CHAPTER XX. Mrs. THAT the old Doctor required comfort was evident. Patty and Myra found him seated by the fire, for he always had a fire in his study even on the hottest day, and leaning back in his arm-chair, with St. Augustine pushed to one side as if he had not the heart to study. Mrs. Patty went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. 'Doctor, dear, I have brought you a little companion. She means to look after you whilst I am away. You do mean it, don't you, Myra? And you can write a note up to your mamma, and tell her where you are. She will be glad to know you can be of use. And, Doctor, Mr. Harrison is gone out; he has been called away for the day, and if he doesn't come back in an hour-for we have sent a messenger for him-I mean to try a blister myself, which is a thing, you know, that won't hurt a baby.' 'Does she know any one?' asked the old man eagerly. 'She didn't when I came away, so, you see, you could have been of no use. Don't think about it, Doctor, dear. good-bye! Myra, be sure you take care of him.' Now, 'Might I read to you, sir?' said Myra timidly, as the door closed behind Mrs. Patty. It seemed a most presumptuous proposition, but it was her only idea of being of use. The Doctor took her hand kindly. tire you. 6 My little girl, I shall Patty should have left me to myself.' 'Oh no, sir! I would do anything in the world I could, but I am so sorry you are ill.' 'Not ill, child; only troubled. The poor lady, good Miss Medley, is ill.' 'If she is good, her illness doesn't so much signify, does it?' said Myra. 'Ah! not for her; but, Myra, we should do our duty whilst "The night cometh when no man can work," and we can. that is the case with me now. I cannot go to her though I would.' 'But if you would, sir, is not that enough?' The Doctor repeated the word ' enough,' and then rested his head against the side of his great arm-chair, and what to Myra seemed a long pause followed. men. " If What was passing in the old man's mind she could not guess; perhaps if she had known she would scarcely have understood it. Such a single-hearted, earnest, and outwardly innocent life he had led; so much respect he had gained, so much good done, she could little have imagined with what selfreproach the spirit trembling on the brink of the grave looked back upon those bygone years. The world saw nothing to condemn in them. Dr. Kingsbury had been early noted as a scholar, a man of classical research, a good theologian. he had entered upon his living late, and in consequence pursued his studies somewhat in preference to his parochial duties, it was only what was to be expected. And no one could say that he neglected his parish; the worst complaint that was ever laid against him was that he understood books better than He had always sought for good curates, and given them a large stipend; his charities had been profuse; his sermons full of thought and earnestness; his supervision of his schools careful and continuous. The one only point in which he failed was in gaining the personal confidence of his people. In years past, with his thoughts given to St. Augustine and the Fathers, Dr. Kingsbury had not seen and felt this. He visited the sick when they sent for him, and trusted to his sister to tell him of their needs when they did not send, and so his conscience was satisfied. But it was different now. The souls entrusted to him came before him in more distinct individuality; it was a more separate responsibility for each which weighed upon him. He would fain seek rather than be sought. He longed to change places with his sister; to know the needs of his poor by visiting them in their own cottages; to know the temptations of the young by the confidence they might be led to place in him. He thought less of sermons and more of conversation. But he was helpless; confined for the most part to his study, rarely preaching, and indeed taking very little part in the public service beyond assisting in the administration of the Holy Communion. And not only helpless, but from habit and tone of mind, incompetent-that was the most painful consciousness. If all his energies had been restored to him, he would still have felt the personal individual knowledge of his parishioners unattainable. Myra little knew, as she sat, leaning her elbow on the arm of her old friend's chair, how soothing to the sensitiveness of his almost morbid conscience was the fact that any young thing could thus come to him, and be in a measure free with him. He did not know how to lead her on to be more free; but he felt grateful to her, and in the simplicity of his heart, his gratitude showed itself by unreserve. 'The good lady, Miss Medley, has been failing for some time, so Patty tells me,' he said, 'and Patty thinks she is wrong in having taken to homœopathy; but there is a principle in homœopathy-a very remarkable one-not to be put aside. We must not reject without inquiry. The Jews rejected our Lord because they would not inquire.' 'But some of them did inquire,' said Myra, 'and still they did not believe in Him.' 'That was because they inquired in a wrong spirit, having formed a previous judgment. All inquiry, to be honest, must be unbiassed. My little girl, keep your heart right with God, and then your judgment will be right with man.' 'I thought judgment depended upon cleverness,' said Myra. 'Not so, child, judgment implies weighing one thing against another; it is the science of proportion. Clever people are very often wanting in this knowledge of proportion; they are quicker upon one point than upon another, and so their judgment is defective.' 'But will doing right help one to decide about homoeopathy?' said Myra. There was a little sharpness in her tone, which the Doctor's grave answer instantly made her aware of. My little Myra, you think that clever, but it is only superficial. Whatever helps to enlarge the moral powers, strengthens the intellectual. If you accustom yourself to weigh evidence as a duty, and to save yourself from uncharitableness, you will also learn to weigh evidence to save yourself from being a fool.' 'But I am not able to weigh the evidence for homœopathy or against it,' said Myra. 'Then do not form a judgment about it till you can.' 'Only I hate doubting,' persisted Myra. She made the remark more for the purpose of carrying on the conversation, which she saw was rather drawing the old man's thoughts away from himself, than with any other object; and it had the desired effect. Dr. Kingsbury never knew whether he was talking to a child or a philosopher, and this was a charm to those who understood him, though it often proved a perplexity to his poor people. 'If you hate doubt,' he said, 'you hate the condition in which God has placed you. What is there which is not open to And if it was not, where would be the trial of doubt ? faith?' 'But faith is the reverse of doubt,' said Myra. 'You are mistaken, child. Faith is the certainty of the spiritual faculties, opposed to the doubt of the material senses ; but without doubt there could be no faith. Faith will not exist in Heaven, because it will there be swallowed up in sight.' 'Then doubt is not a sin,' said Myra. 'Not in itself; it is a necessity of our condition.' 6 But heretics, sceptics, infidels, are all guilty,' said Myra. 'More or less, unquestionably, though God only knows what amount of guilt is to be laid to the charge of each.' 'And yet you say they were born to doubt?' said Myra. 'Not so; they were born to believe. There is the strange fact the startling evidence against them, that let the evidence of the material senses be never so strong, the evidence of the spiritual senses is yet stronger. What demonstration can be more convincing to the senses than that of death? yet where is the nation, I might almost say where is the man, to be found who doubts of immortality? But I forgot--you asked to read to me '—and the Doctor turned in his chair, and twisted his wig, waking up to a sudden sense of having been carried away by his own earnestness. 'I like talking, sir, if you like it,' said Myra. 'Ah! child, yes, I like it. Perhaps I have been too fond of it in my day.' 'But you must always have liked reading better,' said Myra, 'you have read so much.' ‘Yes, a good deal. flesh.' But much study is a weariness to the 'Not study of St. Augustine,' said Myra, smiling, as she pointed to the great book, 'The study of the living might have been better than the study of the dead,' murmured the old man. 'Myra, my little girl, if you put your heart into God's duties, your whole heart, you will never be tempted to carve out duties for yourself.' 'If I could put my heart into them!' said Myra; and she drew her chair nearer as she added, 'But I can never be as good as you, sir.' 'God, for Christ's sake, grant you to be ten thousand times better!' and the trembling withered hand rested tenderly upon Myra's head. 'I would say a prayer for good Miss Medley, Myra. It will seem as if I was with her; so open the Prayer Book at the service for the Visitation of the Sick.' The book was laid upon the table, and Myra was going away, but the Doctor motioned to her to remain. 'When two or three join together,' he said, 'the prayer is surely heard. It will be well for you, my child, to learn early to pray for others.' Myra knelt down, partly shy, partly awed; but the earnestness of the old man's voice, and the solemnity of the words, heard now for the first time as one of the appointed services of the Church, and mingled with others more particularly suited to the invalid's case, soon carried her away from every thought connected with herself. She felt that the prayers were only too soon ended, and when she stood up again, said, in her quiet but rather abrupt way, 'Thank you, sir; I liked that very much. I hope Miss Medley will be better now.' 'That will be according as God may see best,' was the |