Chapter XXIX: Mala

LITTLE did Ruth think, when she and Morris made up their minds to bear with Mala, that soon she would prove their greatest comfort.

Winter days succeeded that lovely autumn day when she and her father watched the sunset, and at The Firs peace and happiness reigned. But when the cold weather came, Morris seemed to fail, and was obliged to keep to her room and often to her bed.

One evening, just as Ruth was wishing her old friend good-night after doing all she could for her comfort, Mala knocked at the door and came softly to the bedside.

"Missie Morris," she said gently, "will you let Mala sleep in your room and nurse you? Missie Ruth has got them all to see to, and Mala has plenty of time! Do let me, dear Missie Morris, for all your love to me! I'm different now," she added beseechingly.

Ruth glanced in Morris' face. "Would you wish it, dear?" she asked, bending over her.

For answer, Morris put out her hand, and took the dark one in hers. "It would be a great comfort to me, because I know my childie has more than enough to do."

"If you will help me, Mala," said Ruth, turning to her, "I should be very grateful, but I could not give up my dear Morris to anyone entirely!"

"Oh no, Missie! I meant that. Let Mala do what she can. Indeed, I will do all you say. I have kept my promise about Master Norman, Missie, haven't I?"

"Indeed you have," said Ruth, heartily.

And so it was settled, to the great comfort of all parties; for Morris knew that her dear young lady was less tired; and for herself, the thought that thus her Lord had provided for her illness was a well of content.

"I shall soon see Him," she would say with a peaceful look; "it will be only a little while now."

And she was right. Before the snowdrops had peeped out, dear old Morris, with her hand clasped in Ruth's, and with Mala standing quietly by, entered into her eternal rest.

The day before she died, she said to Ruth, "Dearie, you will let Mala help you all she can? I feel sure you may trust her now. She says she's been made new all over."

And Ruth said "Yes," with thankful heart.

Ruth's own sorrow at the loss of her dear old friend was quiet and deep, but she said very little about it for the sake of the others.

At first she had dreaded lest Mala should shew extravagant grief after her great devotion to her patient. But she soon found that her fears were groundless.

"Mala not grieving," she answered, when once Ruth looked in her face questioningly; "Missie Morris with Jesus now; she happy: so Mala happy too!"

She crept into her own accustomed corner by her own little work-table, and the only difference was that Morris' bible lay open on it beneath her work, and that there was a chastened brightness in the dark face which had been growing there ever since Morris welcomed her into her room for Christ's sake.

When the weather allowed, Ruth and Norman often went down to Riverside. And while Norman sat at the table with his lessons, Ruth and Mary worked and chatted. Happy, peaceful days in which they learned to know each other thoroughly.

There was only one subject on which they never touched. Mary would speak of Vincent among the rest, and often his name was on her lips, but it came in her stories of the days of her old struggles, when she kept that diary which she had called "In the Sunlight and out of it," and she seldom referred to his present doings. The fact that he was coming home soon was the only one that she mentioned.

As they sat and worked, Mary would tell Ruth stories of the old days when her friendship with Ada Arundel was her great joy; of the long, waiting time of Cuthbert Reid before he gained the treasure of Ada's love; of Nellie Arundel and her many brothers and sisters; of her own love story with Arthur; and Ruth learned to love them all, and to know them through Mary's eyes.

The life in the two large families to which Mary now belonged was so entirely different from anything that Ruth had known that she felt invigorated by all she heard, and grew stronger in spirit and more brave when she realised that the struggles and difficulties of others were as many as her own, though they might be different, and that the same grace was brought to bear upon them from the same everlasting Source of Supply.