THROUGH A NEEDLE'S EYE. BY HESBA STRETTON, AUTHOR OF "JESSICA'S FIRST PRAYER," ETC. CHAPTER XXVI.-JUSTIN'S STRAIT. THE long summer days passed heavily to all at Herford Court. The conflict in Justin's mind did not come to a speedy conclusion, for he was taking time to observe his brother narrowly. There was no evidence of any change having transformed Richard's character. He was simply the sort of man his boyhood had foretold. If he became master of Herford Court he would be the least | estimable Herford that had ever owned it. In ten years' time, Justin felt sure, the estate would pass into the hands of strangers, and Richard be begging for his bread. Was it not his duty to hold fast the property? The idea that his elder brother had robbed him by foul play of his inheritance had not been dismissed from Richard's mind, though he had thrown away as worthless the poor evidence of such a crime. He had never practised self-control, and now, though it was to his interest to make himself agreeable to Justin, he could not refrain from an occasional outburst of angry insolence, alternating with an almost servile deference to him. He made free with the horses and boats belonging to the house; and he lounged about Herford, talking with the fishermen on the beach, with hints and innuendoes of Justin's unlawful usurpation of his birthright. There was a certain sense of justice in the hearts of the men which recognised the claims of the only son to his father's property, and which was kindled into stronger life by Richard's presence. Each one felt that his small possessions-his boat, his cattle, his household furniture-which he had inherited from his forefathers, he held in a sort of trust for the children that were coming after him. His sons were the grandsons of the father who had left him his goods; and there was a natural law which required of him that after he had served his own life with them, they should pass into the possession of those in whose veins the same blood ran. Yet all the while they knew that Justin's ownership of Herford Court was the most beneficial circumstance to every one connected with the estate. Mrs. Herford, with all the force of a weakminded woman, took the side of her younger She behaved as if she could not make enough of him, and she supplied him with as much money as he chose to demand from her, under the transparent subterfuge of son. VII. N.S. borrowing. Every day the fatted calf was killed, the best robe worn. She invited her friends and neighbours, from far and near, to come and rejoice with her over her long-lost son; and a succession of somewhat dreary festivities took place at Herford Court, enjoyed by no one except Jenny Cunliffe. Jenny's mother kept her well supplied with pretty, fresh muslin dresses, and an almost unrestricted supply of ribbons and gloves. The cost was not very great, and Mrs. Cunliffe felt that Jenny was having her chance now. Justin was bound at least to provide handsomely for his brother, who had come home at last safe and sound, though a beggar. Why should not Jenny share Richard Herford's fortunes? Leah Dart had felt it to be a great blow when Richard told her that her cherished secret had proved utterly worthless. She scarcely believed it, especially as Richard harped upon the notion that there had been foul play somehow. He took his obligations to her very coolly, and did not make her heart beat fast with gladness by kissing her again. In fact, he was really irritated against her for kindling hopes that had been so rudely extinguished by his uncle. He almost felt a grudge against her because the papers had not turned out of more value. she asked him again for the little silk bag she had carried in her bosom for ten years, he told her how he had tossed it away, utterly indifferent to the chagrin she felt. Leah shed some bitter tears over the loss; she would have given her year's wages for that little bag. When "Justin," said his mother one morning, in a cold and distant manner, "my brother Watson writes me he is coming over to-day. It is high time to see what is to be done for Dick. It's very hard for him, poor boy! cruelly hard to see you here in his place. You should recollect you were not born a Herford. Of course, if my poor dead husband had taken my advice, I should have shown him how very unjust it was to cut off his own son, and quite against my wishes. Right is right. But Mr. Herford always kept me in the dark, and my poor boy suffers for it." "I have not yet finally decided what I shall do," answered Justin, "it is a more diffi cult question than you suppose. You would have me deliver up everything into Richard's hands?" 21 "I hardly say that," replied the mother musingly. "Richard is rather a spendthrift. Still, I cannot help feeling he is the rightful owner. He goes ordering about more like the owner than you do. He thrashed one of the lads this morning right soundly; and that you would never do. Anybody could see with half an eye which is the born master." "The born tyrant," interposed Justin, with mingled indignation and sadness. sidering the least thing that had a bearing on the momentous question on hand. He dared not say to himself, he was absolutely incapable of saying it, " I will hold what I have, in spite of conscience, of uprightness, of responsibility to a higher rule than the mere legal processes of a court of law." Yet it was difficult to make sure of that higher rule, whilst there were so many conflicting claims to adjust. As yet he resembled the man partially restored to sight, who saw men as trees walking. His thoughts, and plans, and desires were all vague, dim, and wandering. He could not open his eyes and see the path of righteousness stretching before him in a clear light. His mother's words took the same obscure form, and began to haunt his troubled brain. "Just like his poor father," continued Mrs. Herford. "Oh! there's no question as to which is the true Herford of Herford. No; poor, poor Dick! he is not in his right place. He was so very young when he ran away. He tells me he was actually on his way home, was close at hand, when he heard his father was dead, and how he had left you everything, and he went off again, broken-hearted. If he had been a fortnight earlier he would have found his father alive, and it would all have been altered. It was one of his shipwrecks that hindered him from being home in time. He has been in a great number of ship-in beating about the bush. Both of them wrecks." "Then you wish to see Richard master here?" said Justin. "Well, I only wish what is right," she answered; "I cannot believe it is right for my poor boy to be a beggar in his own father's house. You would not like Pansy to be turned out in that way for a woman that was not a bit related to you. Blood is blood, and blood is thicker than water. Right is right, and wrong can never be right.” After having delivered herself thus oracularly, Mrs. Herford leaned back in her chair, and adjusted her lace lappets with an air of infinite self-complacency. As usual, when he was in perplexity, Justin was marching up and down the room; but though she hated to see it, she dared not give way to her petulance. She was always a little awed by her elder son; but Dick never gave her the same insufferable feeling of being looked through, and silently condemned. She felt sure that Justin had found her out, and knew her thoroughly, though his manner towards her was unvaryingly kind and considerate. Dick would think more of her opinion than he did. But Justin was not disregarding his mother's opinion now. On the contrary, he was pondering over every word she had uttered. Especially he dwelt upon his brother's statement that he was on his way home when his aged father died. As a man watching the outbreak of a threatening tempest takes heed how a straw is blown, he was carefully con It was a relief to hold a conversation on the subject with his uncle, though he could do nothing towards really helping him to a decision, whilst the fundamental fact was concealed from him. Mr. Watson lost no time were his nephews, and if he liked Richard best, he admired Justin most. Justin was a rising man, coming into importance in the county, and incomparably the best master there had ever been at Herford. Richard was not fit in his uncle's eyes to be trusted with either money or influence; yet there was just reason why he should be handsomely provided for by Justin. "I hope you are ready to do something handsome for the poor fellow," he said to Justin. "What should you call handsome?" he asked. The Mr. Watson paused. He had sounded Mrs. Herford as to her intentions, and found her obstinately resolved to hold fast her own money. She had been saving the greater portion of her income since her husband's death, and had invested it at a high percentage in Justin's improvements. £300 per annum bequeathed by Mr. Herford's later will had grown into £500. But she was quite determined not to lose any of it. Mr. Watson had boldly promised to secure £300 a year for Richard; but if his mother would not do anything, it must all come out of Justin's pocket-at the very time, too, when Pansy was likely to be a much greater expense to her father. He did not know of Sir Robert Fortescue's letter, or he would have felt the difficulty still greater. "We must take into consideration the poor fellow's extraordinary position," he said; "all the country is talking about it. There is no doubt he has a natural right to everything; and in many lands he would have the legal right. English law, however, steps in, and says every man may do as he likes with his own, with certain restrictions. He may indeed limit his successor to a life interest only in his estate, and entail it upon others. Dick's ancestors might have done this; and his father could not have disinherited him. But they each left their successor free; and you have reaped the benefit. Still the natural right remains the same. What my father and forefathers gained ought to be mine, not another man's. I considered old Herford's will unjust, and I did my utmost to get him to alter it. You must take all these circumstances into calm and fair consideration, Justin." "Do you think me covetous?" asked Justin, with a half smile. Mrs. steady refusal to accompany him. From the time that Justin had given up the living, it had been his practice to take his friend's duty in his absence. As soon as the office ceased to be compulsory it became a pleasure to him. He had a sense of solemn enjoyment in standing up among his own people, and leading their prayers, like the princes of old, who were also the priests of their subjects. The villagers on their part, liked to look up occasionally to Master Justin in the pulpit; though on the whole they were inclined to be more critical of his sermons, than of their vicar's. "Master Cunliffe's head has got only one thing inside it," they were wont to say, "but Master Justin's got fifty. We cannot look for as much from him." Justin knew quite well their estimate of his ministrations; but he knew also they enjoyed them as much as he did. He could not be jealous of his friend's superiority on his own ground, "No," answered his uncle, in a dubious tone, "but you know the value of money. You only reckon twenty shillings to the pound, while poor Dick counts five-andtwenty. Covetous? Why, no! Not miserly nor greedy. About as covetous, I suppose, There was a great concourse of curious as other men, who have a good, snug in- people the Sunday of Mr. Cunliffe's absence. come in their hands and are making a good What brought some of them there, they could use of it. You were always afraid of being not tell themselves. Mr. Watson had driven poor, when you were quite a little lad." over from Lowborough. Leah Dart had "Was I?" he asked sorrowfully. walked along the cliffs from Rillage; and "Well! You have the eyes of all the still more strange, Diana Lynn had come, country upon you," said Mr. Watson, and was seated beside Pansy in the Court "there's nothing else talked about at Low-pew. The crowded congregation filling every borough. I am satisfied you will deal liber-nook of the little church struck Justin with an ally with your brother, whether you love him unusual sense of awe. There was scarcely a or not. I always feel sorry for that elder strange face among them; but he felt as if brother in the parable, you know, who it would have been an easy task to face stayed at home, and was good to his father; strangers in the stead of these neighbours and when young scapegrace turned up and dependants, looking up at him with again, and all the house went mad over him, their keen and eager gaze. Their thoughts I don't wonder he was angry. It was all had been occupied on the same topic as his right for the father to be glad; but brothers own. They had been trying him, and sitting are different. I hope he made the best of in judgment upon him; though as yet their it however; and you will do the same, verdict was in suspense. It required a great Justin." effort to steady his voice and read the old familiar words. 66 As soon as I know what is best," answered Justin. CHAPTER XXVII.-IN HERFORD CHURCH. THOUGH the atmosphere of Herford was charged with electricity, and every one else was conscious of it, Mr. Cunliffe continued to breathe the calm air of devout abstraction. It had been settled that he should take a brief holiday after Justin's return from London, and he left home early the next week, surprised and disappointed at his wife's An ever-growing gloom and heaviness of spirit oppressed him. He feared that it must make itself heard in the tones of his voice, and visible in the expression of his face. He struggled to get the mastery over himself, and he partly succeeded. But who was he, that he should seem thus to stand between God and man? Why should his voice, rather than any other, be lifted up in the solemn accents of prayer? All the week he had been in conflict on the battle field of the world; walking by the world's light, and reasoning by the world's wisdom. There was many a man there better fitted to lift up his unfettered hands, in quiet trust, to God. Then there rushed through his mind the recollection that he had once filled this place, and quitted it, to go up, as he thought, to a higher. He had ceased to be the vicar of Herford in order to become its master. The broad acres, with their promising outlets into worldly prosperity, had seemed better to him, more worthy of his powers, than the charge of these poor peasant souls. It was true he had given to them a better pastor than he had been himself. Yet all the same, his own choice had been the owning of lands, and the possession of influence and reputation, and the good things of this life. He had deluded himself with the fancy that he was serving God. He had in fact been serving Mammon. How he got through the service, and the sermon that followed it, he could not tell. All the faces below him blended into a confused mass, as he repeated mechanically the words that his eye fell upon. He felt glad when it was over to take refuge in the vestry, and sit there in a blank stupor. The old sexton came in, when the congregation had dispersed, but he bade him go, and leave the key in the church door. Pansy tapped at the window, and his eyes were lifted to her sweet face, looking in upon him through the dim panes; but he only shook his head at her invitation to walk up the cliff with her and Diana. How quickly would he cut the knot he could not untie, but for Diana and Pansy! How joyfully would he go back to his old despised post of vicar of Herford, could he but blot out these last few years! The bells did not ring for afternoon service; and the news ran from lip to lip that Master Justin was not well enough to do the vicar's duty again. Such a circumstance had never occurred before, and it seemed as astonishing and portentous as an eclipse of the sun. Moreover he was remaining alone in the vestry, with the door locked inside. Mr. Cunliffe was known to indulge in long spells of meditation and prayer inside the church, with the key turned to prevent intrusion. But Master Justin was altogether a different personage. There must be something amiss. A large number of strangers had come again for the afternoon prayers; and there was a good deal of visiting of neighbours in consequence. The early tea-tables of the village were crowded. There was much guessing going on, and a fine thrill almost of terror. Could it be true, as Leah Dart had said, that Master Dick was going to law to turn out his elder brother? And did Master Justin feel somehow that he was in the wrong? Why could not they share an share alike? If they went to law they would lose all their money no doubt; and what would become of Herford then? It was quite clear, in any case, that something must be going to happen. The day was still warm and bright at seven o'clock, the hour for old Fosse's meeting. There were more people than usual wending their way along the rocky pathway on the lantern-hill, for they eagerly needed a centre for meeting, and old Fosse was sure of having some very clear opinions of his own. Leah Dart had been spending the day with her mother, who made her appearance with her, feeling that once a year it was incumbent upon her to pay her duty to the Almighty, by listening to a few good words; and she preferred old Fosse's good words to Mr. Cunliffe's more regular and more cultivated ministrations. Mrs. Fosse locked up her straying poultry, and went with her husband to the lighthouse. The ancient chapel was as full as it had ever been in the days when the most popular preaching friar had called his congregation together, by the tinkling of the bell in the low, square belfry. Jeremy took up his post on the threshold, as being the most convenient spot from which to address his hearers, and from which he commanded a view of the rocky pathway leading up to the lighthouse. It was a little after seven in the evening when Justin left the church, and was seen by many inquisitive eyes to saunter down to the beach slowly and languidly. He turned mechanically to the path up the Lantern-hill. It had been a favourite haunt of his since his early boyhood. The little tongue of rock stretching out into the water was ordinarily quiet and deserted, and from the far end all view of the village was cut off, and there was nothing to be seen except cliff and sea. Justin had forgotten it was Sunday evening. He was so absorbed in the conflict still raging within him that he could not give a thought either to the time or place. He was going on, like a man deaf and blind, who is led by some friendly hand which has grown so familiar that he hardly feels its clasp. It was here he had come the night old Herford died, and he was coming again, half-unconsciously, to knit up the ravelled memories of |