"God never would send you the darkness
If He knew you could bear the light;
But you would not cling to His guiding hand
If the way were always bright;
And you would not learn to walk by faith,
Could you always walk by sight."
There was a brief silence, during which Felicia watched her uncle with an expression of anxiety on her countenance. By-and-by he said—
"You make me ashamed of myself, Felicia; but you have taught me one lesson—that God is mindful of His own; and that He does guide and strengthen those who trust in Him."
He did not continue the conversation further; but Felicia's eyes had been opened to the change which was taking place in her uncle's views of this life and of things eternal. Truly, he was much altered, spiritually as well as physically. Better in health, he was far more cheerful, and no longer gave way to the violent temper which had been the terror of the household so long, and grew kinder and more considerate to his relations and friends. He now bore the affliction of his deformity with resignation, and thought of others instead of simply studying his own pleasure as he had once done. Everyone recognised whose influence it was that had brought about this happy change—everyone, that is, but Felicia herself, who was utterly unconscious that she had come as a God sent blessing to the lonely, melancholy invalid, to widen his sympathies and teach him that, not the circumstances of life, but a wayward faithless heart is the one barrier between man and God.
The little girl herself accepted the sweets of life now offered to her with a thankful, grateful heart; and we will leave her to grow from childhood into womanhood, in that "large room" where God has set her feet, rich in the affection of the households at the Vicarage and the Priory, and especially devoted to her grandfather and Uncle Guy, who still speak of her as their "little ditch flower"—the endearing name she loves to be called, which even Doris would not use by way of disparagement now.