\"That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,And anguish, all, are shadows vain,That death itself shall not remain;That weary deserts we may tread,A dreary labyrinth may thread,Thro\" dark ways underground be led;Yet, if we will one Guide obey,The dreariest path, the darkest wayShall issue out in heavenly day;And we, on divers shores now cast,Shall meet, our perilous voyage past,
All in our Father\"s house at last!\"
R. C. TRENCH.
Margaret flew up stairs as soon as their visitors were gone, and put onher bonnet and shawl, to run and inquire how Bessy Higgins was, andsit with her as long as she could before dinner. As she went along thecrowded narrow streets, she felt how much of interest they had gainedby the simple fact of her having learnt to care for a dweller in them.
Mary Higgins, the slatternly younger sister, had endeavoured as well asshe could to tidy up the house for the expected visit. There had beenrough-stoning done in the middle of the floor, while the flags under thechairs and table and round the walls retained their dark unwashedappearance. Although the day was hot, there burnt a large fire in thegrate, making the whole place feel like an oven. Margaret did notunderstand that the lavishness of coals was a sign of hospitablewelcome to her on Mary\"s part, and thought that perhaps the oppressiveheat was necessary for Bessy. Bessy herself lay on a squab, or shortsofa, placed under the window. She was very much more feeble than onthe previous day, and tired with raising herself at every step to look outand see if it was Margaret coming. And now that Margaret was there,and had taken a chair by her, Bessy lay back silent, and content to lookat Margaret\"s face, and touch her articles of dress, with a childishadmiration of their fineness of texture.
\"I never knew why folk in the Bible cared for soft raiment afore. But itmust be nice to go dressed as yo\" do. It\"s different fro\" common. Mostfine folk tire my eyes out wi\" their colours; but some how yours rest me.
Where did ye get this frock?\"
\"In London,\" said Margaret, much amused.
\"London! Have yo\" been in London?\"
\"Yes! I lived there for some years. But my home was in a forest; in thecountry.
\"Tell me about it,\" said Bessy. \"I like to hear speak of the country andtrees, and such like things.\" She leant back, and shut her eye and crossedher hands over her breast, lying at perfect rest, as if t receive all theideas Margaret could suggest.
Margaret had never spoken of Helstone since she left it, except justnaming the place incidentally. She saw it in dreams more vivid thanlife, and as she fell away to slumber at nights her memory wandered inall its pleasant places. But her heart was opened to this girl; \"Oh, Bessy,I loved the home we have left so dearly! I wish you could see it. Icannot tell you half its beauty. There are great trees standing all aboutit, with their branches stretching long andlevel, and making a deepshade of rest even at noonday. And yet, though every leaf may seemstill, there is a continual rushing sound of movement all around--not
close at hand. Then sometimes the turf is as soft and fine as velvet; andsometimes quite lush with the perpetual moisture of a little, hidden,tinkling brook near at hand. And then in other parts there are billowyferns--whole stretches of fern; some in the green shadow; some withlong streaks of golden sunlight lying on them--just like the sea.\"
\"I have never seen the sea,\" murmured Bessy. \"But go on.\"
\"Then, here and there, there are wide commons, high up as if above thevery tops of the trees--\"
\"I\"m glad of that. I felt smothered like down below. When I have gonefor an out, I\"ve always wanted to get high up and see far away, and takea deep breath o\" fulness in that air. I get smothered enough in Milton,and I think the sound yo\" speak of among the trees, going on for everand ever, would send me dazed; it\"s that made my head ache so in themill. Now on these commons I reckon there is but little noise?\"
\"No,\" said Margaret; \"nothing but here and there a lark high in the air.
Sometimes I used to hear a farmer speaking sharp and loud to hisservants; but it was so far away that it only reminded me pleasantly thatother people were hard at work in some distant place, while I just sat onthe heather and did nothing.\"
\"I used to think once that if I could have a day of doing nothing, to restme--a day in some quiet place like that yo\" speak on--it would maybeset me up. But now I\"ve had many days o\" idleness, and I\"m just asweary o\" them as I was o\" my work. Sometimes I\"m so tired out I think Icannot enjoy heaven without a piece of rest first. I\"m rather afeard o\"
going straight there without getting a good sleep in the grave to set meup.\"
\"Don\"t be afraid, Bessy,\" said Margaret, laying her hand on the girl\"s;\"God can give you more perfect rest than even idleness on earth, or thedead sleep of the grave can do.\"
Bessy moved uneasily; then she said:
\"I wish father would not speak as he does. He means well, as I telled yo\"
yesterday, and tell yo\" again and again. But yo\" see, though I don\"tbelieve him a bit by day, yet by night--when I\"m in a fever, half-asleepand half-awake--it comes back upon me--oh! so bad! And I think, if thisshould be th\" end of all, and if all I\"ve been born for is just to work myheart and my life away, and to sicken i\" this dree place, wi\" them mill-noises in my ears for ever, until I could scream out for them to stop, andlet me have a little piece o\" quiet--and wi\" the fluff filling my lungs, untilI thirst to death for one long deep breath o\" the clear air yo\" speak on-andmy mother gone, and I never able to tell her again how I loved her,and o\" all my troubles--I think if this life is th\" end, and that there\"s noGod to wipe away all tears from all eyes--yo\" wench, yo\"!\" said she,sitting up, and clutching violently, almost fiercely, at Margaret\"s hand, \"I
could go mad, and kill yo\", I could.\" She fell back completely worn outwith her passion. Margaret knelt down by her.
\"Bessy--we have a Father in Heaven.\"
\"I know it! I know it,\" moaned she, turning her head uneasily from sideto side. \"I\"m very wicked. I\"ve spoken very wickedly. Oh! don\"t befrightened by me and never come again. I would not harm a hair of yourhead. And,\" opening her eyes, and looking earnestly at Margaret, \"Ibelieve, perhaps, more than yo\" do o\" what\"s to come. I read the book o\"
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