Part 9 (1/2)

The two girls remained abashed. Rachel quietly left the room. She went to her own. She had prayed long that morning, but still longer did she pray that night. For alas!--who knows it not--the wings of Hope would of themselves raise us to Heaven; but hard it is for poor resignation to look up from this sad earth.

CHAPTER VIII.

We were made to endure. A Heathen philosopher held the eight of the just man's suffering, worthy of the G.o.ds, and Christianity knows nothing more beautiful, more holy, than the calm resignation of the pure and the lowly, to the will of their Divine Father.

It was the will of Heaven that Rachel should not be beloved of her earthly father. She bore her lot--not without sorrow; but, at least, without repining. Perhaps, she was more silent, more thoughtful, than before; but she was not less cheerful, and in one sense she was certainly not less happy. Affliction patiently borne for the love of the hand that inflicts it, loses half its sting. The cup is always bitter--and doubly bitter shall it seem to us, if we drink it reluctantly; but if we courageously dram it, we shall find that the last drop is not like the rest It is fraught with a Divine sweetness--it is a precious balsam, and can heal the deepest and most envenomed wound.

This pure drop Rachel found in her cup. It strengthened and upheld her through her trial. ”It is the will of G.o.d,” she repeated to herself--”It is the will of G.o.d;” and those simple words, which held a meaning so deep, were to Rachel fort.i.tude and consolation.

And in the meanwhile, the little world around her, unconscious of her sufferings and her trials--for even her mother could not wholly divine them--went on its ways. Mrs. Gray grumbled, Jane was grim, Mary was peevish, and Mrs. Brown occasionally dropped in ”to keep them going,” as she said herself.

As to Richard Jones, we will not attempt to describe the uneasiness of mind he endured in endeavouring to follow out Rachel's advice. He did not understand its spirit, which, indeed, she could not have explained. They who make the will of G.o.d their daily law, are guided, even in apparently worldly matters,--not indeed, so as never to commit mistakes, which were being beyond humanity, but so, at least, as to err as little as possible concerning their true motives of action. Our pa.s.sions are our curse, spiritual and temporal; and the mere habit of subduing them gives prudence and humility in all things:--wisdom thus becomes one of the rewards which G.o.d grants to the faithful servant.

But of this, what did Richard Jones--the most unspiritual of good men, know? After three days spent in a state of distracting doubt, he came to the conclusion that it was, and must be the will of Heaven that he should have a shop. Poor fellow! if he took his own will for that of the Almighty, did he fall into a very uncommon mistake?

Once, his mind was made up, he turned desperate, went and secured the shop. He had all the time been in a perfect fever, lest some other should forestall him, after which he became calm. ”Did not much care about Miss Gray's opinion--did not see why he should care about any one's opinion,”

and in this lofty mood it was that Richard Jones went and gave a loud, clear, and distinct knock at Mrs. Gray's door.

Dinner was over--the apprentices were working--Rachel was dreaming, rather sadly, poor girl! for she thought of what was, and of what might have been. Mrs. Gray was reading the newspaper, when the entrance of Richard Jones, admitted by his daughter, disturbed the quiet little household. At once Mrs. Gray flew into politics.

”Well, Mr. Jones,” she cried, ”and how are you? I suppose you know they are raising the taxes--and then such rates as we have, Mr. Jones--such rates!”

Mrs. Gray was habitually a Tory, and not a mild one; but on the subject of taxes and rates, Mrs. Gray was, we are sorry to say, a violent radical. ”She couldn't abide them,” she declared.

”And so they axe raising the taxes, are they!” echoed Mr. Jones, chuckling. ”Eh! but that won't do for me, Mrs. Gray. I'm turning householder--and hard by here too!” he added, winking.

Mrs. Gray did not understand at all. She coughed, and looked puzzled. Mr.

Jones saw that Rachel had not spoken to her. He continued winking, chuckling, and rubbing his hands as he spoke.

”I am going into business, Mrs. Gray.”

Mrs. Gray was profoundly astonished; Mary's work dropped on her lap as she stared with open mouth and eyes at her father, who chucked her chin for her.

”Yes,” he resumed, addressing Mrs. Gray; ”I had always a turn that way.”

”Oh, you had!”

”Always, Mrs. Gray; but I hadn't got no capital; and for a man to go into business without capital, why, ma'am, it's like a body that aint got no soul.”

”Don't talk so, Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Gray, to whom the latter proposition sounded atheistical, ”don't!”

”Well, but what's a man without capital?” asked Mr. Jones, unconscious of his offence, ”why, nothink, Mrs. Gray, nothink! Well, but that's not the question--I've got capital now, you see, and so I am going to set up a grocery business in the rag and bottle shop round the corner; and I hare called to secure your custom--that's all, Mrs. Gray.”

He winked and chuckled again. Rachel could not help smiling. Mrs. Gray was grave and courteous, like any foreign potentate congratulating his dear brother, Monsieur mon frere, on some fortunate event of his reign.

”I called to tell you that, Mrs. Gray,” resumed Jones; ”and, also, to ask a favour of Miss Gray. I should be so much obliged to 'her, if she could spare my little Mary for half an hour or so, just to look over the house with me.”

”Of course she can,” replied Mrs. Gray for her meek daughter. ”Go and put on your bonnet, Mary.'”