crossed her mind that she was not quite so bad as people thought her, that when she was alone she did wish to be good, though when she was with others she was always doing wrong, her comfort was checked by the recollection that wishes were nothing, prayers even were nothing, actions were the only test; and her actions - it was better not to think about them. What comfort could it be to Myra to be called upon to repeat, Sunday after Sunday, that she was 'a child of grace,' when the fact impressed upon her by everyone in the house, and confirmed by her own consciousness, was that she was a child of wrath?' People do not often get rid of such an impression about themselves suddenly; young people especially do not. Myra felt when Mrs. Patty left her that she was not quite so unhappy as she had been before, but she had no idea that there was any real change in her own principles. It was only that Mrs. Patty was so good and kind, and thought well of everyone; and if she could believe that God would be as merciful as Mrs. Patty, there would be some hope. But then He knew so much better what her faults were. To be sure He knew also how miserable they made her, and how much she longed to get rid of them; but that was all nothing; her father had said so only that very day, before he went off to London, and of course he knew much more about her than Mrs. Patty. Thus Myra tried to reason herself out of comfort, and in spite of her reason was comforted. The mere thought that some one believed she could do right, was like a strengthening cordial to her crushed spirit. For this last failure and folly had completely crushed her. Pride alone rendered her ashamed of herself, and her natural morbid shrinking from observation caused the thought of the remarks which would, she was sure, be made upon her, to be almost unendurable. But for Mrs. Patty's few words, Myra would have been despairingly wretched. As it was, she lay still, trying to recall the conversation; and finding herself unable to recollect all, she turned, as an assistance to her memory, to the epistle which Mrs. Patty had said was Dr. Kingsbury's favourite. Certainly, so Myra thought, if he liked it, it could have nothing to do with her, for he was standing on the highest pinnacle of perfection, whilst she had not even begun to ascend the lowest step of the ladder which led to it; but, at any rate, there would be some interest in reading it, and people were always told to read the Bible when they were ill. Myra read; and as she read, thought of Dr. Kingsbury and Mrs. Patty, and, for the first time, the words excited her imagination that imagination which was always ready to be worked upon by stirring descriptions or appeals to the heart. They carried her into far-off worlds, - the heavenly places, which, it might be, were to be found among the stars that night after night she was accustomed to watch as she lay in bed. They told of glory, and greatness, and power; of a dominion above all other dominion; of the 'exceeding riches of God's grace;' and of those who, from being 'strangers and foreigners,' were now 'fellow-citizens with the saints and of the household of God.' Myra laid down the book, for she was weary, and much there was which it was hard to understand; but as she closed her eyes, and thought became more and more an effort, there mingled with the recollection of the words she had been reading, others-sounding as their clear and most sweet echo-which brought faint visions of a golden city, and jewelled gates, and the river of the water of life; and Myra fell asleep. 75 CHAPTER IX. 'DR. and Miss Kingsbury's compliments, ma'am, and if you are going to Colonel Verney's they will call for you at twenty minutes past six, and give you a seat in their fly.' Faith put her head in at the door of Miss Medley's parlour, and surprised that lady in the act of taking off her cap and arranging her grey curls. 'Wait a minute ! Dear me!' (Miss Medley's eye sought for her cap in the far corner of the room), 'where can it be? On the floor? In the chair? Where can I have put it? One minute, Faith! On my head, to be sure! What shall I do next? Come in; pray come in.' Faith entered so far at least as she could, whilst still holding by the handle of the door. 'Please to shut the door, Faith; draughts are so dangerous. Twenty minutes past six, did you say? It is very kind of Dr. Kingsbury. I really think I must accept the benevolent offer. But is the Doctor well enough to dine out?' 'He is better than he has been for this month past, ma'am. Mrs. Patty has persuaded him to take a little brandy with his dinner, and it does him a world of good.' 'Alas! A man so excellent! not to perceive the necessity of abstaining, if only for example's sake. But it is like all men; quick as lightning to see others' duties, slow as snails to see their own. Dinnerparties are sad temptations, Faith.' 'To be sure, ma'am. that you mean to go?' May I tell the Doctor, then, 'You may assure him I will be ready. Time was, Faith, when I avoided dinner-parties, but it is different with me now. So it would be with the good Doctor if only he would persevere. But brandy! it is very sad - very sad indeed.' Faith compressed her lips, evidently not trusting herself to reply. Miss Medley continued - 'The Doctor, I suppose, will leave early; late hours are so very injurious.' 'The Doctor and Mrs. Patty most times leave at ten, ma'am; but somebody said there was like to be some dancing at the Colonel's to-night.' 'What! with the Doctor there! Oh, Faith, indeed you must be mistaken!' 'As to that, ma'am, I don't know why I should be. I've heard Mrs. Patty say, that in his young days the Doctor could show off in a hornpipe with the best, and, indeed, danced so well that he was had out before all the company at a dancing-school ball, and did the toe-and-heel step and the shuffle in a way as was quite surprising.' 'But not now, Faith; Dr. Kingsbury has to consider the dignity of his cloth.' Faith's countenance showed a little perplexity, as |