A servant with candles opened the parlor door for them. The rector was sitting in the fire-light, and Phyllis softly playing and singing at the piano. She looked up with a smile in her eyes, and finished her hymn. The four lines seemed like a voice from heaven to the anxious father and sister:
“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.”
“Sing them words again, Phyllis, dearie,” said the squire, and as she did so he let them sink into his heart and fill all its restless chambers with confidence and peace.
CHAPTER IV.
“Stir the deep wells of life that flow within you,
Touched by God’s genial hand;
And let the chastened sure ambition win you
To serve his high command.
“And mighty love embracing all things human
In one all-fathering name,
Stamping God’s seal on trivial things and common,
With consecrated aim.”
As the weeks went on the squire’s confidence insensibly grew. He met Lord Eltham one day when he was out riding, and they did not quarrel. On the contrary, Eltham was so conciliating, so patient, and so confidently hopeful, that it was almost impossible for Hallam not to be in some measure influenced by him.
“I’m quite sure t’ young fellows will succeed,” he said, “and if there’s more ‘an one son i’ a family thou may take my word for it it’s a varry comfortable thing to hev more ‘an one living for ‘em.”
“And if they spoil t’ horn instead o’ making t’ spoon, what then, Eltham?”