CHAPTER II.

THE SILENT MESSENGER.

IT may be doubted whether, under these circumstances, Mrs. Crook was truly "comfortable." Probably many poorer people, on whom she would have looked down—if she had condescended to look at them at all—would not have cared to change places with her.

Mrs. Crook tried to think that she was very wise and prudent in thus caring for her own interests, and did not believe it possible that she could be mistaken. Yet there were times during the lonely hours—of which, by her own choice, she had so many—when a voice would seem to whisper, "Is your life the happiest you can possibly lead in this world? Has Time nothing better to give? Days and years are passing. Death must come to you as to others. What about eternity?"

When this last question recurred, Mrs. Crook tried to put it out of her mind. It was the one she disliked more than all the rest, yet it was the one which would repeat itself again and again, and for which she had no answer ready. She found her greatest comfort in thinking that she belonged to a very long-lived family.

Her grandmother had died at eighty-three; her mother at eighty-seven; and some of her relatives had attained still greater ages. Why not she?

"Let me see," said Mrs. Crook, when one day this unpleasant question had persisted in obtruding itself upon her loneliness: "I am just fifty-eight, and I feel as strong as ever I did in my life. I cannot remember having had a week's serious illness in all those years. I am a far stronger woman than mother was, and she lived to be nine-and-twenty years older than I am now. There is no reason why I should not reach ninety, or even a hundred. But if it were, say, eighty, which is not a great age in my family, I have two-and-twenty years to look forward to."

These calculations brought a look of satisfaction to Mrs. Crook's face. Twenty-two years is a long time to look forward to, and she thought she was very reasonable indeed not to have settled on twenty-five or thirty, with the example of her kinsfolk before her.

Then Mrs. Crook was somehow led to consider her mode of life. She had always been satisfied with it, so far. No one could say she was not religious. She always attended church when the weather was dry and not too cold. She could not risk her health by going out in the rain, or when an east wind was blowing. She would have regarded such doings as a tempting of Providence.

The collector never had to call twice for her pew rent. In fact she prided herself a good deal on the amount she thus contributed towards the maintenance of public worship, seeing that she paid for three seats and only occupied one.

Mrs. Crook liked to have a little pew to herself. It looked genteel, and she was not inclined to sit beside "nobody knows who," even at church.

He would have been a bold apparitor who had shown a stranger into one of the unoccupied seats, for Mrs. Crook, having paid for them, considered she had a right to keep them empty if she chose. She never considered how the minister would feel if everyone did the same, and expected him to preach to nearly empty pews.

It was just when Mrs. Crook had finally decided that she had a good two-and-twenty years of life to reckon upon, that her servant, Fanny, managed to upset all the feelings of satisfaction with which she looked forward thereto. She brought in the tea-tray to the minute, but as she placed it on the table, Mrs. Crook noticed that the girl's eyes were full of tears, and she heard a smothered sob.

"What is the matter with you, Fanny?" she asked, testily. "Toothache again, I suppose? But if it is, you need not be a baby, and cry about it. Girls are so frightened of themselves, that if a little finger aches they go sniffing and crying about a house, and making everybody miserable!"

Poor Fanny had lately borne a great deal of pain with much patience, and had gone about her work as usual, when her nights had been sadly disturbed, and she had been unable to take a proper amount of food. Knowing that her mistress would be more likely to grumble than to sympathise she had said little about her sufferings, and Mrs. Crook had either been, or pretended to be, ignorant of them, until the girl asked permission to go to a dentist.

Happily, she had obtained relief, and was able to answer:

"My face is all right, thank you, ma'am."

"Then what is the matter? I suppose you think you have something to cry about. If you have no troubles, you make them. You don't see me cry about every little thing, do you?"

Fanny could not call to mind any occasion when she had seen her mistress shed tears, and she said so. Nevertheless, this fact did not stop the flow of her own, as she answered:

"It is not about myself that I am crying; it is for Miss Lawton. They say she is dying. And she is so good and so young—only twenty-two, three years older than I am. They say she never had a day's illness in her life before; and this is inflammation, that came on all at once, and there's no hope of her getting better. Mother used to say to me sometimes, 'Young folks may die soon, old ones must.' But I never thought Miss Lawton was a bit likely to be called away. What a blessing she is ready! There will be plenty to grieve after her, though she does not fret about herself, but is just willing to live and work for God, if it please Him to spare her, or to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better."

Fanny's tears prevented more words. Miss Lawton was very dear to the girl's heart. She had been her Sunday-school teacher, and if her mistress would have allowed it, Fanny would have remained a member of the select class which the young lady taught, after she went to service.

But Mrs. Crook ridiculed the idea of a grown-up girl going to a Sunday-school, so Fanny had to content herself with an occasional sight of the dear young lady, to whom she owed so much. It was a comfort that Mrs. Crook attended the same church, and that in service the girl would still worship under the same roof as her parents, and the friends who were dearest to her.

Often had this young servant, who was also a humble disciple of Jesus, spoken to her dear teacher about Mrs. Crook. There never was a lover of the Saviour who was not a lover of souls also, and to Fanny it was a real sorrow that her mistress never spoke of Him.

"How nice it would be if Mrs. Crook were like Miss Lawton!" thought Fanny. "She would have me reading the Bible to her, and she would help me to understand it better. And she is so lonely, poor lady! She seems to care for nobody, and nobody cares for her. Yes, I do, though she would never think it. I feel sorry for her many a time, and wish she were even as happy as I am.

"This is not one of the brightest houses in the world to serve in, but I have a deal to be thankful for. The place is respectable, the work is regular, and what I can do easily; hours early, and the wages paid to the day. I am near father and mother, and the old school, and, best of all, Christ is always near to me. But it must be awful quiet and lonely for her, poor thing, though she says nothing, and seems as if she wanted to have no neighbours!"

The "her" was Mrs. Crook. Fanny could not believe that her mistress was a happy woman, or that she could be so without Christ. Many a prayer did the young servant offer on her behalf, and chief amongst her desires and petitions for Mrs. Crook was this: "Lord Jesus, let Thy Holy Spirit show my mistress that she wants a Saviour, and then show her Thyself, and make her very happy in Thee."

Mrs. Crook had no idea of Fanny's feelings towards herself. She knew she had a good, steady, truthful servant, who required no telling about keeping corners clean, or polishing pans. She put these things down to her mother's training, which had been excellent, but never dreamed that, as the girl moved about the house, she strove to bear in mind the words "Thou God seest me," and tried to do the humblest household task as unto the Lord.

Fanny did not see Miss Lawton very often, but they sometimes met in the street, at others when coming out of church, and once or twice the young teacher had ventured to call at Mrs. Crook's and ask permission to have a few minutes' conversation with her former scholar. The girl almost trembled at the idea of announcing such a visitor, for her mistress's household rule was "No followers" in its most comprehensive sense.

As, however, Miss Lawton asked Mrs. Crook's leave in such a nice straightforward way, and was so very kind in her inquiries after the mistress as well as the maid, she obtained it. After all, Mrs. Crook considered it was creditable to herself that Miss Lawton, who was a real lady, thought her servant worth looking after.

Moreover, the visitor had shown a wise discretion in staying only a short time with Fanny.

"And this was not because she was in a hurry," said Mrs. Crook, "for when I invited her into the parlour, she came in and chatted so pleasantly, that I felt sorry when she had to go."

Whether the meeting was only for a few seconds in the street, or one of these privileged interviews under Mrs. Crook's roof, Fanny always felt better and stronger for the performance of her duties, after having seen Miss Lawton.

It is easy to understand why she was thus influenced, for the meeting left sweet memories of good advice, lovingly spoken, of sisterly sympathy, though in a worldly sense the teacher and scholar were widely separated, and of cheery words, which seemed to ring in the girl's ears after the speaker was lost to sight.

It was Fanny's darling wish that Miss Lawton's visits should be blessed to her mistress, and the young lady, deeply stirred at the thought of Mrs. Crook's loneliness, earnestly longed to be of use to the solitary woman.

"If only I might be the messenger of glad tidings to her, how my heart would rejoice!" she thought. And during those occasional visits, she strove to introduce the subject which lay nearest to it, namely God's great love in giving His dear Son to die for sinners.

All to no purpose. She might speak of the weather, the crops, the hoped-for good harvest, the flowers, of which even Mrs. Crook was so fond, and their conversation would be animated enough.

But let her speak of Him who giveth to all meat in due season, and who, beside giving bread to nourish our bodies, has given the "Bread of Life," to some poor perishing sinners, and Mrs. Crook's interest was gone. She looked either indifferent or unconscious; she answered in monosyllables, as if the subject were nothing to her, and Miss Lawton felt convinced that any allusion to a possibility either of sinfulness or of need in herself would give deadly offence, and close Mrs. Crook's door against her for the future. So she could only pray, and wait, and hope.

The news of Miss Lawton's illness was a sore trial to Fanny. It was through God's blessing on her teaching that the girl had been brought to the feet of Jesus, and who can forget such a service as this?

No wonder that Fanny's tears fell fast as she told the sorrowful tale to Mrs. Crook, and then summoned courage to ask if she might go to see Miss Lawton.

It was not her night out, and the household rules, as to leave of absence, were us rigid as those about followers. Still Fanny thought if Mrs. Crook would relax them, it would surely be for Miss Lawton's sake.

"How do you know the young lady is not likely to get better?" asked Mrs. Crook sharply.

"The letter says so, ma'am," replied Fanny.

"Letter; what letter?"

"One the postman brought me a few minutes before I came in with the tray. It is from Miss Lawton's maid, and she was told to write, because Miss Lawton knew I should be so grieved if I heard about her on a sudden," said the girl, her tears flowing afresh.

"It is not likely the family will want you going at such a time, Fanny. If the young lady has been kind, that is no reason you should take liberties. I do not see that I ought to let you do it," returned Mrs. Crook.

"Oh, but, please ma'am, Miss Lawton wants me to go, and sent word that I am to ask your leave. And there is a message for you too. Will you read it for yourself?"

"A message for me! Well, give me the letter if you like, I will look over it, and make up my mind whether you can go or not, whilst I am getting my tea."

Fanny handed the little note which had brought her such sad tidings, and went downstairs with the thought in her mind, "It will speak to mistress better than I can."

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