of the bit of
woodland at the edge of which they had been sitting; wandering in and
out among the trees, and stooping now and then to pluck a flower or a
fern or to examine one; apparently too full of his thoughts to be
quiet. Eleanor heard him sometimes and watched him when she could; he
was very busy; she wished he I would give some of his thoughts to her.

"I thought you wanted rest, Mr. Rhys," she said boldly, when she got a
chance. "Please sit down here and take it, along with your other
refreshment."

He smiled and came immediately with a bunch of Myosotis in his hand,
which he threw into Eleanor's lap; and turning to her he repeated very
seriously his question.

"What is it, to be a servant of Jesus Christ?"

"I know very little," said Eleanor timidly. "I am only just beginning
to learn."

"You know the words bring for our refreshment only the meaning that we
attach to them--except so far as the Holy Spirit answering our prayers
and endeavours shews us new meaning and depth that we had not known
before."

"Of course--but I suppose I know very little. These words convey only
the mere fact to me."

"Let us weight the words. A servant is a follower. Christ said, 'If a
man serve me, let him _follow me_.'"

"Yes,--I know."

"A follower must know where his Master goes. How did Christ walk?"

"He went about doing good."

"He did; but mark, there are different ways of doing that. Get to the
root of the matter. The young man who kept all the commandments from
his youth, was not following Christ; and when it came to the pinch he
turned his back upon him."

"How then, Mr. Rhys? You mean heart-following?"

"That is what the Lord means. Look here--Paul says in the ninth
verse,--'Whom I serve _with my spirit_ in the gospel'--Following cannot
have a different end in view from that of the person followed. And what
was Christ's?--'My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to
finish his work.' Are we servants of Christ after that rule, Miss
Powle?"

The question had a singular intonation, as if the questioner were
charging it home upon himself. Yet Eleanor knew he could answer it in
the affirmative and that she could not; she sat silent without looking
up. The old contrast of character recurred to her, in spite of the fact
that her own had changed so much. She hung over the book, while her
companion half abstractedly repeated,

"'My meat is to do the will of him that sent me.'--That makes a way of
li