her mouth, while the full eyes brimmed and ran over, and filled again; and drop after drop plashed upon the window-sill. It was impossible to help it for that minute, and Julia looked on wonderingly.

66

'Oh, Nell!" she repeated, almost awe-struck, "what is it? What has made you sorry too?" But she had to wait a little while for her answer.

"He was a good friend to me," said Eleanor at last, wiping her eyes; "and I suppose it is not very absurd to cry for a friend that is gone, that one will never see again."

"Maybe he will come back some time," said Julia, sorrowfully.

"Not while there is work there for him to do," said Eleanor. She waited a little while. There was some difficulty in going on. When she did speak her tone was clear and firm.

"Julia, shall we follow the Lord as Mr. Rhys does?" "How?"

By doing whatever Jesus gives us to do."

"What has He given us to do?" said Julia.

out.

If you come to my room in the mornings we will read and find
And we will pray, and ask to be taught."

Julia's countenance lightened and clouded with alternate changes.
"Will you, Eleanor? But what hava we got to do?"
"Love Jesus."

"Well-I. Oh, I used to, Eleanor ! and I think I do now; only I have forgotten to think about anything this ever so long."

"Then if we love Him, we shall find plenty of things to do for Him."

"What, Eleanor? I would like to do something."

"Just whatever He gives us, Julia. Come, darling, have you not duties ?"

"Duties?"

"Have you not things that it is your duty to do, or not to do?" "Studies," said Julia. "But I don't like them."

"For Jesus' sake?"

Julia burst into tears.

Eleanor's tone was so loving and gentle, it

reached the memories that had been slumbering.

"How can I do them for Him, Eleanor, ?" she asked, half perversely still.

"Whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' So He has told us.'

"But my studies, Eleanor, how can I?"

"Who gave you the opportunity, Julia ?"

"Well, I know."

"Well, if God has given you the opportunity, do you think He means it for nothing? He has work for you to do, Julia, some time, for which you will want all these things that you have a chance of learning now; if you miss the chance, you will certainly not be ready for the work."

"Why, Eleanor, that's funny."

"What is it?"

"Why, I never thought of such a thing."

"What did you think?"

"I thought I had French and German to study, for instance, because everybody else learned French and German. I did not think there was any use in it.'

"You forgot who had given you them to learn." "No, mamma would have it. care."

Just her notion.

Papa didn't

“But, dear Julia, you forget who has made it your duty to please mamma's notions. And you forget who it is that has given you your place in the world. You might have been born in poverty, with quite other lessons to learn, and quite other work in the world." “You talk just as queer as if you were Mr. Rhys himself," said Julia. "I never heard of such things. Do you suppose all the girls who are learning French and German at school-all the girls in England-have the same sort of work to do that they will want it for?"

"No, not all the same. But God never gives the preparation without the occasion."

“Then suppose they do not make the preparation ?”

"Then when the occasion comes, they will not be ready for it. When their work is given them to do, they will be found wanting." "It's so queer," said Julia.

"What?"

"To think such things about lessons."

"You

may think such things about everything. Whatever God gives you, He gives you to use in some way for Him."

"But how can I possibly know how, Eleanor?"

"Come to me in the mornings, and you and I will try to find out."

"Did you say I must please all mamma's notions ?"

"But I like papa's notions a great deal better than mamma's." "You must try to meet both," said Eleanor, smiling.

"I do not like a great many of mamma's notions. I don't think there is any sense in them."

"But God likes obedience, Julia. He has bid you honour mamma and papa. Do it for Him."

"Do you mean to please all mamma's notions?” said Julia sharply.

"All that I can, certainly."

"Well, it is one of her notions that Mr. Carlisle should get you to the Priory after all. Are you going to let her? Are you going to let him, I mean?"

"No."

"Then if it is your duty to please mamma's notions, why mustn't you please this one?"

"Because here I have my duty to others to think of."

"To whom?" said Julia, as quick as lightning.

"To myself and to Mr. Carlisle."

"Mr. Carlisle ?" said Julia.

"I'll be bound he thinks

your love

to him would make you do whatever he likes."

"It happens that I take a different view of the subject."

"But, Eleanor, what work do you suppose I have to do in the world, that I shall want French and German for? Real work, I mean."

"I can't tell. But I know now you have a beautiful example to set."

"Of what, learning my lessons well?"

"Of whatever is lovely and of good report. Of whatever will please Jesus."

Julia put her arms round her sister's neck, and hid her face there.

"I am going to give you a word to remember to-day, keep it with you, dear. 'Whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.' Just think of that, whether you are busy or not busy. And we will ask the Lord to make us so full of His love, that we cannot help it."

They knelt down and prayed together; after which Julia gave her sister a great many earnest caresses; and they went down to breakfast a much comforted pair.

ΤΗ

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN LONDON.

London makes mirth, but I know God hears
The sobs i' the dark, and the dropping of tears.

HE morning meetings were kept up. Julia had always been very fond of her sister; now she almost worshipped her. She would get as close as possible, put her arm round Eleanor's waist, and sometimes lay her head on her shoulder, and so listen to the reading and join in the talking. The talks were always finished with prayer; and at first it not seldom happened that Eleanor's prayer became choked with tears. It happened so often that Julia

remarked upon it, and after that it never happened again.

"Eleanor, can you see much use in my learning to dance?" was

a question which Julia propounded one morning.

"Not much."

"Mamma says I shall go to dancing-school next winter."

"Next winter! What, at Brompton?"

"Oh, we are going to London after we go from here. So mamma says. Why, didn't you know it?”

Eleanor remained silent.

“Now, what good is that going to do?" Julia went on. "What work is that to fit me for, Eleanor-dancing parties?"

"I hope it will not fit you for those," the elder sister replied gravely.

Why not, don't you go to them?"

"I am obliged to go sometimes; I never take part."

66

Why not Eleanor? Why don't you? You can dance.”

"Read," said Eleanor, pointing to the words. Julia read: "Whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus; giving thanks to God and the Father by him.' Well, Eleanor?" "I cannot find anything I can do in the Lord's service at such

places, except to stand by and say by my manner that I do not enjoy them nor approve of them."

"That won't hinder other people enjoying them, though."

"I do not think people enjoy them much. You and I have a hundred times as much fun in one good scamper over the moor. Dear old moor! I wish we were back again. But other people's doing is not my business."

"Then what makes you go, Eleanor ?"

"Mamma would be so exceedingly vexed if I did not. I mean to get out of it as soon-as soon as I can." "Do you think you will, in London ?" Eleanor was silent, and thoughtful.

"Well, I know one thing," said Julia, "I am not going to dancing school. Mamma says it will make me graceful; and I think I am as graceful as other people now-as most other people. I don't think I am as graceful as you are. Don't you think so, Eleanor ?"

Eleanor smiled soberly enough.

"Eleanor, must I go to dancing-school?" "Why do you wish not to go?"

"Because you

think it is wrong."

You

"Darling, you cannot displease mamma for such a reason. must always honour every wish of hers, except you thought that honouring her would be to dishonour or displease the Lord."

The words were spoken and listened to with intense feeling and earnestness on both sides, and the tears came back in Eleanor's prayer that morning.

With the world at large, things maintained a very unaltered position during the rest of the stay at Brighton. Mr. Carlisle kept his position, advancing a little where it seemed possible. Eleanor kept hers; neither advancing nor retreating. She was very good to Mr. Carlisle, she did not throw him off, she gave him no occasion to complain of an unready talker or an unwilling companion. A little particular kindness indeed she had for him, left from the old times. Julia would have been much mystified by the brightness and life and spirit Eleanor showed in company, and in his company especially; which her little sister did not see in their private intercourse alone. Nevertheless, Mr. Carlisle's passion was rather stimulated by difficulty than fed by hope, though hope lived high sometimes. All that Eleanor gave him she gave him readily, and as readily gave to others; she gave coolly too, as coolly as she gave to others. Mr. Carlisle took in many things the place of an accepted suitor; but