CHAPTER XIII.

LILIAN SPENCER.

"The lilies of the field, with placid smile,

Reprove man's feverish strivings, and infuse
Through his worn soul a more unworldly life."

THE time for open doors and open windows came at last, the spring gradually melted into summer, but, to Emily's eye, Glen Ness was lovely still. Fervid as were the sunbeams, the ground had not the parched, arid appearance the Adelaide park-lands usually wore at the same season. The grass had certainly lost its verdant loveliness, and was brown and sere; and the grass seeds were so numerous that to walk anywhere, excepting on well-beaten paths or fenced-in roads, was destruction to dress and comfort. Yet, here and there, beneath the shade of large widespreading gums, were spots of green, among which tiny pink and blue flowers ventured their modest heads. The wattle blossom was all gone, but the broad leaves were fresh and abundant. There was no lack of green to rest the eyes upon, and Emily learned to love the old gums, and the cherry and black-wood trees very much, turning towards them as to friends.

The garden had lost most of its floral beauties; but the leaves of the passion-flower lent so grateful a

shade that two or three rose bushes, and a handsome fuschia still bloomed in glory beneath it; and the vines were now in their full luxuriance, the large green clusters bearing promise of abundance of fruit.

Things had gone on pretty much the same at Glen Ness as hitherto. Within the minister's cottage there had not been much change. One thing excepted: Emily had lost her staunch helper, Jenny, who had been suddenly recalled home by the illness of her mother, and her place was but feebly supplied by her younger sister Mary. This change left plenty on Emily's unaccustomed hands to do; but, disheartened as she sometimes was at frequent mistakes and misfortunes, she generally contrived to make all very snug, and give all her spare time to her husband when at home. How often his duties called him away-how often she was left quite alone with her little, uncanny, uncompanionable help, in those days! And how many tears that same loneliness caused her! He never knew, for the tears were all shed in his absence; but it was so, though she grieved at herself too-grieved that she could not yield him up more readily to his Master's work.

Not, indeed, that she was not glad and thankful to hear of his increasing usefulness; not that she did not glory that he was so worthy a labourer in the harvest-the harvest for which the labourers were so few; not that she could not rejoice that he was so full of love and zeal for the salvation of sinners. She perfectly understood the need of his frequent absence from his pleasant home. She knew well

""Tis not a cause of small import

The Pastor's care demands,

But what might fill an angel's heart,
And filled a Saviour's hands,"

But even these well-known facts did not prevent her from the experience of many dreary moments during his absence. Sometimes, indeed, she accompanied him on his more lengthy trips, and those times were very pleasant. She generally met with a warm reception from his people, and if at times she had coarse fare to partake of, and coarse accommodation to put up with, the hearty welcome and Christian communion made up for all.

The

And meanwhile Maggie Gordon was a fast friend, and a very pleasant companion. To her, indeed, it was a treat to run down to the minister's cottage, and entice his little lovely wife out for a walk. country round was as familiar to her as her own home. Though Scotch by birth, she had been brought up and educated at Glen Ness. It was almost her world; for, as we said before, the world of Adelaide, that capital city of our southern land, was unknown to her. She could scarcely believe that any land could be more beautiful to her than her own. Its hills, and trees, and wild flowers, reached very high in her estimation. Even the hot winds had a charm for her, for "if they are rather enervating at the time," she would laughingly exclaim, "we enjoy the cool breeze that follows all the more for them."

Maggie Gordon, in truth, was not very deeply read, but in some of the quiet evenings she spent with Emily, she learnt more of other countries and their beauty, than she had heard of all her previous lifetime. And better than all earthly love, she became more deeply acquainted with the loveliness of that

other country that "fadeth not away," but is "eternal in the heavens,”—whose streams are pure and crystalline, and never failing; whose flowers are unwithering, and whose light is the Lamb in the midst of the throne! She was beginning, too, to stretch forth her hand towards that country, beginning to "read her title clear to mansions in the skies." In leading this young disciple into green pastures, Emily found herself again and again truly blessed; for the neverfailing promise is, "He that watereth others, shall himself be watered."

But though Maggie Gordon had been a constant companion to Emily, no second visit had she received from Lilian Spencer. Three or four times she had been with her brother to chapel, not more; he far more frequently came alone, and, spite of her prepossession in his favour, Emily began to feel a little fearful, for many cogent reasons, that not the preacher, but the fair organist, was the attraction that drew him thither. Some little consciousness in Maggie's manner, when Hugh Spencer was mentioned, gave her reason to think that the young lady herself was not entirely ignorant on the subject, and perhaps not indifferent to it, either.

This new discovery gave Emily much pain, on many scores. First, because she had began to hope that Hugh's visits to chapel had something to do with an awakened interest in her husband's preaching; that he was beginning to think of other than worldly subjects; that he had discovered that his soul was a never-dying one; and that he was anxious to ascertain its future destiny. And then, secondly, when she had found out how sadly she had mistaken

his motives, she became anxious on Maggie's account. Maggie, newly seeking Christ and spiritual goodMaggie, warm-hearted and impulsive-so easily led, what effect would this earthly attachment have upon her upward footpath? Would not Hugh's influence -all worldly, all of earth-drag her down to his own spiritual level, in seeking to raise her to his temporal one?

But it was very certain that the Spencers would never accept Maggie Gordon for a daughter, proud in position, and wealth, and birth, as they were. What, then, could befall poor Maggie but disappointment and grief, if she suffered attachment to spring up in her little unsophisticated heart ? "And better

that," thought Emily, "than that she should be drawn from her love to Jesus-should forsake His footpaths. There is no one that has forsaken father, or mother, or wife, or children, or house, or lands for my sake and the Gospel's, that shall not receive in this life more abundantly, and in the life to come life everlasting.' These are the words of Jesus himself. Better that Maggie should experience loss in every earthly good, than to lose a sense of the Saviour's love."

Still, of all this Maggie had said nothing. Indeed, from Hugh's behaviour, might be gathered that nothing definite existed yet between them, and Emily could do little else than think and hope that all would yet prove right, that these visits to the little chapel, differently as they were intended, might prove for good to Hugh. And so, with occasional little warning reminiscences of similar cases, detailed by way of interesting Maggie, she contented herself