service even here, whether active or passive, veritably golden, the fruit unto holiness, the end everlasting life.
Perhaps it was the cluster of young faces that led the preacher thus to speak, and as he went on, he must have met the earnest and responsive eyes that are sure to animate a speaker, and the power and beauty of his words struck every one. To the Evelyns it was a new and beautiful allegory on a familiar idea. Janet was divided between discomfort at allusions reminding her of her secret, and on criticisms of the description of alchemy. Her mother's heart beat as if she were hearing an echo of her husband's thoughts about his Magnum Bonum. Little Armine was thrilled as, in the awe of drawing near to his first Communion, this golden thread of life was put into his hand. But it was Jock to whom that discourse came like a beam of light into a dark place. When upon the dreary vista of dull abnegation on which he had been dwelling for a month past, came this vision of the beauty, activity, victory, and glory of true manhood, as something attainable, his whole soul swelled and expanded with joyful enthusiasm. The future that he had embraced as lead had become changed to gold! Thus the whole ensuing service was to him a continuation of that blessed hopeful dedication of himself and all his powers. It was as if from being a monk, he had become a Red Cross Knight of the Hospital. Yet, after his soiled, spoiled, reckless boyhood, how could that grand manhood be attained?
Later in the afternoon, when the denizens of the hotel had gone their several ways, some to look and listen at Benediction in the Convent church, some to climb through the pine-woods to the Alp, some to saunter and rest among the nearer trees, the clergyman, with his Greek Testament in his hand, was sitting on a seat under one of the trees, enjoying the calm of one of his few restful Sundays; when he heard a movement, and beheld the pale thin lad, who still walked so lame, who had been so silent at the table d'hote, and whose dark eyes had looked up with such intensity of interest, that he had more than once spoken to them.
'You are tired,' said the clergyman, kindly making room for him.
'Thanks,' said the boy, mechanically moving forward, but then pausing as he leant on his stick, and his eyes suddenly dimmed with tears as he said, 'Oh, sir, if you would only tell me how to begin-'
'Begin what?' said the old man, holding out his hand.
'To turn it to gold,' said Jock. 'Can I, after being the mad fool I've been?'
They talked for more than an hour; even till Dr. Medlicott, coming down from the Alp, laid his hand on Jock's shoulder, and told him the evening chill was coming, and he must sit still no longer. And when the boy looked up, the restless weary distress of his face was gone.
Jock never saw that old clergyman again, nor heard of him, unless it were his death that he read of in the paper six months later. But he never heard the name of Engelberg without an echo of the parting benediction, and feeling that to him it had indeed been an Angel mountain.
This had been a happy day to several others. Cecil, after ten minutes with his mother, which filled her with hope and thankfulness, had gone to show his sister the charms of the place, and Armine and Babie, on a sheltered seat, were free to pour out their hearts to one another, ranging from the heights of pure childish wisdom to its depths of blissful ignorance and playful folly, as they talked over the past and the future.
Armine knew there was no chance of an immediate and entire recovery for him, and this was a severe stroke to Babie, who was quite unprepared. And, as her face began to draw up with tears near the surface, he hugged her close, and consolingly whispered that now they would be together always, he should not have to go away from his own dear Babie Bunting, and there was a little kissing match, ending by Babie saying, disconsolately, 'But you did like Eton so, and you were going to get the Newcastle and the Prince Consort's prize, and to be in the eleven and all-and you were so sure of a high remove! Oh, dear!' and she let her head drop on his shoulder, and was almost crying again.
'Don't, don't, Babie! or you'll make me as bad again,' said Armine. 'It does come over me now and then, and I wish I had never known what it was to be strong and jolly, and to expect to do all sorts of things.'
'I shall always be wishing it,' said Babie.
'No, you are not to cry! You would be more sorry if I was dead, and not here at all, Babie; and you have got to thank God for that.'
'I do-I have! I've done it ever since we got Johnny's dreadful letter. Oh, yes, Armine, I'll try not to mind, for perhaps if we aren't thankful, I mayn't keep you at all,' said poor Babie, with her arms round her treasure. 'But are you quite sure, Armine? Couldn't Dr. Lucas get you quite well? You see this Dr. Medlicott is very young,' added the small maiden sapiently.
'Young doctors are all the go. Dr. Lucas said so when mother wrote to ask if she had better bring me home for advice,' said Armine. 'He knows all about Dr. Medlicott, and said he was first-rate, and they've been writing to each other about me. The doctor stethoscoped me all over, and then he did a map of my lungs, Cecil said, to send in his letter.'
'Oh!' gasped Babie, 'didn't it frighten you?'
'I wanted to know, for I saw mother was in a way. She did talk and whisk about so fast, and made such a fuss, that I thought I must be much worse than I knew. So I told Dr. Medlicott I wished he would tell me right out if I was going to die, in time to see you, and then I shouldn't mind. So he said not now, and he thought I should get over it in the end, but that most likely I should have a long time, years perhaps, of being very careful. And when I asked if I should be able to go back to Eton, he said he hardly expected it; and that he believed it was kinder to let me know at once than let me be straining and hoping on.'
'Was it?' said Babie.
'I thought not,' said Armine, 'when I shut my eyes and the playing- fields and the trees and the river stood up before me. I thought if I could have hoped ever so little, it would have been nice. And then to think of never being able to run, or row, or stay out late, and always to be bothering about one's stockings and wraps, and making a miserable muff of oneself just to keep in a bit of uncomfortable life, and being a nuisance to everybody.'
Babie fairly shrieked and sobbed her protest that he could never be a nuisance to her or mother.
'You are Babie, and mother is mother, I know that; but it did seem such a long burthen and bore, and when-oh, Babie-don't you know-'
'How we always thought you would go on and be something great, and do something great, like Bishop Selwyn, or like that Mr. Denison that Miss Ogilvie has a book about,' said Babie. 'But you will get well and do it when you are a man, Armie! Didn't you think about it when you heard all about the golden life in the sermon to-day? I thought, 'That's going to be Armie's life,' and I looked at you, but you were looking down. Were you thinking how it was all spoilt, Armie, poor dear Armie. For perhaps it isn't.'
'No, I know nobody can spoil it but myself,' said Armine. 'And you know he said that one might make weakliness and sickness just as golden, by that great Love, as being up and doing. I was going to tell you, Babie, I was horridly wretched and dismal one day at Leukerbad when I thought mother and all were out of the way-gone out driving, I believe-and then Fordham came in. He had stayed in, I do believe, on purpose--'
'But, but,' said Babie, not so much impressed as her brother wished; 'isn't he rather a spoon? Johnny said he ought to have been a girl.'
'I didn't think Johnny was such a stupid,' said Armine, 'I only know he has been no end of a comfort to me, though he says he only wants to hinder me from getting like him.'
'Don't then,' said Babie, 'though I don't understand. I thought you were so fond of him.'
'So must you be,' said Armine; 'I never got on with anybody so well. He knows just how it is! He says if God gives one such a life, He will help one to find out the way to make the best of it for oneself and other people, and to bear to see other people doing what one can't, and we are to help one another. Oh, Babie! you must like Fordham!'
'I must if you do!' said Babie. 'But he is awfully old for a friend for you, Armie.'
'He is nineteen,' said Armine, 'but people get more and more of the same age as they grow older. And he likes all our books, and more too, Babie. He had such a delicious book of French letters, that he lent me, with things in them that were just what I wanted. If we are to be abroad all the winter, he will get his mother to go wherever we do. Suppose we went to the Holy Land, Babie!'
'Oh! then we could find Jotapata! Oh, no,' she added, humbly, 'I promised Miss Ogilvie not to talk of Jotapata on a Sunday.'
'And going to the Holy Land only to look for it would be much the same thing,' said Armine. 'Besides, I expect it is up among the Druses, where one can't go.'
'Armie,' in the tone of a great confession, 'I've told Sydney all about it. Have you told Lord Fordham?'
'No,' said Armine, who was less exclusively devoted to the great romance. 'I wonder whether he would read
