Hills of the Shatemuc Part 94

"No, Winnie -- I am strong and you are weak -- you are sick and I am well. I have no excuse -- you have, a little."

"It don't make it a bit better," said poor Winnie. "I don't want to make any excuse. I got so cross with Mrs. Nettley to- day."

"What about?"

"O I couldn't bear to hear her talk, and I almost told her so."

"I dare say you did what you could to mend it afterwards, Winnie."

"O yes; -- and she didn't think anything of it at all; but I am always doing so, Winthrop."

"You never do it to me," said her brother soothingly.

"To you! -- But O Winthrop! -- if I loved G.o.d enough, I never should do anything to displease him!"

She had thrown herself further into her brother's arms and at this was weeping with all her heart.

"He said once himself," said Winthrop, "'Blessed are they that mourn now, for they shall be comforted.'"

Winnie clung faster to him, with a grateful clasp, and her tears came more gently.

"We sha'n't be quit of it till we get to heaven, Winnie; -- and 'the people that dwell therein,' you know, 'shall be forgiven their iniquity.' And more than that, 'white robes are given unto every one of them.' 'And they shall see the King's face, and his name shall be in their foreheads.'"

"I wish it was in mine now!" said Winnie.

"Stop, Winnie. -- I hope it is there, -- only not so bright as it will be by and by."

"But it ought to be bright now," said Winnie raising herself.

"Let it be brighter every day then," said her brother.

"I do try, Governor," said poor Winnie, -- "but sometimes I think I don't get ahead at all!"

It was with great tenderness that again he put his arm round her, and drew down her head upon him, and pressed her close to his side.

"Rest! --" said he, -- "and trust what is written, that 'they shall praise the Lord that seek him.' 'Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.'"

"How much better I feel already," said poor Winnie presently.

There was a long silence. Winnie lay there still, and Winthrop was softly playing with one of her hands and striking it and stroking it against his own. The air came in fresh and cool from the sea and put the candle flame out of all propriety of behaviour; it flared and smoked, and melted the candle sideways, and threatened every now and then to go out entirely; but Winnie lay looking at Winthrop's hand which the moonlight shone upon, and Winthrop -- n.o.body knows what he was looking at; but neither of them saw the candle. Winnie was the one to break the silence.

"What sort of a person is she, Winthrop?"

"Who?" said her brother.

"What? -- O, I mean -- I meant -- I meant, who was here to-day, -- Miss Haye."

"You have seen her, Winnie," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes, but you know her. Do you think she is a person I would like?"

"I do not know."

"You don't know! --"

"But _you_ know her, Winthrop," said Winnie a little timidly, when she found he added nothing to his former words.

"Yes."

"Don't _you_ like her?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you know?"

"You don't like everything that I like," said her brother.

"Why yes I do! -- Don't I?"

"Not everything."

"What don't I?"

"Euripides -- and Plato."

"Ah but I don't understand those," said Winnie.

Winthrop was silent. Was that what he meant? -- was Winnie's instant thought. Very disagreeable. And his 'yes's' were so quiet -- they told nothing. Winnie looked at her brother's hand again, or rather at Miss Haye in her brother's hand; and Winthrop pursued his own meditations.

"Governor," said Winnie after a while, "is Miss Haye a Christian?"

"No."

Winnie asked no more; partly because she did not dare, and partly because the last answer had given her so much to think of. She did not know why, either, and she would have given a great deal to hear it over again. In that little word and the manner of it, there had been so much to quiet and to disquiet her. Undoubtedly Winnie would have done anything in the world, that she could, to make Miss Haye a Christian; and yet, there was a strange sort of relief in hearing Winthrop say that word; and at the same time a something in the way he said it that told her her relief had uncertain foundation. The 'no'

had not been spoken like the 'yes' -- it came out half under breath; what meaning lurked about it Winnie could not make out; she puzzled herself to think; but though she could not wish it had been a willing 'no,' she wished it had been any other than it had. She could not ask any more; and Winthrop's face when he went to his reading was precisely what it was other evenings. But Winnie's was not; and she went to bed and got up with a sore spot in her heart, and a resolution that _she_ would not like Miss Haye, for she would not know her well enough to make sure that she could.

END OF VOL. I.

PRINTED BY BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.

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