But for a moment Mrs. Carlyle did not answer at all, and when she did she spoke slowly and hesitatingly. "I hardly know, dear, what to say. As she is at present, there is no actual need, and I am glad, for I don't know what we should do without you here. But, well, I feel I could not grudge her one—when I have so many, and she is so lonely. You could be such a comfort to her, Audrey."
Audrey's face grew white and hard. "Of course," she thought bitterly, "it was only for her to feel happy for life to seem jollier and more full of happy prospects than ever before, and she must be dragged away from it all."
If she had been asked what, above all else, she would have chosen, she would have asked for just this: that Irene should come to live close by; and she was really coming. Better still, they were all of them coming, and life, for one brief moment, had seemed full of sunshine. "So, of course, a black and heavy cloud must come up, and shut the sunshine out, and darken all her happiness," she told herself dramatically.
"Audrey, dear. Don't look so unhappy, so—so disappointed. We will not anticipate. No one knows what the future may bring. It is seldom exactly what we hope, or dread; and if we just go on trustfully day by day, taking all the happiness God sends us, and ready bravely to face the clouds. We know that He will make the sunshine show through. He wants His children to be happy, not miserable."
"I—don't know," said Audrey, doubtingly. "It seems that if ever I want a thing very much it is taken away, or I am not allowed——"
"Audrey, darling, do not say such things. Do not let yourself ever think it. Do you honestly believe that the great God above demeans Himself and His Majesty and Might to annoy one of His children? That He plans to torment you? My dear, dear child, don't get into that bitter, wicked way of talking. It is so wrong—so insulting to your Heavenly Father. It is so ruining to your own character, and your happiness. The mistake that we make, Audrey, is that we want to choose our own way, and follow it—not His. That we think we can see better than He what is for the best, and what our future should be.
"Now, let no imaginary cloud in the future overshadow the sunshine of to-day. Enjoy the happiness that is sent to you, and, if the call to duty elsewhere comes, obey it as all good soldiers of Christ should."
Audrey was on her knees by her mother's side, her face buried in her lap. "Oh, mother, mother!" she cried remorsefully, "I am not a good soldier—I am a coward. I never want to obey—unless—it pleases me to."
"You did not want to come here when the summons came, did you, dear?"
Audrey shook her head. "No, mummy," she admitted reluctantly. "When I came I counted the days until I could go back again."