THE MOONSTONE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," &c. &c.

  SECOND PERIOD. THE DISCOVERY OF THE
              TRUTH. (1848-1849.)

            CHAPTER IV. (CONTINUED).

I OCCUPIED the parlour floor, at that period
of my residence in London. The front parlour
was my sitting-room. Very small, very low in
the ceiling, very poorly furnished—but, oh, so
neat! I looked into the passage to see which
of Lady Verinder's servants had asked for me.
It was the young footman, Samuel—a civil
fresh-coloured person, with a teachable look
and a very obliging manner. I had always felt
a spiritual interest in Samuel, and a wish to
try him with a few serious words. On this
occasion, I invited him into my sitting-room.

He came in, with a large parcel under his
arm. When he put the parcel down, it
appeared to frighten him. "My lady's love,
Miss; and I was to say that you would find a
letter inside." Having given that message, the
fresh-coloured young footman surprised me by
looking as if he would have liked to run away.

I detained him to make a few kind inquiries.
Could I see my aunt, if I called in Montagu
Square? No: she had gone out for a drive.
Miss Rachel had gone with her, and Mr. Ablewhite
had taken a seat in the carriage too.
Knowing how sadly dear Mr. Godfrey's charitable
work was in arrear, I thought it odd
that he should be going out driving, like
an idle man. I stopped Samuel at the door,
and made a few more kind inquiries. Miss
Rachel was going to a ball that night, and
Mr. Ablewhite had arranged to come to coffee,
and go with her. There was a morning
concert advertised for to-morrow, and Samuel
was ordered to take places for a large party,
including a place for Mr. Ablewhite. "All the
tickets may be gone, Miss," said this innocent
youth, "if I don't run and get them at once!"
He ran as he said the words—and I found
myself alone again, with some anxious thoughts to
occupy me.

We had a special meeting of the Mothers'
Small-Clothes-Conversion Society, that night,
summoned expressly with a view to obtaining
Mr. Godfrey's advice and assistance. Instead
of sustaining our sisterhood, under an
overwhelming flow of trousers which had quite
prostrated our little community, he had
arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square, and
to go to a ball afterwards! The afternoon of
the next day had been selected for the Festival
of the British-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-
Supervision-Society. Instead of being
present, the life and soul of that struggling
Institution, he had engaged to make one of a
party of worldlings at a morning concert! I
asked myself, What did it mean? Alas! it
meant that our Christian Hero was to reveal
himself to me in a new character, and to become
associated in my mind with one of the most
awful backslidings of modern times.

To return, however, to the history of the
passing day. On finding myself alone in my
room, I naturally turned my attention to the
parcel which appeared to have so strangely
intimidated the fresh-coloured young footman.
Had my aunt sent me my promised legacy? and
had it taken the form of cast-off clothes, or
worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable jewelry,
or anything of that sort? Prepared to accept
all, and to resent nothing, I opened the parcel—
and what met my view? The twelve precious
publications which I had scattered through the
house, on the previous day; all returned to
me by the doctor's orders! Well might the
youthful Samuel shrink when he brought his
parcel into my room! Well might he fly
when he had performed his miserable errand!
As to my aunt's letter, it simply amounted,
poor soul, to this—that she dare not disobey
her medical man.

What was to be done now? With my training
and my principles, I never had a moment's
doubt.

Once self-supported by conscience, once
embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, the
true Christian never yields. Neither public nor
private influences produce the slightest effect
on us, when we have once got our mission.
Taxation may be the consequence of a mission;
riots may be the consequence of a mission;
wars may be the consequence of a mission:
we go on with our work, irrespective of every
human consideration which moves the world
outside us. We are above reason; we are
beyond ridicule; we see with nobody's eyes,
we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with
nobody's hearts but our own. Glorious, glorious
privilege! And how is it earned? Ah, my