Thus we must leave her for the present in her school-room life at Barrington, learning that all work is ennobled when it is done for Him who has done everything for us, beginning to lean on a love stronger and more powerful than that of any earthly friend, and to feel that she could leave the future in the hands of Him who knew the past, with all its apparent failure and its bitter disappointment and sorrow.

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CHAPTER VII.

EDITH'S FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY.

"And He will yet to beauty weave

The tangled threads of life."

REV. T. DAVIS.

THUS two years of Edith's girlhood went by in her quiet home, unmarked by outward changes, and brought round her fifteenth birthday.

Would you see her as she was then?

A tall, slender girl stood in the oriel window of the old library at Barrington, looking out at the winter world. Her face gave one the idea that she was much older than she really was: it was thoughtful, and when quite at rest was sad. There was a look in her dark eyes as if she was ever watching for something that did not come-living not so much in the present as in the future. There is not unfrequently this look of sad longing in the faces of those who have known great trouble in childhood; and people say, "How old they are for their age-how unchildlike!" But sorrow's hand is heavy, and the lightheartedness of childhood is soon crushed by it,

when its real strength is put forth. Yet in Edith Vernon's face there was something more than sadness. About her mouth there was a touching submission-such as we sometimes see in a little child, who, after struggling against a stronger will than its own, at last gives in, says it "is sorry," and places its hand within that of its father to be guided wherever he chooses. And there was still something of the old Edith in the smile with which she turned round to say "good morning" to her uncle as he entered the room.

Sir Edwin was a confirmed invalid, and not one of the cheerful sort. Years of protracted suffering had made him exacting and querulous, but Edith had learnt to be very patient with him, and he had grown extremely fond of her. She read the newspaper to him, was always willing to accompany him in his short drives round the garden in a wheelchair, and ever had a cheerful smile and soothing word ready for him; so that Aunt Geraldine said she had never known before how much they had needed a daughter.

On this February morning Sir Edwin had not forgotten that it was the birthday of their adopted child; and as she bent to kiss him, he threw around her neck a beautiful gold chain, to which was attached a little Geneva watch.

Edith was delighted with it, and thanked him

warmly, turning to show it to her aunt, who was entering the room at this moment.

"Yes: Uncle Edwin says you are such a steady little maiden that you can be fully trusted with it. Many happy returns of the day, my darling. Ah! here are the letters. Have you got one from Willie ? I hope he has not forgotten that it is his sister Edith's birthday.”

"No; here it is; and one from Marian; and a book from Basil, from Oxford-I am sure that queer handwriting is his."

"What are you going to do to-day?" asked Lady Barrington.

"I am going out this morning. Miss Carter says that she is going down into the village, and I think I shall go with her. And you know Ella and Gracie Dacre are coming over to luncheon."

“Why did you not ask them to spend the whole day, and dine here?"

"Ella is not strong, and is not allowed to be out in the night air at all."

"I suppose if you are going to be so very much engaged you won't be able to read to me?" said her uncle, in an injured tone.

"O yes! Uncle Edwin; I am not going to give that up."

And Edith smiled as she answered the querulous old man.

"O! I don't want to deprive you of your pleasures. An old man with one foot in the grave has no right to tax the good-nature of the young and merry."

Edith for a moment felt a little provoked, but almost directly answered in her usual voice, “I should get quite behindhand with the news, if I missed a day, uncle, and not understand what it was all about to-morrow."

"Yes, to be sure you would. I like to see young people sensible, and taking an interest in politics and the leading questions of the day." And with a satisfied air, Sir Edwin sipped his chocolate, while Aunt Geraldine wondered at Edith's ready tact; for she did not understand that her niece's words and deeds were regulated by that love "which seeketh not her own."

When the long reading of the newspaper-beginning with the leading articles, and ending with "The state of the Money Market, and City Intelligence”. was finished, Edith asked when her uncle was going out.

"Not at all, child; not at all-a cold raw day like this."

"But, uncle, the sun is shining; I thought it was quite spring-like; and some of the trees are getting quite a yellow look, as if they were thinking of coming out."