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cannot walk away from a disturbance, one is glad to have it save one the trouble."

"I see you are not cured yet, Thornton,' Mr. Raynor said.

'What do you mean by not cured?' said Thornton kicking off his other slipper.

'I did hope that this fever might bear off some other maladies. Meanwhile if you will put on these slippers which stand by your chair, it may be the better for your bodily health.'

"I am not apt to take cold in my feet,' said Thornton, thrusting his toes into the slippers-from which however the whole foot gradually worked in. What particular maladies do you suppose me afflicted with?'

'Some much akin to that which befell Christiana's son in the Pilgrim's Progress, when he eat of the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard,' replied Mr. Raynor. 'But he was willing to take the cure."

The anger which had flushed into Thornton's face at the first words, faded away when he heard the last. And even the show of it was hard to keep up.

'You talk knowingly of the disease, and think the cure easy to get,' he said. 'That is the way with Rosalie— and

I suppose with all paragon people.'

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""Is there no balm in Gilead?" said Mr. Raynor's deep grave voice; "Is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?""

Thornton could almost have put his hands over his face and wept. For if the cause of all his impatience could have been traced out, it would have been found not so much in his bodily weakness as in those other ailments to which his friend referred; or rather in his consciousness of them. Neither his long weeks of illness nor the living presence of his friend had lost their work; but his mind was only stirred

up

WHY DO YOU VEX YOURSELF?

and rolled-not clear nor at rest.

297

For a half hour he sat there, striving to control himself enough to speak without shewing any emotion; and then it was hid but with a poor veil of carelessness.

'If you feel obliged to stand at the back of my chair all the time, Mr. Raynor, I shall feel obliged to go to bed. You must be tired after your day's journey.'

'It is the best thing you can do,' said Mr. Raynor quietly.

And Thornton went to bed, trying hard to persuade himself that he was a very ill-used person, and by the time he went to sleep was pretty well established in that pleasant conviction; but when he woke up in the night, and saw his friend still watching over him,-sometimes standing at his side, sometimes by the light with that little Bible in his hand which had for Thornton's eyes a strange fascination, —he was forced to change his mind. When he awoke in

the morning Mr. Raynor sat before the fire with his head resting on his hand, but at the first movement Thornton made he came to him.

'You are better this morning,' Mr. Raynor said, when he had felt Thornton's head and hand, and had taken his usual grave survey of his countenance.

Thornton looked up at him and repeated his last night's question

'What do you vex me for, Henry?' And for almost the first time in his life Mr. Raynor answered him with a smile. 'Well, why do you?' said Thornton.

'Why do you vex yourself?' said Mr. Raynor, his clasp of Thornton's hand a little closer. The feeling of last night rose up in Thornton's eyes, he closed them and was silent.

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'I am absolutely sorry to part with you, and to give you

up into other hands,' said Mr. Raynor-'even though those be the best possible.'

6

'Part with me!' said Thornton. That is what you shall not do. You are going with me to White Oak !'

'No.'

'You must.'

It is so short a journey,' said Mr. Raynor, and you seem so well this morning-I think you can ride there with only Tom's attendance.'

Thornton began the business of dressing with his mind hard at work.

'But I shall want you there,' he said.

'Not when you have seen Rosalie.'

'I wish she was anywhere else!' said Thornton, with his usual attempt at diversion. 'Such a place to go to for three weeks!'

ton.

'Such a beautiful place.'

'The beauties of nature are not in my line,' said Thorn

'Then you are out of your own,' said his friend.

'As how, Mr. Raynor?'

Something is wrong when the most pure and beautiful things the world can shew give no pleasure. If sweet music seem to make discord there must be discordant notes within.'

Thornton finished his dressing and breakfasting in comparative silence, and even Mr. Raynor said little, and seemed willing to let him muse if he felt inclined. Breakfast over, the carriage came to the door, and Thornton set forth on his short journey. For a few miles Mr. Raynor's horse was by his side, and the rider from time to time called his attention to some notable thing in the landscape. But when they stopped for an hour that Thornton and the

THE SWEET SERVICE.

299

horses might rest, Mr. Raynor ordered a fresh horse for himself to be got ready immediately.

'Are you going no further with me?' Thornton said. 'No further. This is your road—that is mine.'

'And when am I to see you again?' said Thornton, who looked disturbed at the prospect.

'When you come back to the city I hope,' said his friend. 'And what am I to hear from you in the mean time?'

'O that I am as well as ever again, I presume,' said Thornton.

'And no better?'

Thornton flushed a little, but instead of flinging away the hand he held. as he would have done some months before-he only swung it backwards and forwards and was silent.

Are you so unwilling to take up the lightest and sweetest service to which a man can submit himself?' said Mr. Raynor.

'It seems so to you-' said Thornton,' it does not to me.'

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'Nor ever will until you try it. When the doubtful ones asked Jesus, "Master, where dwellest thou?" he said unto them, "Come and see.”" If any man will do his will he shall know of his doctrine," and of his service. Or as Rutherford says; "Come and see will teach thee more -come nearer will say much."

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'Well-' Thornton said in a very unsatisfied tone.

'Let it be well, dear Thornton, for more sakes than your own.' In silence the hands were clasped and parted, and Mr. Raynor rode away.

Thornton looked after him as long as even a dusty trace could be seen, and then returned to the beauties of nature with a mind very unfit for their contemplation. The

quiet depth of the blue sky disturbed him, and made his own spirit seem dark and cloudy, the bright sun threw shadows upon his mind of less fair proportions than those upon the landscape; and the sweet voice of birds and winds and brooks was too pure, too praise-giving-too much like the children crying hosanna in the ears of the offended Jews. It was an unbroken concert, but Thornton's instrument was not in tune. Everything jarred-he shook hands with nothing; and by turns sad or impatient he drove wearily along, until in the afternoon light Mrs. Hopper's gate appeared before him, and the journey was at an end.

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