FELLOW LABOURERS

TIME went on very quietly with Rhoda now. Another winter came and went, another spring with its lessons of hope and promise. Her work widened, and she had many of the people round in her heart and prayers. Before another year had passed, both Ned Evans and his sister were added to the little number of those who by their changed lives gave witness to the saving power of grace in their souls. Miss Frith's lodger died, but the little girl had so won her affections that, with the consent of some of her distant relatives, she adopted her, and the child did much towards banishing the shade of gloom that even now at times gathered on the brow of the lonely woman.

Rhoda's life was a busy one, but a happy one. She herself was gaining experience in the work that was dear to her heart, and was learning that sowing the seed was sometimes a long process, and that reaping did not always immediately follow. She had her times of depression and disappointment; some, about whom she was most hopeful, grew cold and fell back to their old life again; but others stepped in and filled the ranks, and the work, though slow, did not flag.

She had several visits from her brothers from time to time, and even the most fastidious of them were fain to acknowledge that she was both comfortable and happy in her small domain.

Mr. Long now helped her much by coming up and taking the Sunday afternoon service very frequently, and he told her it was a most enjoyable time to him.

Towards the end of the second summer of her stay there, Howard came down for a longer visit than usual.

And a week after he had arrived, Mr. Rokeby returned home. Rhoda was taking a walk with her brother across the moor when they met him. He seemed to her to have a graver, softened look on his face as he greeted her. But having heard of the death of his sister abroad, she attributed it to that, and introduced him to her brother, feeling sure that they would like each other.

She was not disappointed, for Howard brightened up, and confided to her after Mr. Rokeby had left them that he should enjoy a little shooting with him, and should certainly avail himself of his invitation to go over to Rokeby Court.

And for the next week or two, they saw a great deal of Mr. Rokeby. He came to dine with them, and would often drop in about tea-time in the afternoon. But Rhoda seemed to elude all "têtes-à-têtes" with him, and was only her free happy self when joining in the general conversation.

It was a lovely September afternoon. Rhoda was standing at her gate, looking over the glowing landscape in front of her, and when she heard a man's footstep approaching she looked up with a bright smile, expecting to see her brother, who had gone down to Ashampton a couple of hours before.

But it was Mr. Rokeby.

"Are you disappointed to see me?" he asked with a smile. "Is your brother in?"

"No, but he will be back soon. Do come in and wait."

She led the way into the house, and he followed, his eyes watching her every movement.

"There are a good many changes in the neighbourhood," he remarked presently. "I have always been meaning to ask you after your Sunday service. It is still going on, I suppose? I thought of coming over to it next Sunday, if I may."

"Mr. Long will be very glad to see you," Rhoda answered simply. "I hope he will be taking it then."

"That is one of the changes I am marvelling at. What has stirred up Mr. Long to such activity? Do you work under him now?"

Rhoda laughed. "I do not feel I do," she said, "but it is very pleasant to have his hearty sympathy and co-operation in all my work here. I sometimes wonder if I ought to be moving on to some other place that is in more need of workers."

Mr. Rokeby got up from his seat, and stood looking out of the window facing the setting sun, and for a moment there was silence, then suddenly he turned round and came to her side. Looking down upon her he said very quietly, but with a slight tremor in his tone—

"May I tell you of some one who is in sore need of you? Will you listen to his case?"

A distressed look came into Rhoda's eyes, and a hot flush rose to her cheeks.

"Perhaps," she said very gently, "it would be better for both of us if you did not."

"I think I must be heard. I will not take my dismissal so easily. I know what you feel—that I am not in sympathy with your views, and that therefore we would not suit each other. I should have spoken two years ago if it had not been for this. I felt it would be an insurmountable obstacle in the way. I knew from what I had seen of you what your answer would be, and so I went abroad. I could never pretend to be what I was not, and I determined not to speak to you till my interests were the same as yours. I have been blindly groping my way for years towards the light.

"Do you remember the last Sunday before I went away? I shall never forget that little service in the Tents' kitchen. Honestly, I confess I went there because I wanted to have another sight of you—to hear your voice once again; but I came away with another voice in my ears, and it was the commencement of the scales dropping from my eyes, and the light entering my soul. I will not tell you at present all the phases I went through, but I can assure you now that your Master is mine, and His work will be my chief delight. If we are to live as strangers, I can still thank God, He ever brought you into this neighbourhood, because it was the reality of your religion that first impressed me. But if—oh, Rhoda, can you come to me, and let us work together for Him? There is such a wide sphere for you over my part of the moor, so many that you will be able to reach. Dare I hope for your love? Will you give yourself to me?"

He had taken her hands in his, and was bending over her with a world of love and longing in his clear frank eyes.

But Rhoda was speechless; she felt she could not send this suitor away as she had many others, and her heart was in a tumult.

He waited, and at last she looked up.

"I meant to live my life alone," she said, a little unsteadily, "but I do not think that now—I can."

That was enough. His arms were round her, and then a little later, drawing her to the open window, and looking out upon the golden sky and purple moor, he softly uttered these words,—

"O God, give us Thy blessing, and make Thyself increasingly precious to both of us!"

And now for one more look at Rhoda before we leave her. Her work is not finished, perhaps even a fuller sphere is awaiting her; and this thought is filling her heart as she stands on the steps of Rokeby Court one lovely spring morning in May.

Her marriage had taken place at her uncle's house in London, and six out of her seven brothers had been present at it. She was thankful that her choice was so thoroughly appreciated that not a dissentient voice was heard amongst them. Indeed, the general feeling was, as Edgar informed her, that of relief that she was going to "return to a civilized life."

She went abroad with her husband for six weeks, and came to her new home the beginning of May.

Hannah was established there as housekeeper, and met her young mistress with a shining face.

And now, on the first morning after her arrival, Rhoda stands looking down the avenue of scented limes away to the distant moors, and her eyes grow moist with feeling as her thoughts are raised heavenwards.

A hand is quietly laid on her shoulder, and turning she meets her husband's inquiring gaze.

"I was thinking," she said, as she linked her arm in his, "what a field there is before us on this side of the moor; and I was wondering how soon we could commence work."

He laughed.

"You are indefatigable. Six weeks' holiday is quite enough for you, I presume. Well, I am ready. I am not afraid I shall lose my wife if I leave her free to follow the desires of her heart, for we will work together, Rhoda. I have been idle too long."

Then after a pause, he said, with a sparkle in his eyes, "And now that we are going to settle down as man and wife, may I ask which is to be the ruling spirit? I remember the time when I doubted the probability of your ever giving way to the will of another. You have been so accustomed to manage your own life that it may seem strange to have another who has the right to guide you at times. What are your views on the subject?"

"I don't think there will be friction between us," said Rhoda, her eyes leaving the distant scene and dwelling on her husband's face. "Where there is love and confidence, there can be no question of one ruling the other."

Then, as one of the flashing smiles her husband liked so much to see crossed her face, she added, "I have promised to obey you, so must do so. I know you will not abuse your power."

"If we are both led by the same Guide, we shall walk in the same path," her husband observed thoughtfully, "but there are times when I realize I am a long way behind you."

"Ah, no! We have only been called at different times into God's vineyard. Do you know the one little verse that has been much in my mind lately, and which seems to comfort and cheer me, when I think of the vast amount of work to be done, and so few comparatively to do it?

"'For we are labourers together with God . . .'

"Working in a cause that cannot fail, and in which no labour will be lost."

There was a moment's silence, then the resolute man's voice added very solemnly,—

"'Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.'"

THE END.