Then came another heavy loss for the children; one that made their lives desolate indeed. The following winter was unusually severe; and Mrs. Hunt, who was naturally delicate, caught a heavy cold, which turned to bronchitis, and in the end proved fatal. As she lay on what she felt would be her death-bed, her mind was troubled with many perplexities and anxieties respecting her husband and the children she had adopted. She feared that her husband would go from bad to worse; for he was weak-minded and easily led astray, and her influence had been the one thing that had kept him from bringing complete disgrace and ruin upon himself and home. What then would be Phil and Millie's fate? Certainly Phil was well educated for his age and position in life; consequently he would always be able to get a situation of some kind; but he was still very young, and both he and his sister needed wise guardianship and kind care. But after all she could only leave it in God's hands. The one thing that she could do, she did, which was to beg Miss Crawford to take an interest in the orphans, and be their friend and counsellor in any special difficulty.
Miss Crawford had known Mrs. Hunt ever since her child's death, when she had been requested by the vicar of the parish to call on the poor mother and comfort her in her sorrow. Very gladly she had consented; for though she was young, she had that love for her fellow-creatures which springs only from a deeper love for their Creator. Many a wretched London home had been brightened by her gentle presence, and many were the sad hearts that her words of sympathy had cheered.
Miss Crawford generally saw Millie when she called on Mrs. Hunt, and she liked the little girl for her own sake. Of Phil she knew very little, but she promised the dying woman that neither should want a friend while she was living. So their aunt was comforted and her mind set at rest.
"I am quite happy," she said feebly, to the weeping friends who were gathered around her dying bed. "Love each other, and live for each other, my darlings. Good-bye, my husband; meet me in heaven. I shall watch for you there."
For awhile after her death all went quietly. Each mourned the dear one who had been removed, and her dying words rang in her husband's ear. Before many months had past, however, several of his old habits were resumed; he renewed his acquaintance with some of his most disreputable "chums," and would come reeling home at uncertain hours of the night, much the worse for drink. Well might Millie's face grow pale, and her eyes heavy, as her daily burden of care grew heavier and heavier. Her only ray of comfort was that Miss Crawford was her true friend, and often came to see her.
In the beginning of June, Phil and Millie were surprised to hear from their uncle that he had decided to leave Camberwell and live in Swift Street, Drury Lane. Great was the horror of the children when they found themselves in such a close, dirty neighbourhood. It was indeed different from beautiful Chormouth with its sunny bay, its big red cliffs, its green downs, pretty cottages and neat gardens.
It was little wonder they thought yearningly of their old home, and sorrowfully compared it with their present. But it was harder for Phil than for Millie. She knew the love of God—knowledge which will make the saddest life happy. When weary or lonely, she would get her Bible, and ponder over the comforting words it contains, till her heart was cheerful and light again: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass," she would say softly to herself. She believed implicitly that there was a better time coming, and lived in the present but to cheer her brother and endeavour to win back her uncle to a better life.
It would have been well for Phil if he too had possessed Millie's Christian spirit; but his troubles, instead of softening, had hardened his heart. If he thought of God at all, it was as One who takes pleasure in punishing and chastising His children, and not as a loving Father "Who delighteth in mercy."
