hungry to hear all she could about her
mother. She began to understand how Richard Everidge, in the pride of
his manly beauty, could find it in his heart to envy the woman who day
and night kept close company with pain. Sometimes the shadows would lie
purple under the brilliant eyes, and the thin fingers be tightly
clenched in anguish, but the brave lips gave no sign. On such days
Pauline could only sit beside her in mute sorrow, or sing softly some
of the hymns she loved.

'It is terrible to see you suffer so, my lady!' she cried, one morning,
when, in the fulness of her strength, she had gone from the laughing
sunshine into the shadowed room, where every ray of light fell like a
blow upon the invalid's quivering nerves.

Tryphosa made answer with a smile.

'Not one stroke too much, dear child. It is my Father's hand upon the
_tribulum_. He never makes mistakes.'

One day she slipped away directly after breakfast. She wanted to be sure
of finding her alone.

It was one of the invalid's good days, and she greeted her with a bright
smile of welcome.

'My lady,' she began abruptly, 'do you think I have forgotten all about
my promise? I could not. It has haunted me through everything, and--I
gave myself to the King last night.'

Tryphosa's eyes glowed deep with pleasure.

'Thank God!' she exclaimed softly. Then she closed her eyes, and Pauline
knew from her moving lips that she was talking with the Lord.

She touched Pauline gently.

'I had to talk a little about the good news with Jesus. He is my nearest
neighbour, you know. And now, dear child, tell me all about it. What a
wonderfully simple thing it is! People talk so much about being a
Christian, when, after all, it is simply to be Christ's. We open the
door where He has knocked so long, and let Him in. We give ourselves
away to Jesus henceforth to live in Him, with Him, by Him, and for Him
for ever. Dear child, when you were giving, did you include your will?'

'My will?' echoed Pauline, startled.

'Why surely. The Christian is not to direct his Master.'

'But how do you mean, my lady?'

Tryphosa began to sing softly:--

'O, little bird, lie still
In thy low nest:
Thy part, to love My will:
My part--the rest.'

'That is His message to me. Yours will be different, for no two of His
children get the same training.'

'I suppose now life will be all duty,' said Pauline, with a sigh.

Tryphosa smiled.

'That is not the way