“There is a difference, I suppose,” she added, after a pause. “We may ask for many a temporal blessing that might be our ruin if God were to grant it to us; and in love He withholds such, often. But when we ask for spiritual blessing, for the grace of strength to do or of patience to bear His will, if we ask for guidance, for wisdom to direct us, we need not fear that we shall be denied. And, having these, other things don’t matter so much, to God’s people.”
“‘To God’s people,’” repeated Christie to herself again. “Well, I am not one of them. It’s nothing that can do me any good.”
She did not answer her sister, but rose up slowly, saying it was time to go. So she climbed over the low stone wall, and walked on in silence. Effie followed quietly. Not a word was spoken till they reached the bend of the brook over which hung the birch-tree. Past this, her favourite resting-place, Christie rarely went without lingering. She would not have paused to-night, however, had not Effie, who had fallen a little behind by this time, called her.
“Oh, Christie! look at the clouds! Did you ever see anything so beautiful? How beautiful!” she repeated, as she came and stood beside her. “It was a long time before I could become used to the sun’s sinking down in that low, far-away place. I missed the hills that used to hide him from us at home. How well I remember the sunsets then, and the long, quiet gloamings!”
“Home” was over the sea, and “then” was the time when a mother’s voice and smile mingled with all other pleasant things; and no wonder that Effie sighed, as she stood watching the changing hues near the low horizon. The “home” and “then” were the last drops added to Christie’s cup of sad memories; and the overflow could no longer be stayed. She kept her face turned away from her sister, but could not hide the struggle within, and at Effie’s very first word her sobs broke forth.
“What is the matter, Christie? There must be something you have not told me about. You are weary: that is it. Sit down here again, and rest. We need not hurry home, after all.”
Christie sank down, struggling with her tears.
“It’s nothing, Effie,” she said, at last. “I’m sure I didna mean to vex you with my crying; but I canna help it. There is nothing the matter with me more than usual. Never mind me, Effie.”
“Well, sit still a little,” said Effie, soothingly. “You are tired, I do believe.”
“Yes,” said Christie, recovering herself with a great effort. “It’s partly that, I dare say; and—” She stopped, not being further sure of her voice.