After a sleepless, wretched night, poor Miriam rose before daybreak, and wrote a letter to her brother. A very touching letter it was, and blotted with her tears. There was not a word of reproach in it, but much sorrow and more love, and gentle tender counsel, such as a pious mother might have given to her son. No stranger who might have chanced to see "Miriam in one of her tempers," would have believed that that girl with flashing dark eyes and unbridled tongue could ever have written such a letter.
With sickening suspense Miriam awaited her brother's reply. At that time her soul was almost constantly wrestling in prayer. Whether she were employed in dusting the room, or preparing the meal by the kitchen fire, or at the wash-tub, Miriam was silently lifting up her heart in an agony of entreaty for her twin brother.
The answer to her letter came before long. Miriam's heart was in a flutter as she tore the envelope open, then she could scarcely read the lines before her, because of the thankful tears which flowed before she had read the letter half through. Hamil was quite as much ashamed of his conduct as his sister had been, and the young soldier had the manliness to own it. He had been led away by evil company, he had not had the strength to resist the temptations which beset a man in barracks, but he promised to struggle against what he confessed to be his besetting weakness, a taste for ardent spirits. Hamil asked his sister to pray for him; he would, he wrote, follow her good advice, and "watch and pray" for himself. He trusted that he would never again give his darling Miriam cause to blush for her brother.
A great weight was lifted from the heart of Miriam; Hamil seemed dearer than ever. Again the sister could go on her way rejoicing in hope. To Miriam's great satisfaction, Hamil was soon afterwards removed to barracks in London.
Though her brother was now so much nearer to her, Miriam was but seldom able to see him. She was too upright a girl to spend on her own gratification without leave, the time which belonged to her mistress. Miriam was by far too honest and conscientious to entertain even a brother without her employer's knowledge, and still less at her employer's expense. Miriam was a Christian girl, and in this behaved like a Christian. An occasional meeting with Hamil on a Sunday afternoon, when they would walk to church together, was all that the sister could venture to expect, but this was enough to make her whole life brighter. Miriam looked forward through all the week to her happy hour upon Sunday.
Matters had thus gone on quietly for some little time, when the unfortunate affair of the silver knife occasioned the scene related in the first chapter. From childhood, Miriam had had a hot impatient temper, and though she had often regretted it, she had never striven against it with all her heart and soul, as against an enemy that was drawing her into serious sin. It was natural to her, Miriam would say, and this wretched excuse served in some measure to quiet her conscience.
Miriam saw other people selfish and mean, dishonest and untruthful; she knew that her fellow-servant's standard of duty was very much lower than her own. Miriam did not realise that she, with all her scrupulous honesty and piety, was bringing disgrace on her religion by a temper quite unworthy of a follower of Him who was meek and lowly; nay, that her conduct was actually a stumbling-block in the way of Caroline, who almost dreaded and disliked, while she could not help in most things respecting her.
"It's all very fine Miriam's pretending to be better than other folk!" exclaimed Caroline, when Miriam, as has been related, left the kitchen to obey her mistress's call. "But her praying, her Bible-reading, and church-going, don't prevent her from flying out like a fury. I wouldn't have her temper for the world! For all her strict notions, I take it that I'm as much of a Christian as she!"
[CHAPTER III.]
In Peril.