Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

He paused a moment, and then added, hesitatingly,—

“I have had many thoughts since I sat down here, Graeme. I think one needs—it does one good, to make a pause to have time to look back and to look forward. Things change to us; we get clearer and truer views of life, alone in the dark, with nothing to withdraw our thoughts from the right and the wrong of things, and we seem to see more clearly how true it is, that though we change God never changes. We get courage to look our troubles fairly in the face, when we are alone with God and them.”

Still Graeme said nothing, and Will added,—

“Graeme, you must take hope for Harry. And there is nothing else, is there?—nothing that you are afraid to look at—nothing that you cannot bring to the one place for light and help?”

She did not answer for a minute.

“No, Will, I hope not. I think not. I daresay—I am quite sure that all will be for the best, and I shall see at some time.”

Not another word was said till Graeme rose and drawing aside the curtains, let in on them the dim dawn of a bleak March morning.

In a few more days Will was down-stairs again. Not in his accustomed corner among his books, but in the arm-chair in the warmest place by the fire, made much of by Rose and them all. It seemed a long time since he had been among them. A good many things had happened during the month that Graeme and he had passed together up-stairs. March, that had come in “like a lion” was hastening out “like a lamb;” the sky was clear and the air was mild; spring was not far-away. The snow lay still in sullied ridges in the narrow streets where the sun had little power, and the mud lay deep in the streets where the snow had nearly disappeared. But the pavements were dry and clean, and in spite of dirty crossings and mud bespattering carriages, they were thronged with gay promenaders, eager to welcome the spring. Those who were weatherwise shook their heads, declaring that having April in March would ensure March weather when April came, or it might be even in May. So it might prove, but there was all the more need, because of this, that the most should be made of the sunshine and the mild air, and even their quiet sweet was quite gay with the merry goers to and fro, and it seemed to Will and Graeme that more than a month had passed since his illness began.

Harry had quite decided to go West now, and was as eager and impatient to be gone as if he had all his life been dreaming of no other future than that which awaited him there. That he should be so glad to go, pained his sister as much as the thought of his going. That was at first, for it did not take Graeme long to discover that Harry was not so gay as he strove to appear. But her misgivings as to his departure were none the less sad on that account, and it was with a heavy heart that she listened to his plans.

Perhaps it was in contrast to Harry’s rather ostentations mirth that his friend Charlie Millar seemed so very grave on the first night that Will ventured to prolong his stay among them after the gas had been lighted. Rose was grave, too, and not at ease, though she strove to hide it by joining in Harry’s mirth. Charlie did not strive to hide his gravity, but sat silent and thoughtful after his first greetings were over. Even Harry’s mirth failed at last, and he leaned back on the sofa, shading his face with his hands.