I MUST touch but briefly upon the few years which followed my encounter with my old friend Mr. Harbury in that quiet building in Worcester. My dear young mistress (I scarcely think I ought to call her young now; but I have grown so accustomed to the term, that you will forgive me) no longer resided in the old, respectable-looking house in Berkeley Street. Acting upon the suggestion of some of her friends, Kate had, three or four years before the time to which I must now refer, opened a day-school not far from the Priory.
Quite a year before this, Mrs. Monkton's daughters, now developed into well-bred and fairly educated young ladies, had been sent to the Continent, in order to acquire that perfection of accent in continental languages which can be attained only by intercourse in foreign society. But if they were gone, there were other pupils to take their places under Kate's care.
A sister of Mr. Monkton, residing in the vicinity, hearing of the plan, at once declared that Kate should have all her children-four in number-on the condition that Miss Grahame should effect as great an improvement in mind and manners in them as she had seen produced in such willful, pleasure-loving little ladies as her three nieces had formerly been. And Kate had blushingly promised to do her best. Only six eager little faces looked into the countenance of the "new mistress" upon the first morning of Kate's school responsibilities; but the earnestness with which she addressed that little party, at the close of the morning chapter, showed what a precious charge she thought each little one to be.
And as the lessons over Kate drew me out of her pocket, and thought of her own incompetency to fulfill her new duties, unless continually guided and kept by her loving Lord, she softly repeated to herself, "Yes, He will be with me in this new path. As long as time lasts, He will be with me, as He was with her."
Only a few moments later, and one of the little group stepped forward and asked permission to replace Kate's Bible upon the bookshelf; and in doing so a faded sprig of mignonette fell upon the table. Lovingly, tenderly, was the faded blossom restored to the leaves between which it had lain for so long a period, and the remembrance of precious words spoken at the time when it had been placed in her hands by the beloved departed one retained a hallowed influence over Kate throughout that memorable day.
Kate's school soon prospered. There was no need now for the household duties to fall upon her shoulders; for a neat-looking young woman of robust appearance, who might generally be seen actively engaged in the comfortable kitchen, appeared quite competent to do all that was necessary for the comfort of that small household.
And Carrie, Maude, Sydney? you will ask, what of them? Ah! Maude's once bright face now lay beneath the sod close to her mother's side. Only a short but rapid decline, following a cold, which had seemed, as she herself expressed it, of “very little consequence." But short as those few days of illness had seemed to the loving ones who gathered round the young girl's death-bed, they were long enough to test the reality of the faith of that young girl in Him who had died for her sins, and who rose again for her justification. Ah! Maude's early death cast, indeed, another shadow over the Grahame family; but He who sent the sorrow knew how to fill their aching hearts with the sense of His own love.
Carrie was still very happy in the same occupation, though not in the same spot where we last saw her. Gerald's wife had earnestly solicited that Carrie should take up her residence with them for a time, and look out for an engagement in the town of Swindon. In this she had been successful; and very pleasant it was for her to know that a kind, loving welcome always awaited her at her brother's dwelling. Gerald's children, too, soon learned to look forward to the days when aunt Carrie might be expected to pay a visit to them, and very merry were the shouts of greeting always awaiting her arrival.
Another visitor had also been entertained in Gerald's home during the summer of the preceding year. The visitor was a tall, fine-looking man, whose features bore a strong resemblance to those of his generous host; but a look of sadness upon his countenance, even when lit up with a smile at some of Gerald's playful sallies as to his "Americanisms," could not but impress a stranger with the thought that the remembrance of some sad page of life's history was seldom absent from his mind.
Yes, it was Herbert! Very much had he to tell of the long, long years of exile in the New World, during which his heart yearned with an intense craving for another look at the dear, familiar faces. Gaining leave of absence from the government works, with which he had now been connected for seven years, with a full heart he had set sail for the dearly-loved shores of old England. Mr. Grahame, Kate, Carrie and Sydney had all met together at Gerald's home, the first time of a family re-union since Mrs. Grahame's death.
Yes! They had met once more; but not as in the days of old. Two loved ones were absent. And Herbert, big, strong Herbert, leaned his head on his hands and sobbed like a child, when Kate, with her arm round his sun burnt neck, told him of his mother's dying message.
“She thought of me almost to the last then?" Herbert asked of his gentle sister.
“Yes; almost with her dying breath, your name was upon her lips, Herbert," Kate had replied.
“Ah! Kate," he had said in a tone that went to her heart, “Only God knows what remorse have suffered for those days. But He is merciful, and full of compassion. And as a poor lost sinner I have cast myself at the Savior's feet, and have heard Him say, 'Thy sins be forgiven thee.’"
The days of his brief visit were, however, over, and after his return to America letters of a more hopeful tone had found their way more frequently than before to the various dwellings of his sisters and brother.
The pleasant home at Elmtree, in Surrey, now owned a little fair-haired girl of nine years old, whose merry laugh and childish mirth only made it pleasanter still. For Kate had had many a romp with her little namesake in the dear old garden, and many a kiss had "auntie Kate" had from the cherry lips behind the garden seat.
With pleased eyes Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth would look on, and the fond mother would sometimes lean forward and whisper in Kate's ears, "Why don't you come and live with your little sister, darling?" And Kate would look up with a sunny smile and answer, "When my work is done, dear Madame; but I don't see the end of it yet."