CHAPTER XVIII.

YES OR NO.

"Everything seems to have gone wrong with me here!" sighed Emmie, as she sat alone by the drawing-room window, watching the descent of large flakes of snow, which melted as they came in contact with earth. "I have been at Myst Court for a month, and what have I to look back upon since I came here but feeble attempts to do what is right, melting into failure, even like those flakes? Yes, my uncle's warning was not unneeded by me. Fear, the child of Mistrust, is indeed the haunting spirit that mars my peace, cripples my usefulness, and takes from me the power of glorifying God. I am afraid to rule my own household; I shrink from meeting an angry look; I wink at what I know to be wrong,--because I am too timid to enforce what I know to be right. I am afraid to enter the dwellings of the poor, though conscience pricks me whenever I drive past those wretched hovels which it is my duty to enter as a messenger of mercy and comfort. The good which I might have done, I do not; and oh! is it not written, _To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, it is sin?_ I have given up my own appointed work to a substitute in whom I have no trust, all through fear--my mistrustful fear! Timidity haunts me in my house--in my family. I cannot conquer my foolish repugnance even to drawing back that curtain which divides the right wing of Myst Court from the more inhabited part of the dwelling, though my brother every night passes beyond that curtain to sleep without fear or harm in that room which I dreaded to enter. Reason tells me that my misgivings are folly, but superstitious fear is too strong for reason. And, though it appear in a different form, is it not the same mistrust that makes me so fearful to offend my brothers by speaking, in tender love, truths which they are unwilling to hear? Vibert, my own dear Vibert, whom I remember as the bright beautiful boy who was my mother's darling, the very sunshine of our home, Vibert has entered, I fear, on a course that imperils his peace here and his happiness hereafter. I might exert an elder sister's influence over his frank and kindly nature; but I dread to rouse his anger, and risk the loss of his affection. And, alas! I am conscious that the weakness of character at which Vibert so often has laughed, has lessened my influence with him for good. Vibert loves--but he does not look up to his sister; on one point, at least, I am in his eyes but as a silly, unreasoning child!"

Emmie possessed, as has been observed, a sensitive conscience, and was no stranger to the duty of self-examination: she had made the first step in spiritual warfare, she had seen and recognized her besetting foe. But to see and to recognize an enemy is not the same thing as to fight him. A deeply spiritual writer has given directions to the Christian soldier in face of his besetting sin, directions so practical that I shall quote them instead of giving words of my own. The writer supposes the presence of the enemy to have been found out by honest searching of the heart:--

"When the discovery is made, the path of the spiritual combatant becomes clear, however arduous. Your fighting is to be no longer a flourishing of the arms in the air; it is to assume a definite form, it is to be a combat with the bosom sin. Appropriate mortifications must be adopted, such as common sense will suggest, varying with the nature of the sin, and combined always with a heartfelt acknowledgment of our utter weakness, and with a silent but fervent prayer for the grace of Almighty God.... What is the warfare of many earnest and well-intentioned Christians but the sending of shafts at a venture? They have a certain notion that they must resist the evil within and without them; but then this evil presents itself in so many forms that they are bewildered and confused, and know not where to begin.... The first work of the politic spiritual warrior will be to discover his besetting sin, and having discovered it, to _concentrate_ all his disposable force before this fortress."

Let me illustrate the author's meaning by referring to the characters in my story, whose counterparts may be found amongst my various readers. Bruce, being once aware that his bosom sin was pride, should have taken every opportunity of mortifying that pride, not only by owning his sins before God, but by frankly acknowledging his own mistakes and errors in the presence of men. Vibert, if not by literal fasting, yet by the practice of self-denial in every sensual indulgence, should have sought to give the spirit the victory over the flesh. Emmie, wrestling down her mistrust by prayer, should have forced her unwilling spirit to "nobly dare the thing which nature shrinks from."

But the maiden chose a middle course. She would not attack the fortress, but go round it; she would try to do her duty, but rather by evading than by conquering the enemy who opposed her. Emmie felt like one who has made a pleasant discovery when a means of reaching her father's tenants, without trying her own courage, suggested itself to her mind.

"Yes, that will do--that will do!" exclaimed the maiden, as with a brightening countenance she rose from her seat, and then crossed the room with light step to ring the small bell by which she was accustomed to summon her maid. "Christmas-time is at hand,--that blessed time when all who have the power should seek to make those around them happy. My father and Bruce will, I am sure, approve of my little plan."

Emmie remained standing until Susan entered the room. Smilingly the young lady confided her intentions to one who would be her ready assistant in carrying them out. "Susan," she said, "I mean to give a feast at Christmas to the younger children of my father's tenants. We will prepare a German tree, to be loaded with little gifts, most of them made up by your hands and mine."

"I should be delighted to help, miss," said Susan.

"And mine should not merely be a treat for a day," continued Emmie; "I think of something beyond the mere amusement of the children whom I invite. Say that fifty little ones come; I would procure fifty New Testaments, that each child might carry back one to his home, wrapped up in one of these illustrated fly-leaves with which my brother has already provided me."

Those leaves gave Emmie a feeling of shame whenever her glance chanced to fall on the almost undiminished packet.

"I wish that more of the children knew how to read," observed Susan in a doubtful tone.

"If they cannot read, surely most of their parents can," said Emmie, her wish being father to her thought. "If such good seed be sown broadcast, certainly some benefit must result. Yes," she continued cheerfully, "I will make friends with the little children, and through them assist the parents whose homes I cannot visit."

Then came the question of ways and means. Miss Trevor was rather pleased than otherwise to find that her little project would involve some need of self-denial. She had five pounds remaining of her allowance, money which she had intended to spend in other ways, but which she would devote to the Christmas treat.

"I'll not send this," said Emmie, tearing up a note which she had written to a circulating library in London; "I will do without new books for a time. Then as for the warm dress which I meant to purchase, your clever fingers, Susan, will make my present blue cashmere serve me for another winter in a quiet place like this."

The pleasure of seeing the eyes of fifty children sparkling with delight at the feast to which she would invite them, the joy of imparting so much innocent joy, would, as Emmie truly thought, out-weigh the small gratification of buying that with which she so easily could dispense.

"And now, Susan, bring down my basket of odds and ends, and--stay--you will find pieces of muslin and ribbon in my left-hand drawer. We must see what we can make use of in dressing dolls, making pincushions and needle-books, and devise something suitable as gifts for the little boys."

Susan went, and soon returned with a basketful of such materials as woman's taste and skill can transform into a thousand attractive forms.

The snow-flakes were falling faster and thicker; grassy lawn and gravel path were now covered with a sheet of spotless white, which hid every roughness and smoothed away every blemish. Emmie was no longer troubling herself with thoughts of her follies and failings. With the eagerness natural to youth, she was preparing for the pleasant task which she had set herself to perform, a task which would at the same time employ her fingers, amuse her mind, and quiet her conscience. See her on her knees on the hearth-rug beside the blazing fire, with her basket of odds and ends beside her, and a pile of half-worn-out clothes placed on a chair. Emmie is sorting and arranging, planning and preparing, cutting out work for herself and Susan that will keep them both happily and usefully engaged for weeks. It is wonderful how care is lightened, and what mental sunshine comes with occupations such as this. Emmie's thoughts, instead of brooding over imaginary terrors, are full of ingenious devices for improving this and altering that, making old things look new, and astonishing simple rustics by elegant trifles such as they never before could have seen.

"Now take up these clothes and look to the patching," said Emmie, dismissing her maid.--"I will send at once to London for the Testaments," she added to herself after Susan had left the apartment. "My five pounds will cover that expense, as well as the cost of my simple feast,--tea and cake, oranges and buns; and then there must be a trifle for lights for my tree."

Humming cheerfully to herself, Emmie rose from her kneeling position and went to her desk, which lay on the drawing-room table. She unlocked and opened it, and then took out a pocket-book within which was her five-pound note. Joe was to take the pony that day to be shod at S----, so Emmie drew out a form for a money-order for the Bible Society to be procured at the same time. Emmie, with the order and bank-note in her hand, was about to ring the bell for the footman, when Vibert entered the drawing-room. He looked at the hearth-rug, strewn with many-coloured scraps and cuttings from the overflowing basket which Emmie had been ransacking for materials for her charity work.

"You here still, Vibert!" exclaimed his sister, pausing with her hand on the old-fashioned bell-rope which hung by the fire-place. "I thought that you had been for the last hour poring over your books at S----. Were you afraid of the snow that you stopped at home this morning?"

"Afraid!" echoed Vibert. "No; I leave that word, like bodkins and hair-pins, for the use of the ladies. The truth is, that I wanted, before I set off for the town, to ask,--but what is that which you have in your hand?" asked the youth as his glance, and an eager glance it was, fell on his sister's five-pound note.

"I am going to tell Joe to procure me a money-order," said Emmie, making a movement to ring the bell; but a quick sign from Vibert prevented her from drawing down the heavy bell-rope.

"Stop, Emmie!" cried her brother; "you would do me such a kindness if you were to lend me that five-pound note."

Emmie, for more than one reason, was annoyed at her brother's request. This was by no means the first time that Vibert had wanted to borrow money, and he had a very indifferent memory as regarded payment of debts. Vibert saw his sister's look of vexation and the slight frown which for a moment ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow.

"I assure you, darling," he said in a coaxing manner, "that the loan would be a great, a very great convenience to me. I hate asking papa for more money; he seems to feel more pinched now than he did before he came in for a fortune. When I tell him that I can't manage to keep within my allowance, he twits me with the prudence and moderation of Bruce, as if I could skin flints or count farthings like Bruce."

There was scorn in the tone of Vibert as he uttered the last sentence, which roused the spirit of Emmie in defence of her absent brother. "Bruce is no skin-flint!" she cried; "he does many a kind and generous thing. If he saves, it is on himself; there is not a particle of selfishness in his nature!"

Emmie had not intended to strike at one brother whilst defending the other; but Vibert was in an excited, irritable mood, and took his sister's words as a palpable hit at himself.

"You are the last person from whom I should have expected such a taunt," said the spendthrift bitterly. "I thought that if I had no other friend in the world I should find one, Emmie, in you."

"Always! always!" cried his sister eagerly; "I would do anything for you, dear Vibert."

"Will you lend me that five-pound note?"

Again Emmie hesitated and looked vexed. "I had laid it all out already in my mind," she replied. "It is to give pleasure to so many poor children at Christmas."

"Christmas! why, you shall have it back long before Christmas," cried Vibert; and he held out his hand for the note. But Emmie retained it still in her clasp. She was doubtful as to the use which the young prodigal might make of the money, and whether it might not be rather an injury than a kindness to Vibert to replenish his empty purse.

The youth read the doubt on the maiden's expressive face, and it made him indignant and angry.

"Emmie, can you not trust me?" exclaimed Vibert in an irritable tone; and, as no answer immediately came, he passionately repeated the question.

"Oh for courage to speak the truth faithfully!" thought Emmie; but the courage came not with the wish. Her lips formed a scarcely articulate "yes;" and having said "yes" to her brother's question, she could hardly say "no" to his demand for a loan.

Vibert rather took than received the bank-note from Emmie; he saw that his sister was reluctant to give it, but he thought that a kiss, and the assurance that she was "the dearest girl in the world," had set all right between them.

"Of course the money is as safe with me as if it were in the Bank of England!" cried Vibert; "you shall have it back in a week;" and nodding good-bye to Emmie, Vibert quitted the drawing-room, and was soon on his way to S----.

Emmie watched from the window the light and graceful form of her brother, as he tramped over the new-fallen snow, leaving brown footprints behind him. The poor girl's eyes were full of tears, and her heart of self-reproach.

"I have been no true friend to my thoughtless young brother," said Emmie to herself; "it was mere selfish cowardice which made me yield to his wishes, and put in his hands money of which I fear that he will make no good use."

The maiden left the window, but not to resume her employment; all her pleasure in it was gone: she had sacrificed her means of doing good to her fear of offending her brother. Emmie knelt down on the hearth-rug and hastily gathered up her scraps of ribbons, chintz, and silk, tossing them back into the basket, as trash to be thrust out of sight, or thrown away as useless. The cares which pressed on Emmie's mind were not now to be banished by thoughts of Christmas amusements, and the hope of imparting innocent pleasure to the children of her father's tenants.

On the afternoon of that day, Miss Trevor took possession of that apartment which, by means of thorough repairs, had been prepared for her reception. It was spacious enough to receive all the furniture which had been originally placed in the room now occupied by Bruce. Amongst other articles, the tall press of richly-carved oak occupied a conspicuous place; it had been moved with some difficulty from the position which it had held for two centuries, and now added to the stateliness, though not perhaps to the cheerfulness, of Miss Trevor's apartment.