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when she recurred to the labours of love which Geraldine and she had shared in common; the gracious and Christian courtesy which had omitted no distasteful social claim toward those of their own rank, or dearer yet, the hours spent amid the poor and sick, when owing to the duties which devolved upon them during a prolonged absence of Lilian, they had been frequently obliged to spend a long bright afternoon in opposite directions. Mabel seemed still to feel in all their freshness the despondency with which she had parted from Geraldine on such occasions, and the earnest effort to concentrate her mind upon the work in hand, followed by a delightful sense of oneness in the task which occupied them both, as though they were more truly united than they could have been had an affection selfish, and in consequence unhallowed, kept them side by side. Most vividly of all could she yet feel the thrill of joy with which, their duties ended, they met in the church at evensong, there to anticipate a foretaste of the rest awaiting them when all earth's trials should have ceased. Mabel's eyes filled with tears as the thought forced itself upon her that an union in that faith which flows forth toward mankind in deeds of charity, must soon be the one only link on which their mutual affection could depend, and inwardly she thanked GOD that it was indissoluble.

Engrossed as she was in her reflections, Mabel had not noted the lateness of the hour, but now she suddenly remembered that when they had parted after evensong, Geraldine had remarked that an old fellowstudent of her uncle might perhaps arrive that evening by the steamer from Penzance, in which case she could not absent herself from home, so if she did not reach the vicarage at six o'clock, Mabel was to join the group at Content. It was already past the hour, and Mabel was about to call a servant to attend her on her walk, when a familiar ring caused her to dart impetuously into the hall, unmindful of the maid who had promptly answered the summons, but who stood aside with a look of amusement, and respectfully ceded the office which it seemed such a delight to her young mistress to assume.

"Has Mr. Wilson come ?" the latter asked, as she removed Geraldine's hat and cloak. "What a good-natured old gentleman to spare you to me, but perhaps I give him undue credit, for he may have wished to discuss college freaks with Dr. Lawson."

"No; he has not arrived," was Geraldine's reply; "my uncle had instead a note to say the visit so anticipated by both friends must be postponed indefinitely. There was another letter, dearest," she added,

passing her arm round Mabel's neck as they entered the drawing-room. "I have just heard again from Ernest, precious child."

The tone rather than the words conveyed Geraldine's meaning; Mabel did not reply, but her lip quivered, and her hand grew damp and cold in the warm clasp which held it so protectingly.

"You had rather be told everything at once, my darling, had you not ?" asked Geraldine with tenderness. "The time is very much

nearer than we supposed."

Mabel looked up, and there was perfect quiet in her manner as she answered, "Yes, do not keep anything from me, I will try to bear it all."

Geraldine saw the truest kindness would be to shorten suspense, and though her own voice shook, she hastily continued,

"Ernest writes that if I sail from Liverpool upon the fifth of November, he can so arrange his duties as to meet me at Bombay, and take personal charge of me during the long journey to the interior. Later this could not be, because the Missionary priest who can now take his place is about to be transferred to a remote hill station. Ernest adds that our little bungalow is now in perfect order, and that he shall count the hours until his sister's presence shall convert it from a foreign resting place into a home."

"And you have always meant to spend three weeks in London before sailing," pursued Mabel in a sad but very gentle tone, "now there is scarcely so much time in all; how shall you manage? you leave Hugh Town immediately ?"

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"No, dear, for the remainder of my outfit can be made ready at a short notice, and conveyed to the house of a relative. Then as regards the farewell visits, there is only one that is essential in these altered circumstances."

"Then you remain here till the last ?" asked Mabel, and she breathed more freely, quite forgetting at the moment the loss of two months of Geraldine's companionship, so great was her relief on finding that the dreaded separation was not to take place within the next twenty-four hours.

"Yes," replied Geraldine, " we shall not leave Hugh Town until the twenty-eighth, which will allow sufficient time for business claims, and for the single visit to which I alluded. Other dear friends whom I had hoped to bid farewell will understand that my first thought must. now be for Aunt Isabel and Uncle Edward."

"Ought I to take you from them ?-shall we both return now for the evening to Content ?" asked Mabel hurriedly. "Geraldine, I am very selfish, for the idea did not cross my mind before."

"They will not be expecting us," said Geraldine, "only after tonight we will as far as possible arrange to be with them rather than at the Vicarage. Dear child, they feel this parting from me deeply, but on reading Ernest's letter, you seemed the chief object of their sympathy."

Mabel was touched by this assurance, and with all the native ardour of her character exclaimed, "They have been kind and generous from the very first in sparing you to me so constantly: during these last few days I shall not trespass on their goodness, for it is only natural they should wish to keep undisturbed possession of you."

"Nothing could be further from their desire," said Geraldine, "for I believe we are inseparably connected in their thoughts. All for which they are likely to care will be a knowledge that we are in the same house, so, as I said before, we will arrange to be together at Content rather than here; and in our daily walks we will contrive to to make a farewell call at every cottage in the parish."

"But your own personal preparations, in what stage are they?" inquired Mabel, "is there nothing I can do to further them ?"

"Much, doubtless, and I will freely apply to you for help, my darling. There is less to do however than you might suppose. My papers, for example, are in perfect order, since for a year past I have not let them needlessly accumulate. Then too my various receptacles have been already overlooked, and their contents carefully classified. A wandering life has taught me that this sorting process rather than the actual packing, is the real fatigue which travelling involves."

"But we have been always together, and I have not seen you so engaged," said Mabel with surprise.

"I did not wish to forestall pain for you, dear child, and therefore by occasional early rising managed to accomplish what was needful to avoid encroachment on our leisure, in case Ernest's summons should prove to be hasty."

"You would not let me assist," observed Mabel reproachfully, as though Geraldine had debarred her from some rightful privilege.

"I wished your energies to remain fresh," was the playful yet fond reply, "because I have designs upon you for a vast amount of labour after my departure. I shall not of course require the warmer portion

of my wardrobe in a tropical climate, and you will find a large press filled with clothing which I should like you, at your leisure, to convert into garments for the poor of the parish. There is a soft grey cashmere which I hope you may be able to adapt to old Dame Rivers. You will find also a dress and cloak of shepherd's tartan, which will I am sure make a pretty outfit for the little daughters of our boatman Dawes, and there are other smaller articles which will be useful to children and invalids. Do not feel hurried, or overtask yourself, only whatever you can manage to have ready at Christmas, please distribute at that time with my best love,—and, darling, do not look so downcast; who knows that you may not end your days as a Sister of Mercy in our Indian Mission ?"

“No,” replied Mabel, sadly, but decidedly; "my path seems no less plainly marked by Providence than does your own, and without such direct leading as has been vouchsafed to you, I should not think it right to desert England in her great and pressing need. Geraldine, dearest, Uncle Harland is seeking to train and fit me for the work of a Sister of Mercy, that I may minister to the suffering poor in our own land. Do not let my love for you tempt me to desert the post GOD has assigned to me."

She spoke almost imploringly, conscious of her own weakness, but Geraldine's reply brought only soothing and calm, as she gently said they would both seek to conform their own will to a higher, because that in so doing they would be one in the love of CHRIST, one in His faith, and in the Sacraments, and perfect union of His holy Church.

"And our work here will soon be ended," observed Mabel wearily, for at that moment hope and energy were at their lowest ebb, and fervid aspirations were merged in the one absorbing wish for rest which is to most of us at times an actual craving.

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"Yes," replied Geraldine, "perhaps far sooner than we now imagine, and in any case one knows the end is near. But Ernest told me once that while thoughts of death and eternity should bring us peace, yet we must not forget that an inordinate desire to quit this world of trial would be selfishness for the Christian so long as there is a single human being left in it to whom we may hold out a helping hand."

"Yes; not to think first of one's own salvation, but to live for others, that is the lesson I most wish to learn," said Mabel earnestly.

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"And GoD will teach it you, I doubt not," answered Geraldine, "only I often fancy that the privilege is granted us at the cost of severe preparatory discipline. Experience in suffering is as the pure gold of the treasury of consolation. We cling when in trouble to those who have borne like trials with ourselves, and the same feeling is the very groundwork of our trust and confidence in our Redeemer's sympathy."

'Yes, you are right, I know," said Mabel, "for I have heard Uncle Harland express nearly the same thought."

"Now, Mabel, one word more," said Geraldine with hesitation, "try not to turn away from those who wish to comfort you,—that is, I think, a great temptation, at least it has proved such to myself. Let others talk to you upon the subject nearest your heart, even although it should increase your pain. Accept with gratitude the innocent amusements which will be devised to cheer your loneliness, and let your friends enjoy the privilege of soothing you, as you aspire one day to minister to them. Remember, dearest, that such offices of love must be reciprocal. We have no right to tender sympathy which we should be unwilling to receive."

Mabel raised her eyes with a simple, almost wondering expression, as she answered,

"I am not likely to do wrong in that way, Geraldine, for I have never been able to bear troubles alone. Besides," and the sweet voice became deeply reverent, "you know our blessed LORD yearned for the sympathy which was denied Him, and that recollection must keep one from ever wilfully rejecting it, though in fact one feels kindness an unspeakable comfort and help."

Geraldine smiled at her own exhortations, as she realised how little coldness and reserve had place in Mabel's simple, child-like heart.

CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION.

It was the anniversary of S. Simon and S. Jude, one of those gentle festivals which we must love were it only for the endearing way in which two saintly names are linked for ever in the Church's calendar, two hallowed memories inseparably blended in her yearly offering of praise and thanksgiving. There was a spring-like tenderness in the serene and mellow autumn day; the sun was often hidden, but when visible his rays glittered among the tree-tops in transparent light, and

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