Fidelia did not say much, but she said just the right thing in the right way when the time came. It was the night before she left.

"Aunt Ruby, let us go down to the graveyard now. We can go by the old road, where we shall not likely to meet any one, and come home by moonlight."

So together they stood beside the grave of Eunice, and spoke lovingly and thankfully of her, and prayed in silence for each other. And there was no bitterness in Fidelia's tears, though they came in a flood as she turned away. For it was well with Eunice, and she knew they would meet again. She turned back when she had gone a little way toward the gate, and, kneeling once more, kissed the dear name carved on the stone, and prayed with all her heart that by G.o.d's grace she might be kept unspotted from the world, till the time came when she should meet her sister again.

And so Fidelia left her home--sad, but hopeful.

One untoward event happened before she set sail. She had to meet Dr Justin face-to-face, and give him his answer. She was not many minutes in his company, but they were full of pain to her.

Strangely enough, she caught her first glimpse of him from a window, as she had done that day in Eastwood from Miss Abby's room; and, more strangely still, he was walking as he had been walking that day, by Miss Avery's side, looking down upon her, while she, with smiles and pretty eager gestures, looked up at him. For a minute Fidelia was not sure of the nature of the feelings which the sight awoke within her; but she was quite sure of one thing--she did not intend to break her engagement to go with her friend and schoolmate, Mary Holbrook, to Cambridge, to see at least the outside of the poet's house before she went away. She listened till she heard them enter the house; and, when she knew them to be safe in the parlour, she went softly downstairs and out into the street; and, though she felt a little ashamed of herself for running away, she laughed heartily as she hastened on. She enjoyed every minute of the day, she told Mrs Wainright when--rather late in the evening-- she came home. She had seen, not only the outside of the poet's house, but also, through the kindness of a friend of Miss Holbrook, the inside of it, and Mr Longfellow himself as well; and the day was a day to be remembered for many reasons.

She saw Dr Justin in the morning, however, though she hoped she need not. There was not time for many words between them; but Fidelia's words were spoken with sufficient decision. Dr Justin had not received her letter. He had heard from his niece Susie that her friend was going away, and he hastened to see her before her departure. He asked for nothing that would make it necessary for her to break her engagement with Mrs Wainright. He only asked her promise to return at the end of the year, and give him her answer then. But she refused to make the promise, or even to correspond with him while she was away.

"I have spoken too soon; I will wait and come again," said he.

"You will not be wise to wait or to come again," said Fidelia gravely.

He came to the steamer with other friends of the Wainrights to see the last of them. Miss Avery was there among the rest; and, as Fidelia watched them moving away together, she said to herself, that the chances were few that Dr Justin would either wait or return to her again.

And so it proved. Before the first year of her absence was quite over there came to Mrs Wainright a letter from her cousin, telling her of her engagement to Dr Justin Everett, and trusting that they might meet them in Europe before many months.

"And so _that_ is well over," said Fidelia.

Fidelia's desire for real work by which she might do some good in the world was granted during the next three years, and besides her work she had both pleasure and profit; and little more than this can be told of the time she spent away from her home, on the other side of the sea.

Her pupils respected her always, and by-and-by they loved her dearly; and her influence over them was altogether good and happy to body, mind, and spirit. And as much as that can be said as regarded her influence over their mother also. During a long and tedious illness, which came upon Mrs Wainright in Switzerland, Fidelia nursed and comforted her as she could not have done had there not been mutual respect as well as love between them; and to both mother and daughters her influence and example was a source of blessing which did not cease when the time came that they were called to separate.

This time came when they returned to America, for on going home to Halsey Fidelia found Mrs Stone--not ill, but ailing; and she made up her mind that it was her duty to remain with her old friend during the winter. Her pupils were to be sent to school, and needed her no longer.

Their mother needed her very much, or she thought she did, and entreated her to return. But, even if Fidelia had not thought it her duty to remain with Mrs Stone, she would have hesitated about returning, for she had not been long in Halsey before she made a discovery which surprised her, and which made her ashamed.

After the first joy of welcome from old friends, and the first glad renewal of old a.s.sociations well over, she could not but own to herself that she did not find life in Halsey altogether to her mind. This was not her discovery. She had hardly expected to find it so. She had had some such thought before she left it. Her surprise was, to find that she missed--even greatly missed--the pleasant things which she had become accustomed to during the last three years--the new books, the music, the sight and touch of rare and beautiful things; all the luxuries and the ease-giving which wealth dispensed judiciously, sometimes lavishly, had secured to her friend's household, and to her with the rest. She missed the movement and the change made by the coming and going of the many friends of the household--not merely the ordinary friends and neighbours, but people of whom the world had heard--men and women whom it was good to see and know.

The life had suited her. It was not surprising that she should regret many things which she had enjoyed while with the Wainrights. Was it wrong to regret them? She might enjoy them all again in somewhat different circ.u.mstances. Would it be right and wise for her to return at the entreaty of her friend?

"I must settle the question once for all," she said to herself. And she did settle it; and with it she settled another question which went farther and deeper. "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." Would a chance to lead an easy, pleasant, even useful life in the house of her friend cover for her all the ground which this command covered? She did not need a long time to consider the answer. The past she did not regret. It was well that she had gone with Mrs Wainright.

She knew that she had helped the mother and the children to a better knowledge of each other, and she trusted also that she had done something towards encouraging in them a desire for a higher knowledge-- the knowledge which G.o.d alone can give. She was glad in looking back; but could she look forward and see that she had any special work for these young people which their mother might not do better than she did?

And might she not be taking out of the mother's hands work the doing of which would be for her good as well as for theirs?

And then as to herself. Was "an easy time," with only light duties-- which could hardly be called work in any right sense, amid the luxury which she had learned to like so well that now she missed it--was this what she ought to accept for herself as the best and highest? Did she owe no more than this to Him Who had bought her with a price? She was, in a sense, quite alone, and at her own disposal, free from all ties of relationship or friendship, such as might interfere with any work to which she gave herself. She could teach. That had been her plan always, and her sister's plan for her, because teaching undertaken and pursued in a right spirit might be made a part of the highest work of all. This Eunice had coveted for her; she had coveted it for herself.

Yes; the faithful doing of such work might be made work for the Master.

Had she lost her desire to have a part in this work? she asked herself.

Had her easy life among the pleasant things of the last few years done her this evil? She had many thoughts about it, and, after a time, she had some talk with Mrs Stone about it also.

"No; I don't think you are spoiled. Your life could not have been a very easy one. Anyway, it hasn't spoiled you. You had good work to do over there and you did it pretty well, I expect, or they wouldn't want you back again. In one way it has helped you. Yes, I think you could now do good work in a better way for the advantages you have had, and you are bound to do it. If you don't, your privileges may become a snare to you, and you may get to be satisfied with a kind of work lower than the highest you are capable of. 'No man liveth to himself,' you must remember."

"And the highest work I seem to be capable of, is to teach."

"There is no higher work, if it is done in the right spirit. And it is the work you have prepared yourself for. If you are better fitted for other work, you'll have a chance to try it. It seems to be your work in the meantime. You may marry."

Fidelia shook her head.

"I am not sure about other work. I know I can teach."

And so for the next few years she did teach. In one of those large seminaries which the Christian beneficence of many wise men of moderate means, with the help of a few rich men, has established for the higher education of the young women of the country, Fidelia found her work.

She was one of many who there worked willingly and well, in a field where good and willing work rarely fails to give a full return.

It would take a long chapter to give even a glimpse of her experiences during those years. She was not without her troubles and anxieties, but on the whole they were happy years. For to be successful in good work which one loves, and which one can do well, comes as near to true happiness as most people ever come in this world. Day by day, as time went on, she was permitted to see the springing up of some "plant of grace" from the seed which she had sown; and she had good cause to hope that there were more to follow, for such plants do not die out, but increase, and bear fruit abundantly as the years go by. Once in a while, but not often, she paused amid her work, to ask herself whether she would be quite content in it all her life long. It was a question which did not need an answer, as she was quite satisfied with the present; and the future, she believed, would be guided and guarded by the Hand of love which had led her during the past.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THANKSGIVING.

Fidelia had not lost sight of her friends during these years in the seminary. A few weeks of every summer were given to Mrs Stone and her Halsey friends, and as many to Mrs Wainright and her daughters, either in their own home, or at the seaside, or among the mountains, wherever they chanced to be pa.s.sing the summer. The change and the happy renewal of old a.s.sociations did her good, and kept her interested in other matters than those which concerned her daily life and duties. Her friends did not allow her to forget them. Even Mrs Stone wrote frequently to her, though the writing of a letter cost her more labour than a day's housework did. One or other of Dr Everett's family wrote now and then, and so did the Austins. With Mrs Wainright the correspondence was constant.

"Come home to Thanksgiving," wrote that lady soon after the work of Fidelia's fourth year in the seminary had commenced. She had written the same thing every year, but Fidelia had never been able to accept the invitation. This year she had a great desire to accept it, for various reasons; so, though the journey was long, and the time she could give for the visit was short, she found herself in her friend's house on the eve of Thanksgiving Day; and among the many thousands who, throughout the land, had that day turned their faces homeward, few could have been welcomed more kindly than she.

Thanksgiving Day was kept in the town of C--much as it is kept everywhere throughout the country, in which there is so much over which a thankful people may rejoice. Everybody, except the anxious housekeepers who had dinner on their minds, was expected to go to church in the early part of the day, and join in thanksgiving with their neighbours. The Wainrights all went, and so did Fidelia. There were many people present. The service was simple and devout; the sermon was appropriate; and all things went as usual till it came to the singing of the thanksgiving anthem, and that went better than usual, because Fidelia joined in it, and put all her glad and thankful heart into her wonderful voice as she sang.

She even sang the "solo" which Mrs Wainright was expected to sing. But a whispered entreaty from her friend, which there was time neither to answer nor to refuse, gave the honour to Fidelia. Clear and full and sweet rose her voice, and filled the house, thrilling and satisfying all the listening hearts and ears with the melody, till the saintly old souls among them asked themselves whether even the heavenly music could be sweeter.

Some one sitting near the door rose when the other voices came in again, and walked up the aisle till he came to a point where, looking up, the choir in the gallery could be seen. There he stood till the anthem was ended, and then moved quietly away. He was a stranger, and no one took much notice of him at the moment, though some among them remembered him afterwards. Lucy Wainright noticed him, and spoke of it when she came home.

"It must have been some stranger. No one of our people would have done such a thing," said she.

"It must have been that he wanted to see where the voice came from,"

said her sister.

"I do not wonder," said their father. "Miss Marsh, how came you to take the place of honour to-day?"

"I don't know," said Fidelia.

Mrs Wainright laughed.

"I don't know either. I did not think of it a second before I spoke.

It was a risk, I acknowledge--or it would have been with any one but Fidelia."

"A risk! It might have caused a breakdown. She might have refused."

"No; I was sure of Fidelia!"

And while they went on talking the door-bell rang, and the maid brought in a card and gave it to Mrs Wainright.

"A stranger? Did he ask for me? I do not know the name. Jabez Ainsworth!"

Fidelia uttered an exclamation, holding out her hand for the card.

"I know him well. He is one of my oldest friends, though I have not seen him for years. Shall I go and see him?"