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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.

"Come 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? ""

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"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.

"You are

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

me.

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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.

“T

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. Esthwaite 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."

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'She's a magnificent creature," said Mr. Esthwaite. "Wouldn't 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.'

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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 expression 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 at 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 thing to be in high place and able to execute great plans; isn't

it ?

Eleanor rose up from a flower and gave Mr. Esthwaite one of her thoughtful glances.

"I don't know," she said. "His gardeners did the work after

all."

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They don't get the thanks."

"That is not what one works for," said Eleanor, smiling. "So 'he thing is done, what matter?"

"If it isn't done, what matter? No, no. I want to get the good of what I do, in praise or in something else."

"What is Sir Ralph Darling the better of my thanks now?" "Well, he's dead," said Mr. Esthwaite.

"So I was thinking.'

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"Well, what do you mean? Do you mean that you would do nothing while you are alive, for fear you would not hear of it after you have left the world?"

"Not exactly."

"What then? I don't know what you are after."

"You say this was all a wilderness a few years ago; why should you despair of what you call the 'black islands?

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Oh, ho!" said Mr. Esthwaite, "we are there, are we? By a

hop, skip, and jump, leaving the argument. That's like a woman.

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"Are you sure?" said Eleanor.

"Like all the women I ever saw. Not one of them can stick to the point."

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Then I will return to mine," said Eleanor, laughing; "or rather bring you up to it. I referred, and meant to refer you, to another sort of gardening, in which the labourer receives wages and gathers fruit; but the beauty of it is, that his wages go with him, he does not leave them behind, and the fruit is unto life eternal.” "That's fair," said Mr. Esthwaite. "See here. You don't preach, do you?"

"I will not to you," said Eleanor. "Mr. Esthwaite, I will look at no more flowers, I believe, this morning, since you leave the time of our stay to me.'

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Mr. Esthwaite behaved himself, and though a speech was on his tongue he was silent, and attended Eleanor home in an unexceptionable manner. Mrs. Esthwaite was in a dissatisfied mood of

mind.

"I hope it will be a great while before you find a good chance to go to Fiji," she said."

"Do not wish that," said Eleanor; "for in that case I may have to take a chance that is not good."

"Ah, but you are not the sort of person to go there."

"I should be very sorry to think that," said Eleanor, smiling. "Well, it is clear you are not. Just to look at you! I am sure you are exactly a person to look always as nice as you do now.' "I hope never to look less nice than I do now," said Eleanor, rather opening her eyes.

"What in that place?"

"Why, yes, certainly. Why not?"

"But you will not wear that flat there?"

Eleanor and Mr. Esthwaite here both gave way in a fit of laughter.

"Why, yes, I will; if I find it, as I suppose I shall, the most comfortable thing."

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"But you cannot wear white dresses there?"

"If I cannot, I will submit to it; but my dear cousin, I have brought little else but white dresses with me. For such a climate,

what else is so good?'

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"Not like that you wore yesterday?" "They are all very much alike, I believe. with that?"

"Why, it was so

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What was the matter

Mrs. Esthwaite paused. "But how can you get them washed? do you expect to have servants there?" "There are plenty of servants, I believe; not very well trained, indeed, or it would not be necessary to have so many.

they can wash, whatever else they can do."

At any rate,

"I don't believe they would know how to wash your dresses." "Then I can teach them," said Eleanor merrily. "You! To wash a cambric dress!"

"That, or any other."

"Eleanor, do not talk so."

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'Certainly not, if you do not wish it. I was only putting you to rest on the score of my laundry-work."

"With those hands?" said Mrs. Esthwaite expressively.

Eleanor looked down at her hands, for a moment a higher and graver expression flitted over her face, then she smiled again.

"I should be ashamed of my hands if they were good for nothing.".

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Capital," said Mr. Esthwaite.

"That's what I like. That is

what I call having spirit. I like to see a woman have some character of her own; something besides hands, in fact."

"But Eleanor, I do not understand. washed; how can you know how?"

I am serious.

"That was precisely my reasoning; so I learned."

"Learned to wash? You?

"Yes."

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"You did it with your own hands?"

You never

"The dress you were so good as to approve," said Eleanor, smiling, "it was washed and done up by myself."

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Do you expect to have to do it for yourself?" said Mrs. Esthwaite, looking intensely horrified.

"No, not generally; but to teach somebody, or upon occasion, you know. You see," she said, smiling again her full, rich smile, "I am bent upon having my white dresses."

Mrs. Esthwaite was too full for speech, and her husband looked at his new cousin with an eye of more absolute admiration than he had yet bestowed on her. Eleanor's thoughts were already on something else; springing forward to meet Mr. Amos and his letters.

Breakfast was over, however, before he arrived. Much to her chagrin, she was obliged to receive him in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Esthwaite ; no private talk was possible. Mr. Esthwaite engaged him immediately in an earnest but desultory conversation, about Sydney, Eleanor, and the mission, and the prospect of their getting to their destination; which Mr. Esthwaite prophesied would not be within any moderate limits of time. Mr. Amos owned that he had heard of no opportunity, near or far. The talk lasted a good while, and it was not till he was taking leave that Eleanor contrived to follow him out and gain a word to herself.

"There are no letters for you," said Mr. Amos, speaking under his breath, and turning a cheerful but concerned face towards Eleanor. "I have made every inquiry, at the post-office, and of everybody likely to know about such things. There are none, and they know of none."

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Eleanor said nothing; her face grew perceptibly white.

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"There is nothing the matter with brother Rhys," said Mr. Amos hastily; we have plenty of news from him, all right, he is quite well, and for a year past has been on another station; different from the one he was on when you last heard from him. There is nothing the matter; only there are no letters for you; and there must be some explanation of that."

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