THE LIGHT OF LOVE.

(Continued from p. 363.)

CHAPTER IV.

HE dreaded trial did not await Milly on her return home. George had gone to spend the midsummer holidays with a school friend, so there was nothing to test the strength of her resolve to follow out Mr. Maudsley's advice. It was a relief, certainly; and yet the child felt for a moment what most of us feel when, having strung ourselves up for action or endurance, we suddenly find that neither are required from us: she felt a sense, not of disappointment exactly, but of half regret at her resolutions being useless. The resolutions in such cases are apt to grow cold; but, left a good deal to herself, little Milly dwelt much on the happy Past, and scarcely a day went by that she did not think of the teachings she had received at Deanthorne, and pray that she might be guided right when the time of temptation came.

Often as the afternoon sun stole in at the nursery window, gilding the dingy wall-paper with its golden rays, she would bring her ball and try and keep it in the broad belt of light; while she mused in her dreamy childish fashion on what Mr. Maudsley had said about the light of love. 'My life with George has been like the dingy wall on a dull day. If I were quite good, and loved George as I ought to do, it would grow perhaps as bright as this patch where the sun is shining, and then it would really be something like Heaven.'

At last the day came for George to return home, and Milly's heart fluttered with

fear, and a little timid hope. And all went on right the first evening. George was in high spirits and good humour; he had plenty to talk about, and Milly was a good listener.

But in the morning the flush of excitement passed; George came down to breakfast somewhat cross and out of sorts; his holidays were at an end, and the prospect of school was not pleasant after his late freedom and amusement.

'Where are the rest of my books?' he asked of Milly, searching the book-shelves carelessly. I can't find above half. Where are my Cæsar and Colenso? They ought to be here.'

'I've never seen them,' Milly answered. 'I don't think I know which they are.'

Milly kept silence, bending over her geography.

'I think you might help me to look," cried George, pulling down the volumes from one of the shelves, and leaving them in disorder all about him. "But you are such a selfish thing! Sitting there learning your own lessons, which don't matter a pin, and leaving me to get into trouble!"

Milly jumped up at once and began to help in the search; but her want of immediate success only provoked George the further, and he pushed her away impatiently, throwing down at the same time a pile of books belonging to her.

Oh,

'Oh, mind George!' she cried, seeing one of her favourite books fluttering to the ground. You might take care. you have broken the back!' and she picked up the spoiled book with an angry flush on her face.

'What! in a tantrum, miss?' said George mockingly. 'It serves you quite right; it's your fault I can't find my things. I'll throw down the rest of your rubbish, and hope all the backs may be broken;' and the naughty boy threw two or three of Milly's treasures across the room, with a taunting, There, there, there!' Then he caught up such of his books as he had collected, and dashed out of the room.

It was too much. Habit as well as principle had restrained Milly from any passionate reply; but when George had gone she sat down on the ground and burst into a storm of weeping.

'How can I help hating him?' she sobbed. 'How can I love any one so cruel and unjust? It really was not my fault this time; I did all I could. No, it is of no use. I cannot help being provoked; I cannot help hating him.'

The angry feelings surged through her poor little soul. All that George had said and done kept repeating itself in her fancy, till anger dried up the source of her tears. No, it was no good to think of Mr. Maudsley; he did not know what she had to bear, or how bad George was. But Miss Simpson would be here directly, and the room in such disorder! So Milly began to set things straight, feeling all the time, 'What business had George to make such a mess?'-and she had scarcely finished when her governess appeared. The lessons went on badly; Milly's heart was too sore to let her work well, and she lost her ticket for the morning.

'All George's fault,' she said to herself,

So

and she felt more bitter than, before. when George came home at dinner-time, improved in temper and disposed to be friends, she drew back silently; she could not forgive him thus easily without a word. of apology on his side. He called her a sullen thing,' which did not mend matters, and he went off to amuse himself.

Milly meanwhile tried to comfort herself by playing with Amy. But it was of no use; she was not satisfied with herself, and she felt God could not be pleased either. At last she could bear it no longer, and going up to her own bedroom, she knelt down by the side of the bed and cried piteously to her Father in Heaven, Help me, help me! Don't let me be wicked and hate George; don't let me be shut out in the darkness.'

A glimmering of light broke through the clouds; half the resentful feelings had somehow passed away when Milly rose from her knees.

Now I am to set about something,' she told herself. Mr. Maudsley would say I must not think of George and the books. any more.'

So she made all ready for Miss Simpson, and worked hard at her lessons during the afternoon, getting more than her usual number of good marks, and a kiss and kind word of approval from her governess. And she got also what was better still -a light heart. By the time that George came back from school, she could meet him without any return of anger. He had behaved badly, it was true; but there might be excuses for him. At any rate it did not do to dwell upon her injuries; she must try to forget, if she could not prevent them. Better bear them ten times over, as Mr. Maudsley had said, than live for ever out of God's light.

This was Milly's first victory, only won

NOT QUITE ALONE. ND so those two poor children are left quite alone, with no one to love and care for them, poor little things!' And tears stood in the eyes of tender-hearted Katy Ascot, as she thought of the sad tale which her

friend Clara Hastings had just been telling her.

But,' said Clara, who, by the way; was rather a matter-of-fact young lady, they will have plenty of money, and will want for nothing as long as they live.'

Want for nothing! Within a few weeks past both father and mother had been taken away from them, to that Home where there are no more partings, and the little girls. were orphans; they had lived abroad, so their friends were far away, and they had no relations, except an aunt of their mother's, whom they had only heard of as a cross old lady who did not like little girls, and who lived in a country house in Derbyshire.

'And so they were quite alone!' Clara said. Do you think they were? Kate thought much of them after her friend had left her, and she remembered that in that wonderful old book, the Bible, there was a promise that God would be a Father to the fatherless.'

Now let us pay a visit to these little folk, a sly visit, without letting them know anything about it; and let us stand behind this large screen, and listen to what they are saying. They are sitting on the hearthrug before the warm fire, in their black frocks. Pussy is asleep on the knee of one little girl, and a large ugly wooden doll is carefully nursed in the arms of the other.

'Kittie, why won't nurse let me take my Pussy to bed? You take your doll always, and she never slaps it and sends it away.'

'Oh,' says Kittie, of course I take my doll, and nurse lets me, because, you knowbecause it is a doll and not an animal; and we mustn't take animals to bed, Patty.'

Kittie looks thoughtful for two minutes, and then some sudden thought seems to strike her, for the little face changes and she bursts into tears; then Patty begins to cry, and it is a sad little voice that says, 'I want mother, I want father!' Pussy and doll are both forgotten for a time, and the little sisters are weeping together.

There is a gentle tap at the door, but they do not hear it. It opens, and in peeps Katie, whose loving kisses and sweet voice soon cheer them.

'Are you the lady on the other side?' asks little Patty.

So Kate tells them Yes; she' lives in the house opposite, and that she will often come to play with them and talk to them if they will let her; and that her name is Kate, and she wants them to love her,will they?

If you will stay always, and not go away, I will,' says Kittie. Patty answers with a kiss, so easily are a child's love and trust won! and how precious are they!

•

Patty speaks, Will mother come again? She said she was going Home when she kissed me the last time; but she didn't say she would come back.'

And Kittie asks wonderingly, 'What did father mean when he said, that though mother was gone, and he was going to her, and we should be left behind, we should have a better Father than he was to take care of us, and that He would never let us be quite alone? Perhaps He sent you,-did He? Nurse said, when I asked her, that we couldn't have a better father than our