"Yes, I suppose so. It is best to go any way. Eunice wished it."

"I am glad of one thing--I shall be gone first," said Jabez.

"Shall you? When do you go?"

"Next week, if grandma can get my things ready. Time is precious."

"She must let us help her," said Fidelia; and then there was silence between them. Fidelia was thinking of a letter which she had received a day or two since, which must be answered soon. Miss Kent had written to her, inviting her to visit her in Boston for as long a time as she could stay. It was such a letter as it is good to write and to receive.

There were a few words of sympathy in her sorrow for her sister's loss, and a few more as to the pleasant things to be done and seen and enjoyed during the visit; but the best of it was the evident kindness and sincerity of the writer in all she said.

Fidelia's desire to accept the invitation had been growing since the day it came. She longed for a change of some sort, and she needed it. The thought of the seminary and her books gave her very little pleasure.

"It is because you are tired," said Mrs Stone; but she did not, as it was her first impulse to do, remind her that it had been her sister's wish that the next year should be pa.s.sed at the seminary. "She will think of it herself by-and-by."

Fidelia thought of it now. "Time is precious," Jabez had said. Surely time ought to be precious to her as well! She ought to go to the seminary this year, if ever she meant to go; and, if so, there was no time to lose.

And, besides, she knew on which side temptation lay for her. An easy, pleasant life among people who knew no other kind of existence; a chance to see and hear and enjoy the beautiful and wonderful things of which she knew little, except from books, would be delightful; but would it be good for her? Would it be a preparation for the work of which she and Eunice used to talk and plan?--"the highest of all work," as Jabez had called it, and "entire consecration to G.o.d's service."

"I must be a poor creature to have any other desire," she told herself.

In a little Jabez said--

"Miss Eunice said something to me once. She said it made her glad to think that I might be permitted to do some of the work for the Lord which she would have been so glad to do. Does it seem presumptuous in me to say it, Fidelia? I would not say it to any one but you," said Jabez humbly; "and I owe everything to Miss Eunice."

"And what do I not owe to my Eunice?" said Fidelia to herself. To Jabez she said--"Yes, I know it made her last days happy to feel that perhaps she had helped you a little. And we must both honour her memory by trying to do in the world what she would have loved to do. I only wish--"

Fidelia did not put her wish into words for Jabez's hearing. It was growing dark, and Mrs Stone's white cap at the porch door had been more than once visible as a reminder that the dew was beginning to fall; and they knew it was time to go into the house.

But Jabez had one thing more to say, over which he hesitated a moment.

"Fidelia, I want to say one thing more, if I may. It was Miss Eunice that made me think more about it, so I hope you won't be vexed. You haven't any brother, and I haven't any sister. Suppose we--adopt one another," said Jabez, with a laugh which had the sound of a sob in it.

"Miss Eunice told me more than once, that if ever the time came when I saw you in trouble I must help you, if I had a chance, for her sake."

"Oh, my Eunice!" cried Fidelia; and she held out her hand to the lad.

And then, to her amazement, he stooped and touched it with his lips before he took it in his own.

There were not many words spoken after that. This was their real parting. They met several times before Jabez went away; but it was this half-hour under the apple-trees that Fidelia always remembered, when the thought of Jabez came back to her, with all the other memories of these last days at home. For these were "last days."

Fidelia came back again when her year at the seminary was ended. Mrs Stone was still in the old brown house, which in most respects looked just as it had looked when she came home the first time, to find Eunice waiting for her. It was good to see her old friend standing to welcome her at the gate, but her old friend was not Eunice. And, though she wondered that it should be so, and grieved over it, the house in which the greater part of her life had been pa.s.sed never seemed quite like home again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

FIDELIA'S PERPLEXITY.

This year in the seminary was far more profitable to Fidelia than the former year had been. The work which she had done so faithfully at home told now. She was not pressed or hurried by overwork in preparing for her cla.s.ses, and had time to take the good of other things besides study.

Under the Christian influence lovingly and judiciously exercised over them, not even the careless or unimpressionable among the pupils could remain altogether untouched by some sense of their responsibility to the Lord Jesus, or to the claims which He had on them to be workers together with Him in the world which He came to save. Fidelia, with softened heart and awakened conscience, was now open to that influence, and yielded to it as she had not done before. There was no neglect or misappropriation of the "quiet half-hour" morning and evening now, nor of any other of the many means of grace provided for the benefit of all.

The scope and sense of all the teaching, as to duty, of the n.o.ble woman through whose labours and self-denials the seminary was founded had been--"Ye are not your own: ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify G.o.d in your body and in your spirit, which are G.o.d's."

"No man liveth to himself." One of her last utterances to the pupils whom she loved and for whom she laboured was this: "There is nothing in the universe that I fear, but that I shall not know all my duty, or shall fail to do it." She was dead, but her works and words still lived and spoke through those who had come after her, and through them there came richly to Fidelia the blessing which above all other blessings she desired for herself--the wish and the power to consecrate her life to the work which is the highest of all. So she came back to her home in a different state of heart and mind this time--she herself did not know how different till she was among old familiar friends and circ.u.mstances again, looking over the past and on to the future with other hopes and aspirations than those which had made her discontented about the time of her last coming home.

It did not seem quite like home to her in Halsey any more. But she told herself she would wait patiently and do faithfully the work which came to her hand, till some opening should come to her of higher work in a larger field as a teacher, and then she would strive to be such a teacher as Eunice might have been in her youth, had not other work fallen to her hand.

By-and-by something happened. A letter came to her from Dr Justin Everett which surprised her. It was not the first time that he had written to her. After the death of her sister he had written a letter of sympathy which she had answered briefly. She had not answered other letters which had followed, but this one must be answered. It was a long letter, telling her something of his youth and of his engagement to her sister, and of the disappointment and pain which their necessary separation had caused to them both.

He said he had returned to Halsey two years ago, hoping to carry Eunice back with him as his wife; but in her state of health they had both seen this to be impossible. Then he went on to say how unconsciously at first his heart had turned to the sister of the woman he had loved so dearly in his youth, and how Eunice had not refused to sanction his love, though she had utterly forbidden him to speak then or for some time to come. "Has the time come now when I may speak? And will you not listen to me?" That was the sum of what followed, though many words were used in saying it; and it must be owned that Fidelia was moved by them--for a time. If he had come himself it would have been a much more troublesome matter. But her dream had pa.s.sed, and so had the pain it had caused her, though it took a little time to make her sure that it was so. After reading her letter over again, she wrapped a shawl about her, and went up the hill till she came to the turn of the road where she had seen Dr Justin standing soothing his startled mare. She could think of it all quietly enough now, and her calmness might have helped her to the knowledge of what her answer ought to be. But she allowed herself to ponder over it. It was a pleasant life that was set before her. She might have a charming home, intellectual society, a chance to improve herself, a chance also to do good to others. There would be the happy mean--neither poverty nor riches, and a home of her own; and for a time she was not aware how the possibility of taking all this into consideration, and of weighing it all quietly, proved that she did not care for Justin Everett as she ought to do before she answered him, "Yes." There was the further question, though she scarcely dared to pursue it. Was the man who could thus transfer his affections really worthy of her trust? She shrank back when she thought of the past, as if she were wronging her sister's memory.

"You are not worrying about anything, are you, Fidelia?" said Mrs Stone at last.

"Worrying? No; I hope not. I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"Was the big letter that Calvin brought you the other day from Dr Justin Everett?"

"Yes, it was," answered Fidelia, with a touch of vexation in her voice.

"I wouldn't have asked only--"

"Oh, there is no harm done!" said Fidelia, laughing. "I hope not," said Mrs Stone gravely. "I have been expecting it ever since you came here.

You mustn't think I want to meddle, dear. I want just to tell you something that Eunice said to me. Oh, yes! She knew it might come some time. But she would not say a word about it. She said that the Lord would guide you right in this and in all other things. And so He will, if you ask Him."

Mrs Stone gathered up her work, and rose to leave the room.

"Tell me about it, Aunt Ruby," said Fidelia gently.

There was not much to tell. For herself, Mrs Stone had not a word to say. Even when Fidelia asked her advice, she replied quietly--

"It seems to me you ought to have known what answer to send to that letter as soon as ever you read it." And then she went away, leaving Fidelia to ponder her words. She came back to add another word, however.

"Let your answer, whether it be Yes or No, be final. Don't let there be any half-and-half doings--any waiting to find out what your real feelings are. You ought to know this minute all you need to know. Say it once for all."

That very day another letter came, not so long as the other, but it brought help to Fidelia, in a way unexpected. This letter was from "Ella Wainright." Fidelia knew that Miss Kent had married; but she did not know that she had married a widower with children. The letter told her this, and it told her also that the two little girls who had fallen into her hands more than filled them. They had been spoiled all their lives by two loving grandmothers and several aunts, all of whom had the best intentions with regard to the motherless children.

"As for me," wrote Mrs Wainright, "I am to them the cruel or indifferent stepmother of the story-books, and I should not have a chance with them, even if I had any faculty with children, which I have not. They are bright girls of nine and twelve. I might leave them in school while I go to Europe with my husband, but that would not be good for them nor right for me, and it would only be postponing, perhaps increasing, the trouble. I know you mean to teach, and I have heard from your friend Nelly Austin that you covet hard work; and here it is, ready to your hand. You may name your salary. You will earn it, whatever it is. We shall be in Europe two years at least, perhaps longer. You will have a chance to see much that every one wishes to see, and you can improve yourself in your music, and learn a language or two; and you can help me to do the same. Do not decide against me till you come over to Eastwood to see me." And so on.

Fidelia came into the room where Mrs Stone was sitting with her letter in her hand.

"Aunt Ruby, listen, and tell me what I had better do." Then she read the letter.

Mrs Stone listened, but she did not need to advise. She saw that, though she was not aware of it herself, Fidelia had almost made up her mind to go.

"I think I would go over to Eastwood and see Mrs Wainright, and talk it over with her." And she would have liked to add--"You may as well write your letter to Dr Justin before you go," but she did not. "It is all right, I guess; and I, for one, am glad of it."

Fidelia went to Eastwood. If she had been inclined to hesitate over her decision, she could hardly have done so. Mrs Wainright took possession of her at once.

"If it is a chance to do good that you desire, it is the very place for you, for the children need you sorely." And Miss Abby Chase, who had seen the children, said the same. Mrs Austin wished her to go because of Mrs Wainright, who was not strong, and who did not seem to have a chance with the children; and Nellie enlarged upon the delights of travel, and the opportunities for self-improvement which she would enjoy. There was, besides, little time for hesitation. Within ten days they were to sail. So Fidelia went home and wrote her letter to Dr Justin, and set her house in order, and was ready to depart.

"Halsey will always be your home while you own this place, and so you must keep it," said Mrs Stone. "I don't know a more forlorn feeling than for such a home-bird as you have always been than to find herself without a nest. We talked it all over, Eunice and I. I'd as lief live in your house as in my own, and I will pay you rent. It's paid already in a way. Eunice had a little change of investment to make, under Dr Everett's advice, about the time I came here, and I put something with what she had in your name--just about enough to make the interest pay rent for your house and land. I'll keep up the place as well as I know how; the rent may be put with the rest while you don't want, and it will be handy when you do. I thought it would be better to fix it so than to put you in my will, because of Ezra's folks. No; there is nothing to be said. Eunice knew all about it; and you can just think of me as keeping house for you till you come home."