CHAPTER V.

A Brother to the Rescue.

"BUT now," said Hamil, "I want to know what brought you up to our quarters when I so little expected to see you. I remember now that you said something—I don't know exactly what—about leaving your place. I thought that you were so comfortable in it," continued the soldier. "When last we met on Sunday, you seemed pleased with your master, mistress, wages, everything. I hoped that you would stay in that place till my term of service should be over, and we could set up business together in some snug little home of our own."

"You remember that I spoke to you about my fellow-servant," said Miriam.

"Yes, Caroline, I think, was her name. You described her as a poor, ill-brought-up girl, who has never been taught that black's black, and who has scarcely found out yet that she has such a thing as a soul. But you were taking her in hand, Miriam, and had got her to read at least one verse in the Bible every day, and to go to church now and then. I'm not the only one," added the soldier with a smile, "whom a little sister of mine watches over for good."

"I'm afraid that you'll not think me very good when you hear all my story," said Miriam.

"Not another case of quarrelling, I hope!" cried Hamil.

"Well, you shall know all, and judge for yourself," said Miriam.

And she and her brother arose from their seat and recommenced walking, as they went on with their conversation.

"Caroline and I had just finished our dinner," continued Miriam, "when mistress's bell rang, and Caroline went up to answer it. She was away for some time, hunting in every nook and corner, as I heard afterwards, for a silver paper knife which mistress had missed from the drawing-room table. I knew nothing, of course, to what she was about, and was quietly washing up the dishes, when down came Caroline to the kitchen, looking as red as your uniform, and, to my great surprise, who should come with her but mistress. Mrs. Mellor looked grave and uneasy, and told me of the loss of the paper cutter, keeping her eyes fixed on my face as she spoke.

"'I have not been in the drawing-room, ma'am, since I helped to clean it in the morning,' said I, 'but I remember that the silver knife was then all right in its place.'

"Mistress seemed more uneasy than before, and then said, glancing first at Caroline, then at me, that my fellow-servant thought—fancied that she had seen that paper knife in my box when I had chanced to open it in the forenoon, while we were up in the attic together."

"I say!" exclaimed Hamil, indignantly. "Did you tell her that you would as soon have swallowed the knife as have stolen it?"

"Not exactly—though I said something like it—and I demanded that the box should be instantly brought down, and thoroughly searched."

"Right, perfectly right!" cried Hamil Macbean.

"I called Caroline a viper, a sneak, and I don't remember what names besides; I bade her go and fetch down the box; indeed, I scarcely knew what I was saying, I was in such a thundering passion."

Hamil thought, "Wrong, quite wrong," but he made no observation aloud.

"So the box was brought down from the attic, and mistress opened—I cannot say that she searched it. One of the first things on which her eye fell was your gift; you remember my beautiful paper cutter, made in the shape of a dagger?"

"Ah! Caroline must have mistaken it for the silver one!" cried Hamil.

"She owned that she had done so," said Miriam; "they are really a good deal alike."

"Do you suppose," inquired Hamil, gravely, "that this Caroline had actually herself taken the silver knife from the table?"

"No," replied Miriam, quickly; "to do her justice, she is not bad enough for that. We soon found what had become of the knife. Master had taken it to cut the leaves of some book that he was reading while he was out walking. He chanced to return home in the midst of the business, and everything was explained."

"And so the whole matter ended, I hope," said Hamil.

"No, I gave warning to mistress. She wanted me to stay, but I would not. I can never speak to Caroline again, so how could I stop in that house?"

"Why could you never speak a word to Caroline again?" inquired Hamil Macbean. "There is at least one word which you should speak—you should ask her pardon for calling her a viper."

"Ask her pardon!" repeated Miriam, indignantly. "Surely you are not taking her part—the part of one who would have blackened the character of your only sister!"

"Listen to me quietly, dear Miriam, for a minute, and, if you can do so, answer me calmly. Did Caroline, or did she not, believe that she had seen the silver knife in your box?"

"She must have known me well enough to be sure that I would have scorned to touch it!" cried Miriam, evading the question.

"People readily believe what they wish to be true," observed Hamil.

"What do you mean? Why should Caroline wish me to be a thief?" asked Miriam, abruptly, looking with surprise into the face of the soldier.

"By your own account, the knife was lost, had been searched for in vain; suspicion must have lain on Caroline herself; she naturally was only too glad to turn it on another, and you yourself own that the paper cutter was like your own, which she had chanced to see in your box. And you must take another thing into account, dear Miriam. Caroline has not been able to live for months with you, without finding out that your ideas of duty are very much higher than hers. She must begin to suspect that if you are right, she must be wrong, and such suspicion is very unpleasant. The life of every consistent Christian is a rebuke to a godless world. I believe that this is the chief reason why the world is so ready to hate him, so eager to pick holes in his conduct. I daresay that it was a comfort to Caroline to think that you were no better than herself."

"I am glad that she cannot now have that comfort of thinking me dishonest," cried Miriam, who was half-amused, half-vexed, at the view of the subject taken by Hamil.

"But she can, and, I fear, does think you violent and passionate," observed the soldier. "Caroline knows that, though you keep your hands from picking and stealing, you certainly do not keep your tongue from evil-speaking."

Miriam felt hurt at the observation; had any one but, her twin brother made it, she would have been seriously angry.

She was silent for a minute, and then said, "You, who are so calm and good-tempered yourself that nothing ever ruffles you, cannot understand the difficulty of keeping down a quick, hot temper like mine."

"Ah! Miriam, Miriam, are you one to be daunted by difficulties?" cried Hamil. "Remember the words which you spoke a few minutes ago; remember all that you said about the struggle, the weapon, the victory. In the campaign of life, woman as you may be, you are as much a soldier as myself. If one enemy rushes upon me from the right hand, another lies in ambush for you on the left. Your besetting sin may be—and certainly is—very different from mine; but we have both the same need to stand on our guard, the same need to watch and to pray."

Miriam thought to herself that giving way to temper was a little sin compared to giving way to intemperance. Hamil seemed to read what was passing through her mind.

"You are not tempted to intoxication from drink," he observed, "but you are tempted to intoxication from anger. And while intoxicated from one cause or the other, we are both led to do and to say things which we may afterwards bitterly repent. Sister, the same Word of God which bids us 'be sober,' and 'provide things honest in the sight of all men,' bids us also learn of Him who was meek and lowly, and tells us that 'he that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.'" *

* Prov. xvi. 32.

"Certainly my temper did get the better of me to-day," said Miriam, frankly, for she was of a candid and open disposition, and could not deny that she had been violent towards Caroline, and insolent in her manner towards Mrs. Mellor.

"Ay, let me repeat your own words in reference to myself," cried Hamil; "the enemy took you at disadvantage, he struck you down for a moment, but you won't give in, you're up and at him again."

"I don't see what you would have me do," said Miriam, looking distressed.

"Return home, tell your mistress frankly that you know that you were too hasty, that if she will overlook what has passed, you will be glad to remain in your place."

"I should not like to do that, and yet—if it were not for Caroline," began Miriam, in a hesitating tone.

"Caroline is to be settled with too," said Hamil. "Go to her, tell her that you are sorry that you gave way to anger (though you had enough to provoke you to it, I own), offer to let bygones be bygones, and—"

"Never! I could not do that! I could never humble myself so!" exclaimed Miriam.

"There is pride up in arms!" said Hamil. "Satan has not, perhaps, in all his army, a more dangerous spirit than he. Stand on your guard—he's upon you!"

"After all that has passed between us, I could not speak to Caroline!" cried Miriam.

"Not if it were your clear duty to do so, not in obedience to your Captain's command?"

"There are some things too hard for flesh and blood!" exclaimed Miriam.

Hamil said nothing in answer to this; he continued his walk in silence, but bent his steps towards Albany Street, which he soon re-entered, Miriam still by his side. He went on without speaking a word, till he reached the public-house from which he had been a short time before so hastily summoned by his sister. Hamil stood still before it, and abruptly bade Miriam good-bye.

"Where are you going?" she inquired.

"Where I don't want you to follow me again," he said gloomily, almost sternly. "I have a feverish thirst on me, Miriam; I know that I ought to abstain; but there are some things too hard for flesh and blood, as you told me a minute ago."

All that Hamil's words meant flashed upon Miriam Macbean; his danger was, in some respects like, while yet so unlike, her own. Each had a duty to perform, each had a sacrifice to make; Miriam had urged her brother to the conflict, and now, like a coward, was flinching from it herself.

"Oh! Hamil!" exclaimed the poor girl, in a faltering tone of entreaty, "Go back to your quarters at once, and I will go back to my home. You do your duty, and may God help me to do mine, pride shall not win the victory over your sister."

A smile and a warm grasp of the hand were all that passed then between the twins. Miriam turned and sped on her way; but ere she reached the end of the street, she stopped and looked back with a throbbing heart. She saw her brother's tall form as he strode onwards, far beyond that perilous place which he was never to enter again; and the girl's spirit rose in thanksgiving and prayer—prayer for herself, thanksgiving for him.