"Is it because Claude is not truly a Christian, dear; is that your reason?"
"Yes, that is it," I said; "I dare not have said 'yes' to Claude, Miss Richards, in the face of God's clear command. I felt I could expect no happiness or blessing if I were so disobedient."
"You were quite right, dear May," said Miss Richards, with tears in her eyes; "I should have done just the same. Indeed once, May (you will not mention it to any one, I know), I did exactly the same myself. It was very hard at the time," said the good little woman, as the recollection of that sorrow, now so far behind her in her past life, came as fresh as if it had only taken place yesterday; "it was very hard at the time, for I loved him very much, but I can see it was all right now. I should have been a miserable, unhappy wife, if I had married him, and I can thank God that I gave him up."
"Then you can understand how I felt, dear Miss Richards," I said.
"Yes, indeed," she said, earnestly; "and as soon as that thought occurred to me, as soon as ever it came into my mind, that that was your reason for refusing Claude, I felt, dear, that you were right, and I was wrong. You were right, perfectly right in obeying God's command; and I was wrong, very wrong, May, in wishing you to marry one who is not, I know, a real Christian."
Miss Richards kissed me very lovingly, as she said this, and I went home with a light and thankful heart.
Poor Miss Richards! I had never dreamt that there was a touching little love story hidden away somewhere in her past history. I had never dreamt that that was the reason why she had never married, but had lived that quiet, unselfish life in her brother's house—living for all around her. And I was very thankful that she thought I had acted rightly, and would no longer blame me, but would be able and ready to sympathise with me in my trial.
The busy time of packing and leave-taking was at length over, and Maggie and I left our first and hitherto our only home.
It is a merciful ordering that at such times we are far too busy, and full of thought and care about the present moment, to realise what would otherwise overwhelm us with sorrowful feeling. As we drove off from our old home, we had to turn back for a forgotten key, and then, almost directly afterwards, we arrived at the station, and I had to take the tickets, look after the luggage, and select a carriage. My mind was consequently so full of business, that not until the train had started did I realise that Maggie and I had left our dear happy home, never to return to it again.
We were going that day to the old Manor House at Branston, where Maggie's aunts lived. They had kindly expressed a wish to see me, and had invited me to spend a week with them before going to Alliston Hall. Maggie was of course delighted at this arrangement, and I was not sorry to have a week's rest, after the whirl of the last month, before entering upon my new duties.