AFTER A TIME.

MYRA SHERWOOD'S kind friends in London had greatly facilitated her wishes in procuring ready access to places of interest which Harry and Florence desired to see. The end of the month approached, and they were expecting to hear the day fixed for their return home.

"Harry," said Myra one evening, as they sat discussing the enjoyments of the day, "do you think you could manage to prepare your theme in London?"

"Oh yes, I am sure I could, if I were to shut myself up out of everybody's way. But why? Are we not going home yet? Do you want to stay longer, Myra?"

"I suppose you have not done anything towards it yet?" she added thoughtfully.

"Ah, but I have, though! Don't you remember missing me that wet day when we were disappointed of our visit to Greenwich? Well, I settled how I should treat my subject, and made up a lot of Latin stuff quite respectably. The pelting rain vexed me so; and, to get rid of hearing it, I dived into my notes, and fished out the best part of them, and wrote away hard, ever so much, all ready for copying out. I forgot the rain, and never knew how the time went till Florrie called me to meals."

"Well done, my dear Harry. Then I may venture to tell you that I decide on remaining a little longer. The theme must be finished entirely this week, and, if you like, can be sent to Dr. B—. The school does not open until the seventh, and—"

Myra paused, and looked at her brother and sister, who eagerly started up and stood before her.

"And what then, Myra? Oh, do go on! I can guess. Yes, I know why."

"What do you guess?" asked Myra archly.

"The Queen, the Queen! She comes up to Buckingham Palace at the beginning of the week, with Prince Albert, to open Parliament, and you mean to let us see them! Now, isn't that it, dear Myra? The only thing I have missed, the one thing worth all. Yes, I am sure that is it."

"And where shall we stand? In the park, or the road, or where?"

"You are settling it all with wonderful speed," said Myra, laughing; "but your stand in park or road would be too cold for me. No, think again; we must do better than that."

"Ah, perhaps you have got leave to go to some balcony to see the procession."

"Well, to end your suspense, look here. Our kind friends have obtained tickets for us for the House of Lords, and we shall see and hear Queen Victoria open Parliament as no one can do it for her."

The pleasure was too deep for scream or shout. The loyalty that seems hereditary in warm English hearts was touched, and a thrill of unutterable delight that almost brought tears to their eyes, was the only acknowledgment for a moment. But Myra was quite satisfied with such appreciation.

And, after attempting to express his feeling, and lavishing kisses upon his sister, Harry went off to his room, and gave no time nor attention to anything else until the theme was completed, sealed up, and sent off to meet Dr. B— on the day appointed, as he wished to examine them before the school re-opened.

Then the approaching event furnished ample topic for thought and conversation and expectation.

Elsie went to spend the day with Myra's friends; and the brother and his two sisters found themselves in their appointed places, in a scene not to be surpassed on similar occasions in any nation of the earth.

Still, dazzled as they were by the gorgeous spectacle before them,—the splendid hall, the flashing jewels, the magnificent array of the highest and noblest in the land,—it was the figure of the Queen herself, and of Albert the Good, that stamped indelibly on the minds and hearts of the young visitors the grand charm of that memorable day. They heard, amidst profound stillness, the silvery tones of a voice they could never forget, and gazed at the sight until the royal party retired, and the brilliant throng seemed to rouse to life and motion again.

Early the next morning, Myra and her party were on the way home, and Harry set forth manfully on the opening term.

The mysterious silence concerning their visit preserved by Margaret and Leonard perplexed Myra not a little, and obliged her to feel that the London party must have had all the enjoyment to themselves.

Margaret had charged her brother to tell of nothing that had occurred.

"You know, Leonard," she said, "it would be just like Myra to invite our cousins here, and I don't want them; and I shouldn't wonder a bit if she went straight off to visit uncle and aunt herself, and pretended she liked the shop and everything."

"Well, it wasn't so very bad after all, Meg," said Leonard, fumbling in his pockets for string to set off a new top that Mr. Fairfield had given him. "I wouldn't mind going again, if you hadn't been so cross."

"It was enough to make anybody cross," said Margaret. "I shall take care never to go again as long as I live. And wasn't it a shame of them to go to London without us? I've no patience to hear them talk about it."

"Ah, but Myra says it may be our turn some day, and she couldn't have taken us all at once."

"Some day is no day at all," said Margaret. "I don't believe it, nor expect it. I only wish I knew everything we have got to learn, that I might be independent."

"Why, what would you do, Maggie?"

"Of course I should earn money and do as I please."

"Ah, that would be just the same as keeping a shop," said Leonard, gravely shaking his head, and spinning his top. "You would be a long time earning new frocks and getting jam puddings. I shan't want to live with you, Miss Meg."

"You think of nothing but eating, you disagreeable boy," said Margaret contemptuously; "but if you talk about things that I tell you not to talk of, I'll tell about your going to see Dinah so often."

Leonard laughed lightly.

And better it had been if Margaret had indeed "told" of his disobedience, though of the increasing extent of it she herself was not aware.

Time passed on rapidly in the quiet routine of duty, varied by many pleasures. Each year Mr. and Mrs. Somers spent some months in the neighbourhood, cheering and comforting their niece in her patient, self-denying work; or she and her party joined them at some pleasant place of resort during the summer holidays. Frank's visits were not unfrequent, and were always acceptable to the whole family. Sometimes he would read letters from his friend Ralph Penwald, who had qualified himself for a missionary station in India, and was hard at work, Frank said, among the native tribes, living like a barbarian, and losing all respect for polite society.

"No, no, that is impossible," Harry would exclaim. "Mr. Penwald would be a gentleman wherever he is. Don't you know, Mr. Somers, that he has the religion of Jesus, and must always like whatever is pure and lovely and of good report?"

"Well, I shall tell him he has one champion here, at any rate," said Frank in surprise; "and if ever he comes back, of course you will venture to associate with him."

"Yes, I have a good right to be his champion," said Harry meditatively. "Perhaps I shall go and look after him some day;" and he stole a glance at Myra, who was grave and silent, but evidently she enjoyed the letters as much as the others did.

In due time, after a sufficient test of taste and bias, Harry chose to devote himself to the profession of an engineer, and by the interest of Mr. Somers was received into one of the best establishments in the country.

Myra would gladly have removed to the same locality that Harry might still have his home with her, but Leonard's education had yet to be completed, and it was deemed, on his account, undesirable to make any change until he also should decide on his future course.

Harry often came home from Saturday until Monday, and, though greatly missing the love and sympathy of his sisters, he was bent upon doing them credit, and deserving the confidence and good opinion of the family into whose hands he had been received as a boarder.

He liked his employment, grew tall and strong, and Myra delighted to think of him as the protector and friend of herself and his other sisters, when he should be at liberty to take a position in life for himself.

Leonard, in the meantime, dragged but idly through his educational course; and being entirely free from his brother's surveillance, paid longer and more frequent visits to Dinah Jonson's shop. There he made acquaintance with her seafaring husband and some of his random friends, intercourse with whom did not improve the boy's manner or character.

When he at last decided on mercantile life, it was in his uncle's power to assist him, and he was placed in the office of a merchant in the same town, where Mr. Haynes's house would be a safe and comfortable home.

Notwithstanding Margaret's indignant opposition, visits had been exchanged, and happy friendship had sprung up between Mrs. Haynes and Myra, and also between Edith and Lilian and Florence. And seldom did many months pass without one or other of the delighted girls being invited to come and share with Florence and Margaret the instructions and society of their loving sister and protectress.

Of Myra Sherwood's inner life it need only be said that it was, to the outer and visible life, what the fountain is to the stream, the root to the flower. She sometimes marvelled at the sweet peace she enjoyed, and the unvarying interest she felt in the duties she had undertaken. Her Bible was her constant guide, and prayer her constant refuge in all difficulties and trials; and He who promised "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee," abundantly proved to her the tender faithfulness of His love and care.

Some of the most excellent and intelligent in the society of the neighbourhood sought her friendship, and as much of pleasant communion and social intercourse as suited her tastes and engagements was always at her command.

Harry and Florence, whilst sincerely delighted to see her so admired and courted, felt a secret satisfaction in the discouragement of all rivals in her affections, until—and some imaginary event in the mists of the future seemed to blend with all their wishes for this dearly loved sister.

When they met Mrs. Somers, each time the first question eagerly asked by Florence was her opinion of Myra's appearance.

"Does she look as well as ever, Mrs. Somers? Do you think she seems tired or anxious?" she would ask.

"I see very little change in her, dear Florence. Perhaps she may seem a little anxious sometimes about Margaret and Leonard. They do not fulfil her hopes like you and Harry. She tells me that Mr. Haynes is not satisfied with Leonard's conduct; and it is very distressing to see Margaret's jealous, ungracious temper."

"It is indeed," said Florence. "We have all tried to win her to be one of us; and Myra has never made any difference between us. We dress alike, visit together, and Margaret is clever, and can be very pleasing when she will. She does far more credit to Myra's instructions than I do."

"She needs a higher Teacher yet, dear Florence, and we must not cease to pray that the Spirit of God may take up the work within her, and make her yet a dear child of God, and a blessing among you. Nothing is too hard for His patient, resolute power."

"Margaret wishes to stay in Germany to study when we come to you next winter, and Myra has at last consented to her wish to become a governess."

"I think that is right, Florence; and I only wish poor Margaret's motives were purer in her desire for independence."

"If Margaret is right in wishing to relieve Myra of all responsibility for her, surely, dear Mrs. Somers, I ought to be earning my own living also. Dear Myra has Elsie yet to provide for."

"Have you suggested your idea to her, Florence?" asked Mrs. Somers, with a smile.

"Not exactly," said Florence, blushing; "I have been afraid to pain her."

"Retain your fear then, my dear girl, at least until after next winter. At present, I do not think the idea would please any of us."

Mrs. Somers knew that if all went favourably in his affairs, it was her son's wish to provide for the gentle girl a home as happy as that from which he would take her; and no one who loved him could do other than approve his choice. At the same time, it was desirable that the young people should thoroughly understand each other's characters, both in virtues and failings, before deciding on a step involving their happiness in this life, and perhaps their hope for the life to come.

Both her brothers being now for the present away from home, Myra was indulging the hope of spending the following winter with her friends on the Continent, and even Margaret condescended to manifest some pleasure in the prospect. She had, as Florence said, done credit to the instructions and advantages bestowed upon her, in an intellectual point of view, and now only needed facility of speech in several languages, which can best be acquired by mingling with the native speakers in their own lands. She played music admirably, and her piano accompaniments to Myra's harp afforded a treat to which many delighted to listen.

Margaret proudly disdained praise. She had an object in view beyond that of pleasing others. She meant to please herself, and be what she called independent; and every accomplishment she required, and every success her perseverance attained, were to her mind so many more pounds in the salary she should have a right to demand.

But, all the time, a rebellious will remained unsubdued, an ungrateful heart untouched, and an immortal soul unsaved.

She watched for inconsistencies in those who professed to be followers of Jesus, and treasured the recollection of them as so many proofs against the truth of their religion, instead of painful evidences of their own weakness.

She could not but observe the improvement in every respect of Harry and Florence, but she persisted in attributing it to what she called their idolatry of Myra. And, removed from her influence, she was sure they would be just what they were before Myra came.

She was jealous, too, of the love of Elsie, who had at once adopted Myra into the place of Helen, to whom she had been fondly attached. And as Elsie began sometimes to open her eyes very wide, and stare, or part her rosy lips with a remonstrance at some ungracious temper, Margaret declared that all affection had been cruelly weaned from her, and she stood alone, isolated, estranged, in the midst of her own family.

"Margaret, my child," her uncle had said, when he last visited the cottage, "take care what you are doing. You are resisting love, and kindness, and tender indulgence. God has hitherto dealt in wondrous forbearance with you, but it may be that He will try other methods. If a child rebels persistently against gentle words and patient warnings, a blow must come to rouse and chasten. I speak from my own experience, Margaret. Be wise in time, and be happy while you may. 'Pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I hate,' saith the Lord.

"'God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.'"

"You cannot know anything of my feelings towards God, uncle," answered Margaret. "You all say that the religion of Jesus Christ is a religion of love, and yet you talk to me of judgment and anger."

"My dear Margaret, you know it is written,—

"'Every tree is known by its own fruit.'

"If your feelings towards God were those of a loving, pardoned, grateful child, yielding to the instructions of His word and the influence of His Spirit, you would feel union with those who so love and are so taught, and—

"'We know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren.'

"I quoted to you God's own estimate of the spirit you indulge; and the judgment, or anger as you consider it, which may deal with your sin, is that of a father whose chastisement is for the profit of his child, who, if not like wax that melts and yields to the model, must be treated like the rock and broken with the hammer. I do not judge you. I ask you to go to the standard that God has given, and judge yourself. If we would accept His rebuke, He would not proceed to chasten, for—

"'He doth not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.'

"How much less willingly His own whom He loves with an everlasting love that must and shall triumph over all opposition! You are the child of many prayers, Margaret; and we wait for you until, by some means, you are brought to share our blessings. Fain would I see you drawn 'with cords of love,' and listening to the sweet whisper of the still small voice. Think of what I have said, my dear niece, and see if it be not according to the mind of Christ and His religion of love."