CHAPTER XXI.

THE LAST WALK.

WHEN Walter closed his little service on the last morning, he looked round on the circle of young faces, and told them he should have to bid them "good-bye."

"This is the last time, dear children, I shall see you all in this world. But we may meet, every one of us, before our Father's throne, if we like.

"We shall be sorry to part; but now I want all of you to go away and work for Jesus, your King. The first work of all is to believe on Him; and having done that, the next work is to keep His commandments, and to be loving to all around you. Then you must pray that He will teach you what else He would like you to do for Him. And He will, children. Every prayer sent straight from your heart to God's ear, and presented in the name of Jesus, is heard, and is answered. So wait patiently for the answer. Now good-bye, my dears; may God bless you all."

He shook hands with them, and many were the loving eyes raised to his face, and many the warm pressures of loving little hands, as the grateful children separated.

"We shall miss you much," said a mother, coming up to Walter. "My children have been so interested since you came, and there has been a different spirit among them."

Walter looked very glad, and he answered pleasantly, "Then you must go on encouraging them. There is nothing like teaching them diligently from the Bible every day."

"I will," answered the mother; "thank you for your kind effort for them."

Several friends gathered round them for a few parting words; and the morning slipped away so fast, that they were quite surprised to find it time to fold up their beach-chairs and start homewards for dinner.

"We must go and see the sunset to-night from our cliff," said Walter. "Mamma, will you go?"

"I should very much like it; but I know I shall be too tired with packing."

"You will go with us, I hope?" said Walter, turning to Christina.

"Oh, certainly! I should be very sorry to miss it; and we shall have a beautiful sunset, I believe, by the look of the day."

"Then we will all come," said Nellie; "and mamma will allow Netta and Isabel for once."

"Very well," said mamma, "if they are not sleepy."

The afternoon was spent by all in busy packing—a very different affair from the coming packing; for this time there was only, as Arthur said, "to stuff in all their possessions." Everything must go home. The rooms looked very empty and forlorn by tea-time; and the young people professed to be very tired, "but not too tired to go out; oh, dear, no!"

When they arrived at the piece of breezy cliff which jutted out into the sea, and looked round, it appeared to them all that on this last evening the ocean seemed more blue, more lovely than usual. Arthur was looking at it a little discontentedly; Ada was thinking how much had happened since she had come there, and with what a changed and thankful heart she would go home; Nellie felt her sorrow revived as she gazed on the boundless expanse; and Christina was thinking deeply and lovingly of her plans. And Walter? Where were his thoughts?

"Shall we sing?" he said presently.

They all assented heartily, and sang over some of the hymns which had become so very familiar during the last month. Then the conversation fell naturally into the discussion of some of Christina's projects, and she told them of a talk she had had with Mrs. Ross about Alfy, and how she had obtained a willing consent to let him go to her, promising that he should come down to see his grandparents every now and then.

"They are really well enough to do to put him to school," said Walter; "your home is not meant for children of that class exactly, is it?"

"No," said Christina; "but I have a feeling, that whatsoever my hand finds to do, I must do it; that is, wherever there is a child in need of care and training who comes under my notice, I must not refuse."

"You are right, I believe," said Walter; "all these little ones have souls, and it is not the will of our Father that one of them should perish."

Meanwhile the time slipped by, while the sun, waiting for no one, slowly and majestically dipped into the sea.

"I am so fond of these words," Walter said, addressing Christina; "there is infinite comfort in them. 'Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.'"

"Yes, they are beautiful," she answered softly; while her eyes watched the last streak of light go down, all too quickly.

"It is gone!" said Arthur.

"Yes," answered Walter, starting up; "let us have one walk along the shore."

"Come, Ada," said Arthur, catching her hand, and then Nellie's, "come, let us have a race down the cutting for the last time; 'little ones,' you catch us."

Nellie would have preferred to stay with the others, but some intuition made her run down to the beach after the young ones.

"Forsaken!" said Walter with a smile. "We must follow, but we will not go so fast."

Christina got up, and they stood still for a moment looking at the sunset sky.

"You have laid out very different plans for yourself from those I had been laying out for you, Christina," said Walter rather huskily, turning towards the descent.

"You had made for me?" she said, looking up; then seeing something unexpected in his face, she exclaimed hastily, "Oh, please—please don't!"

"Yes, dear Christina, I must. You will be so very kind as to hear me patiently."

"But it is of no use; and, oh, if you would not say it! I never dreamed of hurting you, Walter."

He paused an instant. "The worst pain is past, Christina. At first I thought I could get over it; but that is of no use; I have given you the love of all my life."

"I cannot return it," she answered in a stifled voice.

"Not now, I know that; but by-and-by, when I come back from India."

"Oh, Walter!" she exclaimed sorrowfully, "I would do anything for you but that."

"And anything but that will not do," he said gently and gravely.

They stood now at the edge of the waves, the spray almost touching their feet, and they were both silent. Walter knew it would be of little use to hurry or distress her, and yet he wanted her to understand that this hope was very near to his heart. At last he told her so, and Christina stood listening, not knowing what to answer.

"Say you will think of it, dear Christina," were his final words.

"I have undertaken my children," she said, hesitating.

"I know; but three years is a long time, and we can provide for them then, if—"

"If I could ever think of such a thing; but I do not think I ever can."

"No need to say now," he said earnestly; "we can pray about it, dear Christina; and you know I speak truthfully when I say that I would not wish to do it, if it were not His will."

"Oh, yes!" said Christina.

They turned homewards now without further speech.

Walter's feelings were very mingled, and he did not seem to have gained as much as he wanted.

"I do not know what I shall do with only this slight hope for three years," he exclaimed at length, as if forced to say the words.

And Christina burst into tears.

"Dear!" he said, "I was wrong to want to hurry you; forgive me."

"Do not talk any more about it, Walter," she said in a broken voice; "I will promise to think of it at any rate."

"I must be satisfied with that," he answered; "but think kindly and tenderly, dear."

"I will, I will," she said, weeping afresh.

So Walter said his say, and went home to the farm that night more dejected than he had been once since his return from London; and not all Nellie could do to cheer him was of any avail.

"She will decide against me," he said.

He went early to his room, and locked the door on himself and his grief. Well was it for him that he could not exclude that ever-present Comforter, who is with us in spite of bars and bolts, and who is acquainted with the most secret chambers of our inmost hearts.

"And if in lonely places, a fearful child, I shrink, He prays the prayers within me I cannot ask or think; The deep unspoken language, known only to that love Who fathoms the heart's mystery from the throne of light above. His Spirit to my spirit sweet words of comfort saith, How God the weak one strengthens who leans on Him in faith; How He hath built a city of love, and light, and song, Where the eye at last beholdeth what the heart had loved so long."

Before Walter slept that night, he had received help and comfort.

"'He knoweth the way that I take: when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.'"

He read out of his precious Bible; and, like a little child, he placed his hand in that of his Father, and was at peace.

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