"But I understand from Mrs. Percivale," objected Miss Clare, "that the office is filled to your thorough satisfaction."
"Yes; the lady I have is an excellent teacher; but the engagement was only for a quarter."
"If you have no other reason for parting with her, I could not think of stepping into her place. It would be a great disappointment to her, and my want of openness with you would be the cause of it. If you should part with her for any other reason, I should be very glad to serve you again."
Judy tried to argue with her, but Miss Clare was immovable.
"Will you let me come and see you, then?" said Judy.
"With all my heart," she answered. "You had better come with Mrs.
Percivale, though, for it would not be easy for you to find the place."
We went up to the drawing-room to tea, passing through the study, and taking the gentlemen with us. Miss Clare played to us, and sang several songs,—the last a ballad of Schiller's, "The Pilgrim," setting forth the constant striving of the soul after something of which it never lays hold. The last verse of it I managed to remember. It was this:—
Thither, ah! no footpath bendeth;
Ah! the heaven above, so clear,
Never, earth to touch, descendeth;
And the There is never Here!"
"That is a beautiful song, and beautifully sung," said Mr. Blackstone; "but I am a little surprised at your choosing to sing it, for you cannot call it a Christian song."
"Don't you find St. Paul saying something very like it again and again?" Miss Clare returned with a smile, as if she perfectly knew what he objected to. "You find him striving, journeying, pressing on, reaching out to lay hold, but never having attained,—ever conscious of failure."