CHAPTER XVI

HOW "CARE" MAY BE CARRIED

"SO here is the fruit of your month's absence, little Eyebright! To come back 'an engaged young person!' And not a hint of it to any of us beforehand!" Mrs. Landor spoke in her cheeriest tones, not in the least like one bearing a heavy burden.

This was the earliest meeting of the two. Robert Wells had so far altered his plans as to go direct to West Norton for three nights, sleeping at the Inn, but spending two long days with the Mackenzies.

Mrs. Mackenzie would not soon forget that startling moment when her husband had first walked in, with an excited whisper—"Euphrasia and Mr. Wells, my dear! A most nice young fellow! And he wants our little Eyebright!"

The manner of the "wanting" was left to conjecture, but Mrs. Mackenzie hardly needed to ask an explanation of the term. Her answer was a dismayed exclamation—"But, Colin! Why, Colin! Nobody knows anything in the world about him!"

Robert Wells was, however, a man to be rapidly known when he chose to open himself out; and on this occasion, he naturally did choose. All went well for his wishes; everybody was charmed with him. And before he left the place, full consent to the engagement had been accorded.

Euphrasia "could hardly believe in her own happiness," as the saying goes. In point of fact, she did believe in it very thoroughly, and felt supremely joyous. Her whole being expanded; and the face which most people counted plain had never been so nearly pretty.

Mr. Mackenzie thought it more than pretty, with so tender a gleam in the gray eyes; and what Robert Wells thought is hardly worth while to enquire.

She had to remain indoors, to rest the knee after its journey. And nothing would content Mr. Mackenzie short of conducting his future son-in-law round the place, to visit their most intimate friends. Euphrasia might have murmured at being necessarily left behind, but she was far too happy for her serenity to be so easily upset. She was only delighted with her father's satisfaction in Robert.

Now the doctor was gone, but only for a time. He would soon run over again, for a peep at his "Eyebright!" He had adopted with readiness the home pet name. And in no long time, the wedding would have to be discussed, Robert having intimated pretty plainly that so far as his voice in the matter was concerned, he was in no mind for a long delay. Meanwhile, he had invited Colin Mackenzie to spend two or three weeks with him in Clifton by way of needed change, and for the purpose of their becoming more fully acquainted.

When he had vanished, and not before, Mrs. Landor appeared, for a good chat with Euphrasia.

"I want the child to tell me all about it," she said.

And they were left alone together.

"So here is the fruit of your month's absence, little Eyebright!" she repeated. "And not a word to any of us beforehand!"

"How could I?" asked Euphrasia, blushing. "I didn't know—really. I only knew—just that I liked him very much. And he only spoke in the very last moment."

"Three seconds before the train got in! Yes, I heard. A most original mode of proceeding! If your answer had been a 'No,' he could have decamped instantaneously, and never been heard of more!"

"He went to see you." Euphrasia spoke wistfully.

"He did; and I liked him—so far as one can tell in a quarter of an hour. I am not often mistaken in first impressions. Perhaps I might even like him very much indeed, if I knew him very well indeed."

"It seems almost too much happiness to be true!"

"Ah,—I wouldn't say that. It springs from a false idea. Nothing is ever too great happiness to be true. We are made for happiness. God loves us so well that He would fain have us always happy. Only we do not always use the happiness rightly, and so we cannot always be trusted with an abundant supply of it."

"I hope I shall use this rightly. Oh, I hope I shall. Robert is so good and kind."

"That is right. You ought to feel so. Now tell me all about him, child."

Euphrasia obeyed to the best of her power, and at least she succeeded in showing the completeness of her own trust in Robert Wells.

"But doesn't it seem—" she asked, "doesn't it almost seem as if I were rewarded for being naughty? I did not half think that I was right to go to Clifton at all; and yet I went. Was that right? And yet, if I had not gone, I should never have known Robert!"

"You cannot say that. He and you might have met elsewhere."

"But still—"

"Do you remember that verse in the Prayer Book version of the Psalms—'He will not be always chiding'? I would not, if I were you, get into a way of expecting God to be 'always chiding.' He does not chide except when it is really needful. If you did what was wrong, then probably you have had your punishment—your required discipline—in the accident and the dull days following, not to speak of the disappointment in your friend, from whom you had expected so much. Some of that time was rather hard to bear, was it not? And perhaps you did bear it patiently; and then in love and kindness, this joy was brought to you, out of your very discipline. One sees that sort of thing so often with those who love and trust Him!"

"And I have not said one word about your trouble," Euphrasia presently observed. "But indeed I have been thinking about you a great deal. I am so very very sorry!"

"People waste far too much pity upon us. Life has plenty of happiness still, without wealth. I don't say that the loss of money is not in any sense a trial. Of course, it is meant to be that, but I 'do' say I would not have things otherwise, if this is God's will for us!"

"Only it seems so hard—"

"Not hard! To some extent trying, but we have to expect trials. Things may turn out better than we at present venture to hope. If not, we shall be provided for,—one way or another. No one ever yet trusted God, and found Him to fail. And we do trust Him."

She passed her hand softly over Euphrasia's, a smile on her face.

"I am not boasting. A child does not boast of trusting his mother's love and care! He trusts because he knows what she is, because he cannot help it! It is no matter for boasting, but only for delight . . . Curious that I should have had for years a kind of longing to be allowed more opportunity for trust. Where one loves much, one likes to be able to show the love by action. And I have always been so amply provided for—never the smallest chance of unsupplied needs—never any loophole for wants being supplied straight from above. Room enough for trust and dependence in spiritual matters, but not as to everyday needs. It has always seemed to me that probably I couldn't be trusted with that. I have often thought how beautiful it must be to sit, like Elijah, waiting for the ravens, perfectly sure that they could never fail to come. Of course, I do not mean, sitting idly, not doing one's utmost; only when one's utmost is done, and the needs are not supplied, 'then' to wait for Divine action."

"Ravens!"

"Modern ravens would not wear black feathers, child. They come just as straight from God. But I have feared presumption in having such thoughts, and I have not allowed myself to wish. Now that this has come quite independently of anything we could do, it 'does' seem that to wait on them for daily bread may be very sweet—always knowing that He can never by any possibility fail His children."

"Ought everybody to feel so?"

"I do not think the same lessons are given to all. People are differently constituted, for one matter, and they have to be put into different classes in the Divine training-school. The same teaching is not adapted for all characters—perhaps could not be learnt by all. But such thoughts help me, till we can see our way. At present we cannot. To live in a house the size of this Rectory, on £85 a year, with all the Parish claims in addition, seems an utter impossibility. But then, if we saw at once exactly how to manage, we should not need to trust and wait."

"And you don't even feel anxious?"

"I think—not what you mean by 'anxious.' I 'see' the difficulties and the uncertainties. But the coming guidance is so very sure, that one cannot feel bowed down by it. Trust does not mean not realising. My dear child, why should we be anxious? It will be all right one way or another—whether we stay here, or go elsewhere."

* * * * *

One little drawback Euphrasia saw in her bright future, which otherwise seemed cloudless, and that was the fact of a home near the Johnstons. Could she have chosen, she would undoubtedly have preferred almost any other place than Clifton. But choice did not exist. She waited, with some trepidation, the first intimation of Robert having been to Royal York Crescent. And when it came, her fears proved to have been needless.

Mrs. Johnston would beforehand have done all in her power to have prevented so "imprudent a match," had she foreseen it. Now, however, that the thing was inevitable, she was far too wise a woman of the world to show ineffectual disgust. Her letter of congratulation to Euphrasia, if not entirely sincere, was at least as to its phraseology all that it ought to have been.

Three months' delay Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie begged that they might have a little taste of their eldest child at home, before she left them altogether. And then the wedding came off.

On that very same day, tidings were received that Mrs. Landor's property having sold unexpectedly well, and certain other matters having reached a better consummation than had been feared, enough would be saved from the wreck to ensure an income of over £250 per annum, in addition to the Rector's small stipend.

"It will not be quite like waiting for the ravens now!" murmured Euphrasia, as she clung to her friend in the very moment of parting—when she was no longer Euphrasia Mackenzie, but Euphrasia Wells.

"I have often noticed in life," Mrs. Landor said placidly, "that when some trouble is held out to us, if we say at once—'even so!'—then it is taken away, or perhaps lessened . . . Always! No, not always; only now and then! . . . Waiting for ravens! No, indeed. We shall be positively rich, in comparison with what we have been expecting."

"You did not 'wish' for the other! You are not disappointed?"

"Disappointed to have greater ease! My dear child, what I want is not to choose—to be willing either way. And now you are off! I have no right to keep you here. Let me hear soon, Little Eyebright. And do not be afraid to feel 'too happy!'"

THE END