"But dancing, and wine-what harm is in them?"

"Think what they lead to."

"Well, wine-excuse me, I know so little about these things, and I want to know what you think; wine, I know, if people will drink too much, but what harm is in dancing?

"None that I know of," said Eleanor, "if it were always suited to womanly delicacy, and if it took one into the society of those that love Christ, or helped one to witness for Him before those who do not."

"Well, I will tell you the truth," said Mrs. Esthwaite, with a sort of penitent laugh, "I love dancing."

'Ay, but I love Christ," said Eleanor, "and whatever is not for His honour I am glad to give up. It is no cross to me. I used tolike some things, too; but now I love Him, and His will is my will.” 'Ah, that is what I said. You are good, that is the reason. I can't help doing wrong things, even if I want to do it ever so much, and when I know they are wrong; and I shouldn't like to give up anything."

"Listen,” said Eleanor, holding her hands fast.

I am good. It is that I love Jesus and He helps me.

"It is not that

I cannot do anything of myself—I cannot give up anything-but I trust in my Lord and He does it for me. It is He that does all in me that you would call good."

"Ah, but you love Him."

"Should I not?" said Eleanor, "when He loved me, and gave Himself for me, that He might bring me from myself and sin, to know Him and be happy."

"And you are happy, are you not?" said Mrs. Esthwaite, looking at her as if it were something that she had come to believe against evidence. There was good evidence for it now, in Eleanor's smile; which would bear studying.

"There is nothing but happiness where Christ is."

"But I couldn't understand it; those places where you are going are so dreadful; and why you should go there at all

"No, you do not understand, and cannot till you try it. I have such joy in the love of Christ sometimes, that I wish for nothing so much in the world as to bring others to know what I know!"

There was power in the lighting face, which Mrs. Esthwaite gazed at and wondered.

"I think I am willing to go anywhere and do anything which my King may give me, in that service."

"To be sure," said Mrs. Esthwaite, as if adding a convincing corollary from her own mind, "you have some other reason to wish to get there-to the Islands, I mean."

That brought a flood of crimson over Eleanor's face; she let go her hostess's hands and turned away.

"But there was something else I wanted to ask," said Mrs. Esthwaite hastily. 'Egbert said--Are you very tired, my

dear?"

"Not at all, I assure you."

"Egbert said there was some most beautiful singing as he came up alongside the ship to-day. Was it you?"

"In part it was I."

"He said it was hymns.

Won't you sing me one?"

"Eleanor liked it very well; it suited her better than talking. They sat down together, and Eleanor sang,

"There's balm in Gilead

To make the wounded whole;
There's power enough in Jesus
To save a sin-sick soul.'

And somewhat to her surprise, before the hymn had gone far, her companion was weeping, and kept her face hidden in her handkerchief till the last words were sung.

"Came then to this Physician,

His help He'll freely give;
He asks no hard condition,
'Tis only look and live.

For there's balm in Gilead,

To make the wounded whole;
There's power enough in Jesus
To save a sin sick soul.'

"I never heard anything so sweet in all my life!" said Mrs. Esthwaite, as she got up and wiped her eyes. "I've been keeping you up. But do tell me," said she looking at her innocently, "are all Methodists like you?"

"No," said Eleanor, laughing; and then she was vexed at herself that the laugh changed to a sob and the tears came. Was she hysterical? It was very unlike her, but this seemed something like it. Neither could she immediately conquer the strangling sensation, between laughing and crying, which threatened her.

"My dear, I'm very sorry," said Mrs. Esthwaite. "You are too tired, and it's my fault. Egbert will be properly angry with me."

But Eleanor conquered the momentary oppression, threw off her

tears, and gave her hostess a peaceful kiss for good-night, with which the little lady went off comforted. Then Eleanor sat down by her window, and with tears wet on her eyelashes yet, looked off to the beautiful moonlit harbour in the distance-and thought. Her thoughts were her own. Only some of them had a reference to certain words that speak of "sowing beside all waters," and a tender earnest rememberance of the seed she had just been scattering. "Beside all waters," yes; and as Eleanor looked over towards the fair, peace-speaking view of Port Jackson, in New South Wales, she recollected the prayer that labourers might be sent forth into the vineyard.

"THA

CHAPTER XXXIV.

IN VIEWS.

Know well, my soul, God's hand controls
Whate'er thou fearest ;

Round Him in calmest music rolls

Whate'er thou hearest,

HAT girl is the most lovely creature," said Mrs. Fst'ɩwaile when she rejoined her husband.

"What have you been talking to her about? Now she will not be up in time to take a drive in the Domain."

Yes, she will. She has got plenty of spirit. But, oh, Egbert, to think of that girl going to put herself in those savage islands, where she won't see anybody."

"It is absurd," said her husband, but somewhat faintly.

"I couldn't but think to-night as I looked at her-you should have seen her. Something upset her and set her to crying; then she wouldn't cry, and the little white hand she brushed across her eyes and then rested on the chair-back to keep herself steady. I looked at it, and I couldn't bear to think of her going to teach those barbarians. And her eyes were all such a glitter with tears and her feelings. I've fallen in love with her, Egbert."

"Wouldn't

"She's a magnificent creature," said Mr. Esthwaite. she set Sydney a-fire, if she was to be here a little while? But somebody has been beforehand with Sydney, so it's no use talking."

Eleanor was ready in good time for the drive, and with spirits entirely refreshed by the night's sleep and the morning's renewing power. Things looked like new things, unlike those which yesterday saw. All feeling of strangeness and loneliness was gone; her spirits were primed for enjoyment. Mr. and Mrs. Esthwaite both watched eagerly to see the effect of the drive and the scene upon her; one was satisfied, the other was not. The intent delight in Eleanor's eyes escaped Mrs. Esthwaite ; she looked for more expres

sion in words; her husband was content that Eleanor's mind was full of what he gave it to act upon. The Domain was an exquisite place for a morning drive, and the more stylish inhabitants of Sydney found it so; there was a good display of equipages, varying in show and pretension. To Mrs. Esthwaite's disappointment neither these nor their owners drew Eleanor's attention; she did not even seem to see them; while the flowers in the woods through which part of the drive was cut, the innumerable, gorgeous, novel and sweet flowers of a new land, were a very great delight to her. All of them were new, or nearly so; how Eleanor contrasted them with the wild things of Plassy which she knew so well. And instead

of the blackbird and green wren, there were birds of brilliant hues, almost as gay as the flowers over which their bright wings went, and yet stranger than they. It was a sort of drive of enchantment to Eleanor; the air was delightful, though warm, with no feeling of lassitude or oppression resulting from the heat.

There were other pleasures. From point to point, as they drove through the "bush," views opened upon them of the harbour and its islands glittering in the morning sun. Changes of beauty; for every view was a little unlike the others and revealed the loveliness with a difference. Eleanor felt herself in a new world. She was quite ready for the gardens when they got through the "bush."

The gardens were fine. Here she had a feast which neither of her companions could enjoy with her in anything like fellowship. Eleanor had not lived so long with Mrs. Caxton, entering into all her pursuits, without becoming somewhat well acquainted with plants; and now she was almost equally charmed at seeing her dear old home friends, and åt making acquaintance with the glorious beauties that outshone them but could never look so kindly. Slowly Eleanor went through the gardens, followed by her host and hostess, who took their enjoyment in observing her. In the Botanical Gardens Mr. Esthwaite came up alongside again, to tell her names and discuss specimens; he found Eleanor knew more about them than he did.

"All this was a wild 'bush,'-nothing but rocks and trees, a few years ago," he remarked.

"This? this garden?"

!

"Yes, only so long ago as 1825."

"Somebody has deserved well of the community, then,' said

Eleanor. "It is a delicious place."

"General Sir Ralph Darling had that good desert. It is a fine