Nancy flushed, and muttered something that sounded like "with a keeper;" but her good sense approved of that which had offended her pride; and, after a short struggle with herself, she said, "Yes, yes, I'll never more enter the 'Chequers' without John, and that's next thing to saying that I'll never go there again. What's the second thing that you meant, Persis Franks?"
Persis lifted up her heart for a moment in supplication for wisdom before she ventured to reply. "I think that your next,—your best safeguard, Mrs. Sands, must be earnest, daily prayer to Him who alone can keep you,—or any of us, from falling. While we shun temptation, we must also watch and pray."
Nancy made no reply, and Persis, after a pause, went on. "I feel myself, Mrs. Sands, that I am no more able to stand firm without the help of God's Holy Spirit, than my babe is able to support himself without a parent's embracing arms. I come to God, just as a little child, for the daily grace which I need. I have no strength to hold him fast, but he will hold me fast, if—with all my weakness and sinfulness—I give myself up entirely to him."
Tears rose to Persis's eyes as she spoke, and tears were also glistening in those of Nancy. "Shun temptation,—watch and pray," she repeated, as if to impress the words on her memory; then, looking fixedly at Mrs. Franks, and speaking in the measured tone of one who has made up her mind, Nancy said, "I will never forget your advice. I believe that I shall one day bless you for it in heaven."
And from that time forth Nancy Sands was never seen at the "Chequers," and not a morning or evening passed without the voice of simple, earnest prayer arising from what had been once the home of the drunkard.
XXVIII.
A Search.
With all the speed which he had made, Ned Franks was scarcely in time to catch the train for London. The journey was without incident, and the village school-master ere long found himself in the centre of the noise, glare, heat, and bustle of the great city in the dog-days.
"Difficult navigation this," said the former sailor to himself, as he made his way across roads crowded almost to blockade. "I suppose it's because I'm not used to the thing; but I can't understand how children or old folks can manage this steering behind and before and between omnibuses, carts, cabs, and vans, dodging right under horses' noses, and all in the midst of such confusion and noise! I'd not bide in such a rackety place as this to be made Lord Mayor of London!"
Ned's first care was to visit the office of Messrs. Grant, Bold, & Co. He there obtained more precise information regarding the object of the advertisement in the Times. Mrs. Tabitha Turtle having died intestate, her little savings, amounting to something above two hundred pounds, would of course revert to her next of kin. She had had no brother, and but one sister, who, as the lawyer informed Ned Franks, had been married more than twenty years before to a man of the name of Peter Claymore; but whether Mrs. Claymore were living, or whether she had had any children, had not as yet been ascertained. No answer had been made from any quarter to repeated advertisements in the Times.