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deceive herself as to what this renunciation implied. Pleasant memories of past praise; pleasant dreams of future flattery; pleasant schemes of self-gratification; pleasant visions of selfaggrandisement-all to be crushed, trampled upon, kept down, by a tread, firm and merciless; and in their stead a life to be lived for others to be lost, as it were, in the happiness of others with a spirit of self-sacrifice which should find its example in nothing short of the sacrifice of Him who had given Himself for her.

No marvel that the frail human heart should sink at such a prospect. Myra's heart did sink, but her resolve did not therefore waver. There were some minutes of grave thought, and then she knelt, and with an intensity of desire, before which all former resolutions melted into nothingness, commended her weakness to God's strength, praying Him to accept her will, and give her grace to fulfil that most earnest purpose of her soul.

Such seasons are, to the inward life, seasons of growth. Myra felt it to be so. From that evening she was conscious of having made a start into something more than womanhood -of having gained a strength of principle, which was something more powerful than any human stimulus. And yet the days which followed were marked by nothing except greater quietness, and a more evenly-balanced temperament. Only one thing struck Mrs. Cameron. Myra, rather timidly, said to her in the course of conversation, that she thought she was old enough now to stay at church on Sunday. This was her way of expressing her wish to attend to a hitherto omitted and sacred duty. Mrs. Cameron made no objection; only she warned Myra that young people who professed to be religious should not give way to temper and be perverse-a remark in which Myra acquiesced; and that was all the outward help she had in preparation for her first Communion. Dr. Kingsbury took his part in the service on the Sunday, and shook hands with her very kindly when they met afterwards; but the young, earnest, striving spirit was an enigma to him. He prayed for it, but he did not know how to aid it. It was ordered in God's Providence that its hopes and disappoint

ments, its struggles and its victories, should alike be endured alone. A trial came on the following day.

'Myra, my dear, I want to talk to you.' This was Mrs. Cameron's usual mode of beginning a conversation about nothing; and Myra sat down by her mother's sofa.

'Shut the door, my love. Are you sure that Juliet and Annette are in the schoolroom?'

No, Myra was not sure, and was sent to make certain of the fact. She returned, and again took her seat.

'Is it anything of consequence you have to say, mamma?' 'Of consequence! Yes, my dear; all things which concern my children are of consequence.'

Mrs. Cameron spoke more earnestly than usual, and Myra asked anxiously if anything was the matter.

'Nothing the matter, my dear; only I do so dislike change. But your father thinks it necessary, and Mrs. Verney agrees with him.'

Myra started from her seat. Mrs. Verney, mamma! Why does she interfere? Am I to be sent to school?'

'My love, you are so impetuous. I said nothing about your going to school. Pray, sit down again. I consider your education finished. But the two younger ones have had few advantages, and Mrs. Verney says very justly, that Miss Greaves is not sufficient for them. She believes, and I feel she is right, that with proper instruction Annette would be equal to Rosamond; and Juliet, though so clever, would be much improved if she could be somewhat softened.'

Disliking Mrs. Verney, Myra's first impulse was to suggest every possible objection to the plan.

'I can't think school will be good for Juliet, mamma. Mrs. Verney can't know much about her. It will make her conceited. And Annette is, you know, not always truthful; and if she should be placed with bad companions, she will be much worse. Every one says that schools are dangerous for girls who have not high principles. And then, what will poor Miss Greaves do? She has nothing else to look to.' This last assertion brought Myra to the consciousness that she was exaggerating. Miss Greaves was by no means likely to want

pupils, even if Annette and Juliet were taken from her.

After

the pause of a second, she added, 'At least, I don't think Miss Greaves will ever have any pupils she likes as well,'

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It is a great

never can think of what is good for any one but yourself, You must try and get over the feeling, my dear. fault.'

If Myra had been selfish before, she was tempted to give way to a fit of unrestrained ill-temper now.

was, 'I suppose I am afraid of being lonely.'

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But all she said

My love, I thought of that; but you must learn to be Rosamond's companion, and being with her more will be of use to you. As Mrs. Verney says, it will get you out of your awkward ways, and you won't be so affected in society.'

Poor Myra! This was the most trying of all accusations. 'Mamma!' she exclaimed, 'I don't care what Mrs. Verney thinks, but if you will only tell me yourself what you mean by being affected, I should be so very much obliged. Is it any one thing-walking or talking-or what is it? I don't mean to be affected, but I know I am, because people tell me so, and then I think about it, and try not to be, and that makes it worse. If I could only forget myself—if any one could only teach me what to do, that I might forget myself!'

'How silly, my love! To forget yourself, means not to think about yourself; there is nothing mysterious in it. When you go into company, or when you are introduced to any one, just put all thought of yourself aside, and be natural,

'But, mamma, please listen-please try and understand. You know I can't dress myself properly; I can't make my hair smooth, or put on my things straight-I never could ; and when I am dressing for company, Conyers, and Juliet, and you yourself, and even Miss Greaves, if she happens to be here, all come into my room and pull me about. I don't

mean to be disrespectful, but I am pulled about just as if I was a doll; and then I am told that I have an awkward stoop, and that nothing ever sits properly upon me. And perhaps I

hear you sigh quite loudly; and I see Rosamond so prettyI don't envy her in the least, except that she has no trouble in making herself look nice; but after all this I am sent to the drawing-room, and perhaps at the very last moment stopped again to be set to rights, and told to look natural and forget myself. Mamma, if my life depended upon it, I couldn't do it.'

Mrs. Cameron looked thunderstruck at the bold avowal. 'My dear Myra, I don't understand you. But you are so nervous and sensitive, it may be better not to talk about yourself. Your father comforts me sometimes by saying, that when you have seen more of the world there is a hope you may be different; and so he and I are both agreed that you shall go with us to London for a couple of months.'

'Anything you like, mamma.'

Myra was natural even to indifference then.

'My dear, your father and I do everything we can to please you, and I should have hoped you would have accepted the idea in a different spirit. But I can see you are put out this morning, so we will just turn to a different subject. Did Rosamond say anything in her note to you about how long Mrs. Verney would wish her to stay?'

'Nothing, mamma, except that they all seem very glad to have her, and that they have engagements for the week after next, when Mr. Verney will be with them again.'

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'He goes away on Friday for three days, Rosamond says.'

'Only for three days? Your father won't like that.'

'But I thought every one knew Mr. Verney was to be there all the time Rosamond was,' observed Myra; 'I heard him make the arrangements.' She looked in her mother's face to see if there was any mystery to be read there.'

Yes, there was some mystery, for Mrs. Cameron inquired in a disturbed tone : 'When did you hear it, Myra? ›

'Just as Mr. Verney was saying good-bye; the very day before he went away,' was the answer.

'But Rosamond told me he would be in Yorkshire.'

'Yes, afterwards, when her visit is over, but not now.'

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My love, ring the bell and ask if my coffee is ready.'

This was a signal that the conversation was to be at an

end.

CHAPTER XIX.

MYRA wandered out into the shrubbery, seeking the most solitary and hidden path. A short conversation it had been, and yet how it had ruffled her. Myra was accustomed to her mother's mode of alluding to her temper and affectation, and could bear it better than many girls of her age would have done, especially now with the purpose which lay so deep in her heart, to make, in every form, the sacrifice of self. But human nature is human nature still, and struggle, even though it end in victory, must be felt. Myra paced the straight walk, by the side of the field opposite the Rectory garden, and tried to think of everything which might enable her to view her annoyances in the light in which they could be best borne, and as she uttered the few words of prayer which were becoming habitual to her whenever her mind was disturbed, felt herself recalled to a calmer, clearer atmosphere, in which everything could be viewed without distortion.

This sudden plan for her sisters might or might not be good, but the fact that it had been suggested by Mrs. Verney was sufficient to make it unpalatable. To think, act, blunder, and suffer their own way is in most cases the great desire of the young. As a general rule, they prefer to starve after their own fashion, rather than to live in luxury after the fashion of their elders. An influence external to the family is, for this reason, peculiarly obnoxious in their eyes. Let it be exerted never so sincerely for their benefit, it is still resented as an

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