It was a weary sojourn in Norfolk. The widow’s illness was long and trying. But God has a way of making hard work seem easy; and He lightened Rhoda’s labour with good news from home.
Two months passed by, and her aunt still hovered between life and death. Mrs. Farren’s letters had not given any definite reason for hope; and yet hopefulness pervaded every line, and clung to every sentence like a sweet perfume. Rhoda felt its influence and rejoiced. And at last, when January came to an end, the mother spoke out plainly.
The farm was purchased by one Ralph Channell. He was a prosperous man who had come from Australia, and had been settled in England about a year. He was quite alone in the world, and had proposed to take up his abode with the Farrens in the old cottage. The farmer was to manage everything as usual. No change would be made in any of their household ways. Mr. Channell had been acquainted with Robert Clarris in Australia, and it was through Clarris that he had first heard of the Farrens. What he asked of them was a home. They might have the old house rent-free, if they would let him live in it with them.
Thus, a heavy burden was lifted from Rhoda’s heart. Mrs. Farren’s letter was a psalm of thanksgiving from beginning to end. “In the day when I cried, Thou answeredst me, and strengthenedst me with strength in my soul,” she wrote, in her gladness. And Rhoda’s spirit caught up the joyful strain. Yet she once found herself wishing that Mr. Channell had not been one of Robert Clarris’s friends. True, Clarris had long ago restored the three hundred pounds, and had regularly sent money for his child’s support. But was not the old taint upon him still?
Rhoda could never get rid of the notion that he had been too leniently dealt with. Hers was a mind which always clings to an idea. Moreover, her life, from its very beginning, had been a narrow life. She had never been called upon to battle with a strong temptation. But, like all whose strength has not been tried, she believed that she could have stood any test. It is easy for him who sits in peace to cry shame on the soldier who deserts his post. There are few of us who cannot be heroes in imagination. And most of our harsh judgments come from a narrow experience.
We can only learn something of the power of Divine Love by knowing the evil against which it contends. Those who want to see what God’s grace can do must look for its light in dark places.
When February and March had gone by, Rhoda found herself free to go home. She went back to the sweet lights and shadows of April; to the glitter of fresh showers, and the scent of hyacinths and wall-flowers. Her mother’s arms were opened to her. Nelly clung to her neck, half-crying for joy. Her father and Mr. Channell were out in the meadows, they told her; they would come indoors for tea. It was Nelly who had most to say about the stranger.
“You never knew anybody so kind, Rhoda,” she said, earnestly. “He makes us all happy, and he’s taken me to see mother’s grave every Sunday while you were away.”
Rhoda was standing at the back-door when she saw them coming from the fields. Nelly, with her pinafore full of kittens, still chattered by her side. Just in front of the door was the old cherry-tree, covered with silvery blossoms and spangled with rain-drops. It looked like a bridal bouquet hung with diamonds. Men were sowing barley in the acres beyond the fence. Rhoda was watching the blossoms and the sowers, and yet she saw those two figures.