his visitor was gone, Bradly spent a few minutes alone in earnest
prayer and thanksgiving, and then, with a bright face, entered his cozy
kitchen, and drew his chair close to Jane's.

"Another little link," he said, "or, perhaps, one of the old ones made a
little stronger." She looked smilingly at him, but did not speak. Then
he told her of Lydia Philips's visit and conversation with himself.
"You see," he continued, "Lydia fully confirms poor Ned Taylor's story;
but then she brings us no nearer the bag. However, the Lord can find it
for us, or show us as there's something better for us than finding it,
if that be his will."

"True, Thomas," said his sister; "and now `the next thing' is for you to
see the vicar about Lydia Philips and her situation."

"Just so, dear Jane; I'll do so, if I'm spared to-morrow."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

ALL RIGHT.

Ernest Maltby was deeply interested in the account which Thomas Bradly
gave him of the work going on in the heart of Lydia Philips.

"This is the Lord's doing," he said, "and is marvellous in our eyes. I
am so glad that she came to you, Thomas; and equally so that you have
come to me about her, for I think I know of a situation that may suit
her nicely."

"Indeed, sir; I'm truly glad of that."

"Yes; I heard yesterday from our old friend Dr Prosser that he is
wanting to find just such a young woman as Lydia Philips to fill a place
which is now vacant, and the appointment to which is in his hands. I
will write to him about her at once, if Lydia is willing to go. Perhaps
you would be good enough to call at her house as you go by, and ask her
to step up and speak to me.--By the way, Thomas, have you heard anything
more about the bag since poor Taylor made his confession to you? I have
been so busy lately that I have quite forgotten to ask you."

"Nothing, sir, but Lydia's story; and that, as you see, merely confirms
poor Ned's account. We're fast now: the bag's been in London half a
year now, or thereabouts, if it hasn't been destroyed long ago; and, if
it's still in existence somewhere or other, we've nothing whatever to
show us where. I've not liked to trouble you any more about it, but
I've left no stone unturned. I got a friend of mine, the guard of one
of the trains, to inquire at the left-luggage office at Saint Pancras;
and I put an advertisement for a week together into the London papers,
offering five pounds reward to any one as'd bring the bag just as