Chapter XXI: Bright Hours

THE Confirmation was to be on Monday, and the evening before was to Beryl a strangely happy time. She had seen Mr. Bishop in the course of the week, and had received her ticket of admission. A sermon especially intended for the candidates, and full of the subject of that great love of God for men, which had already touched and stirred Beryl's heart with a thrill never again to cease vibrating, had just been preached at the evening service. It seems strange that few sermons comparatively should be spoken upon this mighty theme. Is it because men know so little of God's love?

The three were together in the drawing-room, Miss Carmichael resting, Hester and Beryl on either side of her. Lights were out, and blinds were drawn up, and the moonbeams fell full upon the little group.

"It has been a good time for you, child," Miss Carmichael said at length.

"It has been the very best day I ever had in all my life," said Beryl. "Will to-morrow be better still?"

"Such days are sometimes disappointing, hardly coming up to our expectations. But there is generally a reason."

"What reason?" Hester asked. "I remember a feeling of flatness and disappointment when I was confirmed, as if the whole did not at all come up to what I had pictured beforehand. Why was it?"

"I don't know the 'why' in your particular case, Emmie. It might have been that you gave thought to your own or your neighbour's dress and appearance. Or it might have been that your mind was too easily distracted by the little events of the day. Or it might have been that you expected a sort of unnatural spiritual exaltation—such as comes sometimes in a life, but certainly doesn't come just when it is looked for. Or it might have been that you were more occupied with your own feelings than with your Master."

"I think it may have been a little of all four," said Hester in a low voice, and Beryl inquired abruptly,—

"How am I to keep myself from anything like that?"

"You cannot keep yourself, child. Christ alone can keep you."

"And I can't do anything?"

"Yes; you can look to Him, moment by moment. And you can set it before yourself as a definite aim, in His strength to be calm, to let the little things of every-day life pass by you unnoticed, to be indifferent to what your fellow-candidates may wear or do, and so to escape being tossed to and fro needlessly."

"There is something else I have been wanting very much to ask you," Beryl said presently, finding it easier to talk by moonlight than by daylight.

"Yes. What?" asked Miss Carmichael.

"I don't know about what I ought to do,—I mean, if I live with Mrs. Fenwick. There doesn't seem any work for me."

"Work for God?"

"Yes."

"There is always work for God, if you are where He intends you to be."

"I don't know whether I am."

"Did He place you there, or did you place yourself there?"

"I don't think I had much choice about it," said Beryl slowly. "But I should like something else much better. I should like to be a nurse in a hospital very much indeed. I always think I could do that well."

"I should like has a doubtful sound, in connection with work for God," said Miss Carmichael.

"Is it wrong to like what one has to do?"

"Certainly not; but it would be wrong to put aside what He has given you to do, and to take up something else, merely because you would like it better."

"But it might be the right thing for me," said Beryl.

"It might. Have you any reason for supposing this to be the case, at the present moment?"

"I should like hospital work," Beryl began, and paused. "I mean, I think I am fit for it. I am strong, and I like taking care of sick people. And I am not wanted here. I don't like living with Aunt Di. She does not care for me in the least, and she always speaks as if I were a burden. And I don't see that I can be of any real use to her and Pearl. I have worked for them a good deal lately, mending and so on, and of course I don't mind; but it isn't 'that' work. I should not like to go away from Hurst, because of you; but still I 'do' want to have real work for God."

"'Seeking for some great thing to do,'" murmured Miss Carmichael. "There is a good deal as to your own liking in all this, my dear. Now tell me your reasons for supposing such a step to be God's will for you."

Beryl was silent for some time.

"But, Miss Carmichael," she said, "ought I to live on Mrs. Fenwick, and not do anything for myself?"

"You should ask Mrs. Fenwick herself as to that. She has been practically in the place of a parent to you for years. It is not for you, a mere girl, to break away from her, unless by her will as well as your own."

"But if she did not mind?"

"I have a strong impression that she would mind. If not, your way would become so much the clearer. At the same time, you should be cautious how you bring matters to a crisis. Better that the responsibility of the step should be hers, not yours."

"Only, if it were right for me—"

"If it is God's will for you, indications of your way will soon appear. But there may be work for you to do in your present home first. How if, by your own action, you were to cut yourself off from it? I am not trying to discourage you, my dear, but I certainly recommend you to wait. A few months hence—"

"Months!" repeated Beryl.

"No one is the worse for a little exercise of patience," said Miss Carmichael.

After a break, she added softly:

"Those long years of waiting and preparation at Nazareth—I often think of them. One fancies HE must have been so eager to come forward, to make Himself known, and to do the great work for which He had come. Yet, all through those quiet years, He was just as much 'about His Father's business' as in the three years' busy ministry."

"Miss Carmichael, I will be patient," spoke Beryl. "I won't be in a hurry."

"And be willing to follow the guidance when it comes, my dear, whether or no it may point the same way as your own wishes. Remember, you are perfectly free to '"ask" what you will;' but take care not to '"choose" what you will,' or you will be sorry later. Always leave your Father to choose for you."

Beryl said again, "I will."

They went to bed early, and Beryl slept as usual soundly, to wake in the morning with a placid sense of happiness.

Breakfast passed quietly, little being said by any one. Beryl could see that her companions were anxious not to distract her thoughts by light conversation, though Miss Carmichael was the last person to endeavour to force religious talk.

Breakfast over, she said simply, pressing Beryl's hand, "You will like a short time alone, my child."

And Beryl went away obediently to her own room.

Thither Miss Carmichael followed her, when the hour for starting drew near, to see that Beryl was duly equipped. No stir was made about the matter, and Beryl certainly offered no "bridal" appearance. She wore a plain light-grey dress, lately procured for her by Mrs. Fenwick. Miss Carmichael's kindness had supplied a pair of white gloves and a little white net cap; and with her own hands Miss Carmichael fastened the latter on.

"Shall I wear my black jacket?" asked Beryl doubtfully.

"No, my dear; that will not quite do," said Miss Carmichael.

And she went away, to bring back a soft white Indian shawl, which she folded round the girl's square shoulders.

"Now it is all right," she said, and she kissed Beryl.

"You are so kind," was all Beryl could say.

"Never mind me now. I want your little mind to be full of other matters."

"I am trying, Miss Carmichael."

"Don't try after feelings of excitement; only quietly remember your Master, and think how you are promising yourself anew to Him, and how He has promised to keep you to the end. 'I will pay my vows unto the Lord now, in the presence of all His people.' 'Unto Thee, O Lord, do I lift up my soul. O my God, I trust in Thee.'"

Then again she left the room, and only came back when the fly was at the door.

Three hours later the service was over, and they were at home again.

Beryl went upstairs, and Hester remarked, "I think she was thoroughly happy all the while."

"I could not see her face," said Miss Carmichael. "She looks happy now."

"I saw her plainly," said Hester. "She seemed grave and reverent, just as one would wish, and there was no gazing about at her neighbours. And the whole service was so nicely arranged, no fuss or bustle about it. I am glad Beryl went from here, not from Mrs. Fenwick's. She would have heard nothing but talk about the candidates' veils, if she had been there."

"And now, Em, we want our dinner," said Miss Carmichael.

Beryl came downstairs, feeling dreamy, and rather shrinking from ordinary conversation. Dinner over, she seemed at a loss what to do with herself, and was set down by Miss Carmichael to hem a seam. She did as she was told, but remarked, "It feels like Sunday—as if one ought not to work."

"It is not Sunday, my dear, and I doubt if you would find yourself able to attend to a book. Your mind has been on the strain yesterday and to-day, and if you keep it up too long, you will have an uncomfortable reaction. I want this shirt finished for a poor person."

"Oh, if it is really useful, I shall like to do it," said Beryl, her face lighting up. "May I help as much as possible while I am here?"

"That is the first step," said Miss Carmichael, smiling. "I shall soon see what the help is worth."

Beryl was spurred on by the words to diligent exertion, and her next hour's performance was creditable to herself both in quantity and quality. She was disposed to fall into grave talk again about future plans, but Miss Carmichael discouraged this, thinking that enough had been said for the present.

After a while, she sent out Hester and Beryl for a walk, herself going upstairs to lie down.

By teatime, Beryl was natural again, entirely happy, but without her look of strained gravity.

"It has been such a nice walk," she said. "Hester and I have been talking about all sorts of things. And we both think that nobody in the world is like you, Miss Carmichael."

"I suppose I am to take your words as a compliment, my dear; but they have a doubtful sound. One may be pre-eminent for disagreeable qualities, as well as for agreeable ones."

"But you know what we mean," said Beryl, looking into Miss Carmichael's face with an expression which transformed her own, and which would indeed have astonished Mrs. Brigstock and Diana Fenwick. "Hettie says she always thinks of you as a sort of mother, and I am sure 'I' do."

"Then I have two children instead of one child," said Miss Carmichael. "Ah, the post has come. A letter for Beryl. Sensible man to bring it here, instead of dropping it into the box over the way."

"From Mademoiselle Bise!" exclaimed Beryl. "How curious! It seems as if everything nice came together at once."

And presently, she put the letter into Miss Carmichael's hand.

"I should like you to read it," she said. "It is 'very' nice—all through. Poor Suzette! She was taken ill two days after I came away, and she had to go to a sort of home for governesses, and lately she could not find my letter, and didn't know my address. She says she hopes I have trusted her: but I have not."

"Don't doubt friends hastily in future," said Miss Carmichael.

"I'll write to her directly," said Beryl. "She is just going to another school in London. I am so glad I have heard. I had been looking for a letter, and wondering why one did not come, so long. Isn't it strange everything coming to-day?"

"I hope a few more things may come in the next few days," said Hester.

"And the next few weeks," said Beryl. "Oh, I hope Aunt Di will stay a long time at the Engadine,—if I am not in the way here. I wish it could be very long. I want to learn so many things."

"'Homme propose, Dieu dispose,'" murmured Miss Carmichael.

"But it will be so nice," said Beryl.

"Yes, very nice," said Miss Carmichael kindly. "But take each day as it comes, my child. Don't set your heart on what lies ahead."