“What help?” he asked.
“God’s help,” she whispered.
Hamish smiled. He had not yet learnt what Constance had. Besides, Hamish was just then in a little trouble on his own account: he knew very well that his funds were wanted in another quarter.
“Constance, dear, do not look at me so wistfully. I will try with all my might and main, to help my father; but I fear I cannot do anything yet. I mean to draw in my expenses,” he went on, laughing: “to live like any old screw of a miser, and never squander a halfpenny where a farthing will suffice.”
He took his books and went in to Mr. Channing. Constance began training the honeysuckle, her mind busy, and a verse of Holy Writ running through it—“Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, and He shall bring it to pass.”
“Ay!” she murmured, glancing upwards at the blue evening sky: “our whole, whole trust in patient reliance; and whatsoever is best for us will be ours.”
Annabel stole up to Constance, and entwined her arms caressingly round her. Constance turned, and parted the child’s hair upon her forehead with a gentle hand.
“Am I to find a little rebel in you, Annabel? Will you not try and make things smooth for me?”
“Oh, Constance, dear!” was the whispered answer: “it was only my fun last night, when I said you should not take me for lessons in an evening. I will study all day by myself, and get my lessons quite ready for you, so as to give you no trouble in the evening. Would you like to hear me my music now?”
Constance bent to kiss her. “No, dear child; there is no necessity for my taking you in an evening, until my days shall be occupied at Lady Augusta Yorke’s.”