the Bible than that one. See here, let me show you mine. And Abbey produced her little pocket Bible and pointed with her finger while Esther read, when I am weak, then I am strong. Then turning the leaves rapidly, as one familiar with the strongholds of that tower of safety, she pointed again and Esther read, what time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Almost five o'clock of a sultry October day, one of those days which come to us sometimes during that golden month, like a regretful turning back of the departing summer. A day which, coming to people who have much hard, pressing work, and who are wearied and almost stifled with the summer's heat, makes them thoroughly uncomfortable not to say cross. Almost five o'clock and in the great dining room of the reeds, Sadie was rushing nervously back and forth very much in the same manner that Esther was doing on that first evening of our acquaintance, only there was not so much method in her rushing. The curtains were raised as high as the tapes would take them, and the slant rays of the yellow sun were streaming boldly in, doing their bravest to melt into oil the balls of butter on the table, for poor, tired bewildered Sadie had forgotten to let down the shades, and forgotten the ice for the butter, and had laid the tablecloth crookedly, and had no time to straighten it. This had been one of her trying days. The last fierce look of summer had parched anew the fevered limbs of the sufferer of stairs, and roused to sharper conflict the bewildered grain. Mrs. Reed's care had been earnest and unremitting, and Sadie, in her unaccustomed position of mistress below stairs, had reached the very verge of bewildered weariness. She gave nervous glances at the inexorable clock as she flew back and forth. There were those among Mrs. Reed's borders whose business made it almost a necessity that they should be promptly served at five o'clock. Maggie had been hurriedly summoned to do an imperative errand connected with the sick-room, and this inexperienced butterfly, with her wings sadly drooping, was trying to gather her scattered wits together sufficiently to get that dreadful tea-table ready for the thirteen borders who were already waiting the summons. What did I come after, she asked herself impatiently, as she pressed her hand to her frowning forehead, and stared about the pantry in a vain attempt to decide what had brought her there in such hot haste. Oh! A spoon! No! A fork, I guess it was. Why, I don't remember the forks at all. I'm sure as I'm here I believe they are, too, instead of being on the table. And oh! My patience! I believe those biscuits are burning. I wonder if they are done. Oh, dear me! And the young lady, who was Mr. Hammond's star scholar, bent with puzzled, burning face and received hot whiffs of breath from the indignant oven while she tried to discover whether the biscuits were ready to be devoured. It was an engrossing employment. She did not hear the sound of carriage-wheels near the door, nor the banging of trunks on the side-piazza. She was halfway across the dining-room, with her tin of puffy biscuits in her hands, with the puzzled, doubtful look still on her face, before she felt the touch of two soft loving arms around her neck, and turning quickly she screamed rather than said, oh, Esther! And suddenly, seating her tin of biscuit on one chair and herself on another, Sadie covered her face with both hands and actually cried. Why, Sadie, you poor dear child, what can be the matter? And Esther's voice was full of anxiety, for it was almost the first time that she had ever seen tears on that bright young face. Sadie's first remark caused a sudden revulsion of feeling. Springing suddenly to her feet, she bent anxious eyes on the chair full of biscuits. Oh, Esther, she said, are these biscuits done, or will they be sticky and hateful in the middle? How Esther laughed! Then she came to the rescue. Done! Of course they are, and beautifully, too. Did you make them? Here, I'll take them out. Sadie, where is mother? In Mr. Holland's room, she has been there nearly all day. Mr. Holland is no better, and Maggie has gone in an errand for them. Why have you come? Did the fairies send you? And where are the children? They have gone to walk. Many wanted mother every other minute, so Alfred and Julia have carried her off with them. Say, you dear Esther, how did you happen to come? How shall I be glad enough to see you? Esther laughed. Then I can't see any of them, she said by way of answer. Never mind. Then we'll have some tea. You poor child, how very tired you look. Just seat yourself in that chair and see if I have forgotten how to work. And Sadie, who was thoroughly tired and more nervous than she had any idea she could be, leaned luxuriously back in her mother's chair with a delicious sense of unresponsibility about her and watched a magic spell come over the room. Down came the shades and a twinkling, and the low red sun looked in on them no more. The tablecloth straightened itself, pickles and cheese and cake got out of their confused proximity, and marched each to their appropriate niche on the well-ordered table. A flying visit into well-remembered regions returned hard, sparkling, ice-crowned butter. And when at last the fragrant tea stood ready to be served, and Esther, bright and smiling, stationed herself behind her mother's chair, Sadie gave a little relieved sigh, and then she laughed. You're straight from Fairyland, Esther. I know it now. That tablecloth has been crooked in spite of me for a week. Maggie lays it, and I cannot straighten it. I don't get to it. I travel five hundred miles every night to get this supper ready, and it's never ready. I have to bob up for a fork or a spoon, or I put on four plates of butter and none of bread. Oh, there is a witch-work about it, and none but thoroughbred witches can get everything, every little insignificant indispensable thing on a table. I can't keep house. You poor kitten, said Esther, filled with very tender sympathy for this pretty young sister, and feeling very glad indeed that she had come home. Who would think of expecting a butterfly to spin? You shall bring those dear books down from the attic tomorrow. In the meantime, where is the tea-bell? Oh, we don't ring, said Sadie, rising as she spoke. The noise disturbs Mr. Holland. Here comes my first lieutenant, who takes charge of that matter. My sister, Miss Reed, Dr. Douglas, and Esther, as she returned the low differential bow bestowed upon her, felt anew the thrill of anxiety which had come to her of late when she thought of this dangerous stranger in connection with her beautiful, giddy, un-christian sister. On the whole Esther's homecoming was pleasant. To be sure it was a wonderful change from her late life, and there was perhaps just the faintest bit of a sigh as she drew off her dainty cuffs and prepared to wipe the dishes which Sadie washed, while Maggie finished her interrupted ironing. What would John, the stylish waiter at Uncle Ralph's, think if he could see her now, and how funny Abbey would look engaged in such employment? But Sadie looked so bright and relieved and rested and chatted so galey that presently Esther gave another little sigh and said, Poor Abbey, how very, very lonely she must be tonight. I wish she were here for you to cheer her, Sadie. Later while she dipped into the flour preparatory to relieving Sadie of her fearful task of sponge setting, the kitchen clock struck seven. This time she laughed at the contrast. They were just going down to dinner now at Uncle Ralph's. Only night before last she was there herself. She had been out that day with Aunt Helen, and so was a tired in the lovely blue silk and the real laces, which were Aunt Helen's gift, fastened at the throat by a tiny pearl, Abbey's last offering. Now they were sitting down to dinner without her, and she was in the great pantry five hundred miles away, a long, wide calico apron quite covering up her traveling dress, sleeves rolled above her elbows, and engaged in scooping flour out of the barrel into her great wooden bowl. But then how her mother's weary, care-worn face had brightened and glowed into pleased surprise as she caught the first glimpse of her. How lovingly had she folded her in those dear, motherly arms, and said, actually with lips all a tremble, My dear daughter, what an unexpected blessing, and what a kind providence that you have come just now. Then Alfred and Julia had been as eager and jubilant in their greeting as though Esther had been always to them the very perfection of a sister, and hadn't little Mini crumpled her dainty collar into an unsightly rag, and given her scotch kisses, and dutch kisses, and yanky kisses, and genuine sweet baby kisses, in her uncontrollable glee over dear Auntie Essie. And besides, oh, besides, this Esther Reed who had come home was not the Esther Reed who had gone out from them only two months ago. A whole lifetime of experience and discipline seemed to her to have been crowded into those two months. Everything of her past awakened more keen regret in this young girl's heart than the thought of her undue toful, unsisterly life. It was all to be different now. She thanked God that he had let her come back to that very kitchen and dining-room to undo her former work. The old sluggish, selfish spirit had gone from her. Before this very thing had been done for Esther Reed, now it was to be done for Christ. Everything, even the mixing up of that flower and water, for was not the word given, whatsoever ye do, do it all to the glory of God? How broad that word was whatsoever! Why that covered every movement, yes, and every word! How could life have seemed to her dull and uninteresting and profitless? Sadie hushed her busy tongue that evening as she saw in the moonlight Esther kneeling to pray, and a kind of awe stole over her for a moment as she saw that the kneeler seemed unconscious of any earthly presence. Somehow it struck Sadie as a different matter from any kneeling which she had ever watched in the moonlight before. And Esther, as she rested her tired, happy head upon her own pillow, felt this word ringing sweetly in her heart, and ye are Christ's and Christ is God's. CHAPTER XXI Esther was winding the last smooth coil of hair around her head when Sadie opened her eyes the next morning. My, she said, do you know, Esther, it is perfectly delightful to me to lie here and look at you, and remember that I shall not be responsible for those cakes this morning. They shall want a pint of soda added to them for all that I shall need to know or care. Esther laughed, you will surely have your pantry well stocked with soda, she said gaily. It seems to have made a very strong impression on your mind. But the greeting had chimed with her previous thoughts and sounded pleasant to her. She had come home to be the helper her mother and Sadie should feel and realize after this how very much of a helper she could be. That very day should be the commencement of her old, new life. It was baking day, her detestation here to fore, her pleasure now. No more useful day could be chosen. How she could dispatch the pies and cakes and biscuits to say nothing of the wonderful loaves of bread. She smiled brightly on her young sister as she realized in a measure the weight of care which she was about to lift from her shoulders. And by the time she was ready for the duties of the day, she had lived over in imagination the entire routine of duties connected with that busy, useful, happy day. She went out from her little clothes-press wrapped in armor, the pantry and the kitchen were to be her battlefield, and the whole host of old temptations and trials were there to be met and vanquished. No Esther planned, and yet it so happened that she did not once enter the kitchen during all that long busy day, and Sadie's young shoulders bore more of the hundred little burdens of life that Saturday than they had ever felt before. Descending the stairs Esther met Dr. Van Anden for the first time since her return. He greeted her with a hurried good morning, quite as if he had seen her only the day before, and at once pressed her into service. Miss Esther, will you go to Mr. Holland immediately? I cannot find your mother. Send Mrs. Holland from the room, she excites him. Tell her I say she must come immediately to the sitting room, I wish to see her. Give Mr. Holland a half teaspoonful of the mixture in the wine glass every ten minutes, and on no account leave him until I return, which will be as soon as possible. And seeming to be certain that his directions would be followed, the doctor vanished. For only about a quarter of a minute did Esther stand irresolute. Dr. Van Anden's tone and manner were full of his usual authority, a habit with him which had always annoyed her. She shrank with a feeling amounting almost to terror from a dark, quiet room and the position of nurse. Her base of operations, according to her own arrangements, had been the light, airy kitchen where she felt herself needed at this very moment, but one can think of several things in a quarter of a minute. Esther had very lately taken up the habit of securing one Bible verse as part of her armor to go with her through the day. On this particular morning the verse was, What so ever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. Now if her hands had found work waiting for her down this first flight of stairs instead of down to, as she had planned, what was that to her? Esther turned and went swiftly to the sick room, dispatched the almost frantic wife according to the doctor's peremptory orders, gave the mixture as directed, waited patiently for the doctor's return, only to hear herself installed as head nurse for the day. Given just time enough to take a very hurried second table meal with Sadie, listened to her half pitiful, half comic complainings, and learned that her mother was down with sick headache. So it was that this first day at home drew toward its closing and not one single thing that Esther had planned to do and do so well had she been able to accomplish. It had been very hard to sit patiently there and watch the low breathings of that almost motionless man on the bed before her, to rouse him at set intervals sufficiently to pour some mixture down his unwilling lips, to fan him occasionally, and that was all. It had been hard, but Esther had not chafed under it. She had recognized the necessity. No nurse could be found, her mother sick, and the young frightened, as well as worn out wife, not to be trusted. Clearly she was at the post of duty. So as the red sun peeped in a good night from a little corner of the closed curtain, it found Esther not angry, but very sad. Such a weary day, and this man on the bed was dying. Both doctors had looked at each other at least a dozen times that day. How her life of late was being mixed up with death. She had just passed through one sharp lesson, and here at the threshold awaited another. Different from that last, though, oh, very different, and herein lay some of her sadness. Mr. Foster had said, Everything was ready for the long journey, even should there be no return. Then she went back for a minute to the look of glory on that marble face, and heard again that wonderful sentence. So he giveth his beloved sleep. With this man here, everything had not been made ready by him. So at least she feared. Yet she was conscious, professed Christian though she had been, living in the same house with him for so many years, that she knew very little about him. She had seen much of him, had talked much with him, but she had never mentioned to him the name of Christ, the name after which she called herself. The sun sank lower, it was almost gone. This weary day was nearly done, and very sad and heavy-hearted felt this young watcher. The day begun in brightness was closing in gloom. It was not at all so clear a path as she had thought. There were some things that she could not undo. Those days of opportunity in which she might at least have invited this man to Jesus were gone. It seemed altogether probable that there would never come another. There was a little rustle of drapery about the bed, and she turned suddenly to meet the great searching eyes of the sick man, bent full upon her. Then he spoke in low but wonderfully distinct and solemn tones, and the words he slowly uttered were yet more startling. Am I going to die? Oh, what was Esther to say? How those great bright eyes searched her soul. Looking into them, feeling the awful salinity of the question, she could not answer no, and it seemed almost equally impossible to tell him yes. So the silence was unbroken while she trembled in every nerve, and felt her face blanched before the continued gaze of those mournful eyes. At length the silence seemed to answer him, for he turned his head suddenly from her and half buried it in the pillow, and neither spoke nor moved. That awful silence, that moment of opportunity, perhaps the last of earth for him, perhaps it was given to her to speak to him the last words that he would ever hear from mortal lips. What could she say? If only she knew how, only had words. Yet something must be said. Then there came to Esther one of those marked Bible verses which had of late grown so precious, and her voice, low and clear, filled the blank in the room. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. No sound from the quiet figure on the bed. She could not even tell if he had heard, yet perhaps he might, and so she gathered them, a little string of wondrous pearls, and let them fall with soft and gentle cadence from her lips. Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass. The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him. The Lord is gracious and full of compassion. Thus saith the Lord, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel, I even I am he that bloteth out thy transgressions for my known sake, and will not remember thy sins. Come unto me, and be ye saved, all ye ends of the earth, for I am God, and there is none else. Incline your ear, and come unto me, here and your soul shall live. Silence for a moment, and then Esther repeated, in tones that were full of sweetness, that one little verse which had become the embodiment to her of all that was tender and soothing and wonderful. What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. Was this man moving toward the very verge of the river afraid? Esther did not know, was not to know whether these gracious invitations from the Redeemer of the world had fallen once more on unheating ears or not. For with a little sigh, born partly of relief and partly of sorrow, that the opportunity was gone, she turned to meet Dr. Van Anden, and was sent for a few moments out into the light and glory of the departing day to catch a bit of its freshness. It was as the last midnight stroke of that long, long day was being given, that they were gathered about the dying bed. Sadie was there, solemn and ostracan. Mrs. Reed had arisen from her couch of suffering, and nerved herself to be a support to the poor young wife. Dr. Douglas, at the side of the sick man, kept anxious watch over the fluttering pulse. Esther, on the other side, looked on in helpless pity, and other friends of the Hollins were grouped about the room. So they watched and waited for the swift down-coming of the angel of death. The death-damp had gathered on his brow, the pulse seemed but a faint tremble now and then, and those whose eyes were used to death thought that his lips would never frame mortal sound again, when suddenly the eyelids raised, and Mr. Holland, fixing a steady gaze upon the eyes bent on him from the foot of the bed, where there Esther had slipped to make more room for her mother and Mrs. Holland, said, in a clear, distinct tone, one unmistakable word—pray. Will Esther ever forget the start of terror which thrilled her frame as she felt that look and heard that word? She cast a quick, frightened glance around her of inquiry and appeal, but her mother and herself were the only ones present whom she had reason to think ever prayed. Could she, would she, that gentle, timid, shrinking mother? But Mrs. Reed was supporting the now almost fainting form of Mrs. Holland and giving anxious attention to her. He says, pray, Sadie murmured, in low, frightened tones. Oh, where is Dr. Van Anden? Esther knew he had been called in great haste to the house across the way, and ere he could return, this waiting spirit might be gone, gone without a word of prayer. Would Esther want to die so, with no voice to cry for her to that listening saviour? But then no human being had ever heard her pray. Could she, must she? Oh, for Dr. Van Anden, a Christian doctor. Oh, if that infidel stood anywhere but there, with his steady hand clasping the fluttering pulse, with his cool, calm eyes bent curiously on her. But Mr. Holland was dying. Perhaps the everlasting arms were not underneath him, and at this fearful thought, Esther dropped upon her knees, giving utterance to her deepest need in the first uttered words. Oh, Holy Spirit, teach me just what to say. Her mother, listening with startled senses as the familiar voice fell on her ear, could but think that that petition was answered, and Esther felt it in her very soul, Dr. Douglas, her mother, Sadie, all of them were as nothing. There was only this dying man in Christ, and she pleading that the passing soul might be met even now by the angel of the Covenant. There were those in the room who never forgot that prayer of Esther's. Dr. Van Anden, entering hastily, paused midway in the room, taking in the scene in an instant of time, and then was on his knees, uniting his silent petitions with hers. So fervent and persistent was the cry for help that even the sobs of the stricken wife were hushed in awe, and only the watching doctor, with his finger on the pulse, knew when the last fluttering beat died out, and the death angel pressed his triumphant seal on pallid lip and brow. Dr. Van Anden, Esther said, as they stood together for a moment the next morning, waiting in the chamber of death for Mrs. Reed's directions, was, did he, with the inclination of her head toward the silent occupant of the couch, did he ever think he was a Christian? The doctor bent on her a grave, sad look, and slowly shook his head. Oh, doctor, you cannot think that he and Esther stopped with her face blanching with the fearfulness of her thought. Shall not the judge of the earth do right? That was the doctor's solemn answer. After a moment he added, perhaps that one eagerly spoken word, pray, said as much to the ears of him whose thoughts are not as our thoughts as did that old-time petition, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. Esther never forgot that, and the following day, while the corpse of one whom she had known so well lay in the house, and when she followed him to the quiet grave, and watched the red and yellow autumn leaves flutter down around his coffin, dead leaves, dead flowers, dead hopes, death everywhere, not just a going up higher as Mr. Foster's death had been. This was solemn and inexorable death. More than ever she felt how impossible it was to call back the days that had slipped away while she slept and to do their neglected duties. She had come for this, full of hope, and now one of those whom she had met many times each day for years, and never said Jesus to, was at this moment being lowered into his narrow house, and though God had graciously given her an inch of time and strength to use it, it was as nothing compared with those wasted years, and she could never know, at least never until the call came for her, whether or not at the eleventh hour this poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and received him into paradise. Dr. Van Anden moved around to where she was standing, with tightly clasped hands and colorless lips. He had been watching her, and this was what he said, Esther, shall you and I ever stand again beside a new-made grave, receiving one whom we have known ever so slightly, and have to settle with our contenses and our Saviour, because we have not invited that one to come to Jesus? And Esther answered with firmly drawn lips, as that Saviour hears me and will help me, never.