consult with me about the appointment of a
new guardian. One of those events has happened
today; and I find myself in a position to end
all these dry business details, I hope agreeably,
with a message from my wife. Will you
honour Mrs. Bruff by becoming her guest?
And will you remain under my roof, and be one
of my family, until we wise people have laid
our heads together, and have settled what is to
be done next?"

At those words, I rose to interfere. Mr. Bruff
had done exactly what I had dreaded he would
do, when he asked Mrs. Ablewhite for Rachel's
bonnet and shawl.

Before I could interpose a word, Rachel had
accepted his invitation in the warmest terms.
If I suffered the arrangement thus made
between them to be carried out—if she once
passed the threshold of Mr. Bruff's door—
farewell to the fondest hope of my life, the hope of
bringing my lost sheep back to the fold! The
bare idea of such a calamity as this quite
overwhelmed me. I cast the miserable trammels of
worldly discretion to the winds, and spoke with
the fervour that filled me, in the words that
came first.

"Stop!" I said—"stop! I must be heard.
Mr. Bruff! you are not related to her, and I am.
I invite her—I summon the executors to appoint
me guardian. Rachel, dearest Rachel, I offer
you my modest home; come to London by the
next train, love, and share it with me!"

Mr. Bruff said nothing. Rachel looked at
me with a cruel astonishment which she made
no effort to conceal.

"You are very kind, Drusilla," she said. "I
shall hope to visit you whenever I happen to be
in London. But I have accepted Mr. Bruff's
invitation, and I think it will be best, for the
present, if I remain under Mr. Bruff's care."

"Oh, don't say so!" I pleaded. "I can't
part with you, Rachel,—I can't part with
you!"

I tried to fold her in my arms. But she
drew back. My fervour did not communicate
itself; it only alarmed her.

"Surely," she said, "this is a very unnecessary
display of agitation? I don't understand
it."

"No more do I," said Mr. Bruff.

Their hardness—their hideous, worldly
hardness—revolted me.

"Oh, Rachel! Rachel!" I burst out.
"Haven't you seen yet, that my heart yearns to
make a Christian of you? Has no inner voice
told you that I am trying to do for you, what I
was trying to do for your dear mother when
death snatched her out of my hands?"

Rachel advanced a step nearer, and looked at
me very strangely.

"I don't understand your reference to my
mother," she said. "Miss Clack, will you have
the goodness to explain yourself?"

Before I could answer, Mr. Bruff came
forward, and offering his arm to Rachel, tried
to lead her out of the room.

"You had better not pursue the subject, my
dear," he said. "And Miss Clack had better
not explain herself."

If I had been a stock or a stone, such an
interference as this must have roused me into
testifying to the truth. I put Mr. Bruff aside
indignantly with my own hand, and, in solemn
and suitable language, I stated the view with
which sound doctrine does not scruple to
regard the awful calamity of dying unprepared.

Rachel started back from me—I blush to
write it—with a scream of horror.

"Come away!" she said to Mr. Bruff.
"Come away, for God's sake, before that
woman can say any more! Oh, think of my
poor mother's harmless, useful, beautiful life!
You were at the funeral, Mr. Bruff; you saw
how everybody loved her; you saw the poor
helpless people crying at her grave over the
loss of their best friend. And that wretch
stands there, and tries to make me doubt that
my mother, who was an angel on earth, is an
angel in Heaven now! Don't stop to talk about
it! Come away! It stifles me to breathe the
same air with her! It frightens me to feel
that we are in the same room together!"

Deaf to all remonstrance, she ran to the
door.

At the same moment, her maid entered with
her bonnet and shawl. She huddled them on
anyhow. "Pack my things," she said, "and
bring them to Mr. Bruff's." I attempted to
approach her—I was shocked and grieved, but,
it is needless to say, not offended. I only
wished to say to her, "May your hard heart be
softened! I freely forgive you!" She pulled
down her veil, and tore her shawl away from
my hand, and, hurrying out, shut the door in
my face. I bore the insult with my customary
fortitude. I remember it now with my
customary superiority to all feeling of offence.

Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery
for me, before he too hurried out, in his
turn.

"You had better not have explained yourself,
Miss Clack," he said, and bowed, and left the
room.

The person with the cap-ribbons followed.

"It's easy to see who has set them all by
the ears together," she said. "I'm only a
poor servant—but I declare I'm ashamed of
you!" She too went out, and banged the
door after her.

I was left alone in the room. Reviled by
them all, deserted by them all, I was left alone
in the room.

Is there more to be added to this plain statement
of facts—to this touching picture of a
Christian persecuted by the world? No! my
diary reminds me that one more of the many
chequered chapters in my life, ends here.
From that day forth, I never saw Rachel Verinder
again. She had my forgiveness at the time
when she insulted me. She has had my prayerful
good wishes ever since. And when I die—
to complete the return on my part of good for