urney; but you forget," and
here Bessie dropped her voice reverently, "that we don't journey alone,
any more than the children of Israel did in the wilderness. We also have
our pillar of cloud to lead us by day, and our pillar of fire by night
to give us light. Mother always said what a type of the Christian
pilgrimage the story of the Israelites is; she made us go through it all
with her, and I remember all she told me. Hark! I think I hear
footsteps outside the window; the servants are coming in from church."

"Wait a minute, Bessie, before you let them in. You have done me so much
good; you always do. I will try not to mope and vex mother and Christine
while you are away." And Hatty threw her arms penitently round her
sister's neck.

Bessie returned her kisses warmly, and left the room with a light heart.
Her Sunday evening had not been wasted if she had given the cup of cold
water in the form of tender sympathy to one of Christ's suffering little
ones.

Bessie felt her words were not thrown away when she saw Hatty's brave
efforts to be cheerful the next day, and how she refrained from sharp
speeches to Christine; she did not even give way when Bessie bade her
good-bye.

"You will remember our Sunday talk, Hatty, dear."

"I do remember it," with a quivering lip, "and I am trying to march,
Bessie."

"All right, darling, and I shall soon be back, and we can keep step
again. I will write you long letters, and bring you back some ferns and
primrose roots," and then Bessie waved her hand to them all, and jumped
in the brougham, for her father was going to take her to the station.

It must be confessed that Bessie felt a trifle dull when the train
moved off, and she left her father standing on the platform. With the
exception of short visits to her relatives, that were looked on in the
light of duties, she had never left home before. But this feeling soon
wore off, and a pleasant sense of exhilaration, not unmixed with
excitement followed, as the wide tracts of country opened before her
delighted eyes, green meadows and hedgerows steeped in the pure
sunlight. Bessie was to be met at the station by some friend of the
Seftons, as the country-bred girl knew little about London, and though a
short cab drive would deposit her at Charing Cross, it would be far
pleasanter for her to have an escort. Mrs. Sefton had suggested Mrs.
Sinclair, and Dr. Lambert had been much relieved by her thoughtfulness.

As the train drew u