CHAPTER LXXIII.

LOOKING at Ella's situation as we usually look at human life, it would seem but natural and reasonable to call it most calamitous and miserable. But it was not really so. Her trials and her occupations were just what she most needed. A state of selfindulgence and inactivity could never have effected the same good, nor could any claims but those of kindness and compassion have roused her into constant and untiring exertion.

There was much to be done now-almost more than Ella knew how to contemplate, still less to undertake. Deprived of a friend and adviser, by the calamity which had fallen upon Mr. Stevens, she begged an early interview with Mr. Cawthorne. This, however, could not be obtained until after the last duties were discharged towards his departed friend. With the money matters of the Stanley family he found quite enough to occupy every moment; and as Ella had been delicate and sparing in the detail of her own perplexities, he had no idea of one-half of the troubles which had fallen to her share. But Ella was already so changed, that she could wait patiently for her turn to be attended to. A short time ago she would have deemed it hard and cruel to be so left; she now saw that it was much better that the widow and the fatherless should claim the first place in the consideration of her friends. Her troubles could be borne. She did not find them even now too heavy to be borne with cheerfulness. She only wanted the counsel of some judicious adviser who understood more of money matters than herself, and this would come in time. So she sent for an efficient workwoman, and had all the little Stanleys put into deep mourning, consulting and contriving about all their new clothing herself,

and making frequent and efficient use both of needle and scissors with her own hand.

It would have been impossible to find a more busy woman in all that populous parish than Ella was from morning till night; so busy all day, that she slept through the night as soundly as any of the little visitors for whose benefit her hands were so constantly employed. With all this Ella did not martyr herself. She did not in the slightest degree injure her own health. In fact, she knew perfectly well that there was no member of her household who could attend upon her, without neglecting some other charge, so she took her food, and slept on her small couch in the library, which was now converted into a temporary bedroom, with as much heroism as some ladies practise, when they keep everybody near them in a state of anxiety and terror, by the reckless manner in which they throw away their own health and strength, and consequently deprive themselves of all capability of being useful to others.

It was surprising how well Ella kept herself, and how soundly she slept for there is nothing like a wholesome and useful bodily fatigue for ensuring a good night's rest. To have done, through the day, as much as could be done in the way of duty, and to have done it willingly and well, is the way to make the sweetest, softest pillow on which a tired head can rest. There are no tossings, no disquietudes there. Seldom are there ugly dreams, or dreams too beautiful, which are worse. This kind of rest, however, can only be secured by a proportionate exercise of all the faculties, bodily as well as mental. Self-martyrdom produces no rest like this. It is, for the most part, a very questionable kind of heroism; often the result of a virtue which looks for something more distinguished and more pleasant than being simply its own reward. We never yet knew a person in the habit of committing self-martyrdom, who was not a very uncomfortable person to be in any way associated with, and who did not, in the long run, make everybody who was compelled to be near them exceedingly ill-tempered and miserable.

The funeral of Mr. Stanley was conducted with great solemnity,

but in that old-fashioned manner which did not exclude the female members of the family from being present on the occasion. Ella took charge of such of the children as were present. The older ones had been permitted to look upon the face of the dead, and every pains had been taken to prepare their minds for understanding and profiting by this strange spectacle. Equal care had been exercised to prevent the impression from being one of terror only. A certain amount of awe, or fear, we cannot help thinking that every child would experience instinctively; but this sensation may be easily overcome by carrying off the attention into channels which, while they deepen the interest, render the subject more pleasant and more profitable to pursue.

On the afternoon of this solemn day, the afflicted mother requested that she might again have her children around her; and they were all brought back to the rectory. But the violent emotion which the sight of them occasioned, soon convinced her friends, that Ella must be solicited to resume her charge, with the exception of the youngest child, who was yet an infant, and consequently less likely to be affected by its mother's excessive grief.

Mr. Cawthorne requested a private interview with Ella on the following day. It was just what she wanted; for it afforded her an opportunity not only of relating all that had transpired with regard to her circumstances, but of consulting with him as to what would be the best course to pursue for the future.

Ella found her friend even more interested than she had expected. He rose from his seat, and paced backwards and forwards in the room, only sometimes stopping for a moment, and gazing earnestly upon her face. If she ceased speaking, he said hastily, "Go on;" and then resumed his walk. It did not seem to be altogether compassion for her losses and trials that Mr. Cawthorne was feeling. Ella fancied sometimes there was an expression of unwonted animation in his face; as when a worldly man first finds that his plans are beginning to bear upon a given point; or when a religious man begins to

see how things are working together for some long wished for

good.

"So you see," said Ella, winding up her long story, "that I, who have found so much pleasure, and perhaps a little pride, in helping others, am myself almost a beggar."

"No, no," said Mr. Cawthorne, "things are not so bad as that, either. You have still--"

"True," said Ella, "I do not wish to make my case out to be worse than it is, in order to excite compassion. I certainly have something yet; just enough to keep me from utter destitution; but look at those whom I have to provide for. It is this which startles-which alarms me."

"It is this," said her friend, "that I regard as the brightest and most hopeful feature in the whole case."

"How so? I do not understand you."

"Do you think you understand yourself yet, Ella?”

"I almost think I do."

"Well then, you must be aware, that nothing else than having others dependent upon you could make it to you at once a pleasure, and a duty, to rouse yourself from that lethargy of soul which might have swallowed up your whole existence, had these trials and privations never fallen to your lot."

"Ah! I see to some extent what you mean. I know it is good for me to have some one, or perhaps to have many, to care for; and I welcome the thought with real gratitude and joy; but, in the present instance, there is actual provision-sustenance-the support of daily life required; and that, you know, is not within the range of my capabilities."

"I am not so sure of that. I am not sure but that the loss of your property at this particular crisis is the very best thing that could have happened to you, and to us all."

"You do, indeed, speak strangely on this subject, and I must request you to explain yourself."

"And you will pardon me whatever I say?"

"Oh, yes; I am sure you can say nothing but what may be pardoned before it is spoken."

"Well then, Ella, if you had been still rich, you would have opened your doors, and your heart, to so many just now; in your present state of feeling, you would have made your money do so much; you would have brought such numbers within the sphere of your kindness and generosity; you would have acted so beautifully the part of the generous, the munificent lady; you would have emulated with such ardent zeal that good fairy in story books, who steps in at the crisis of calamity, and sets. all things right, making every body happier than they were before, that Ella, the great and good, would have been all in all; and Ella, the child of discipline and sorrow-Ella, the chastened of a Father's hand-Ella, the lowly minded Christian, pursuing her way in humble faith, would have been forgotten."

"Ah! if your words are really true, and they feel like truth, although they sound unwelcome, I do then, indeed, bless God for what has befallen, and thank him for the chastisement which is so necessary for me."

"And what then?"

"I am resigned."

"Ah! but there is something more than resignation required. Do you really trust God for the future?"

"I do in reality. But I confess I cannot see my way, nor how I am to meet the actual difficulties which stare me in the face."

"In these I may possibly assist you."

66 I pray you

do so;

for no one ever wanted your assistance

more than I do at this moment."

"Let me see. You have your mother, and Mr. Stevens dependent upon you for life."

'Of course. But I owed him money necessities, in all probability, ever will require." "And your other debts?"

"You already know some of them, too well."

more than his

“Ella, can you bear with me a moment, while I say one bitter word to you about these. Remember, you have been ill-long ill in spirit, dear Ella, and very ill too. I have been