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for bosom-friend; he might have lived with Him, hearkenin' every day to His blessed words, and lookin' upon His blessed face, and feelin' the clasp of His hand. But he missed it all; poor fellow! poor fellow!

"What lack I yet?' he asked. He felt he wanted somethin', though he was so rich he had everythin'-save eternal life. That was what he lacked-eternal life. An awful thing to miss that is, either in this world, or the world to come. What is eternal life? Why! the Bible tells us plain. 'This is eternal life, to know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent.' The poor young man had kept all the commandments, but he did not know God yet, nor Jesus, who had come to make God known. But he felt he was lackin' somethin'. 'Come, know me!' said Jesus. 'Take up thy cross, and follow me, for that is the only way to eternal life. You shall live with me, like these poor men, my disciples; and I will teach you about my Father, till you know Him and me. You can only know the Father through me!' What! was there no other way for him to win eternal life? Must he give up his rulership, and his possessions ?-great possessions they were. Could he have no treasure except treasure in heaven? Then the rich man went away grieved, and very sorrowful.

"I don't wonder at the Lord bein' very sorrowful too. Poor folks came, and could get all they wanted from Him. Sick folks were healed, and blind folks received their sight. Sad folks were comforted. Even lepers and folks possessed with devils were set free. But when rich folks came the Lord could do nothin' for them. They had got all they wanted, except eternal life. Except eternal life, mark you! and they were too rich to win that, in the only way it can be won. He may well be very sorrowful when He looks at rich men.

"It's easier,' said Jesus very sorrowfully, 'for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.' 'Well that's impossible!' say the disciples; and they were astonished out of measure. They were never so astonished as at that; they were exceedingly amazed. Even when Jesus told them beforehand of the manner of His death, they were not so amazed, and astonished out o' measure. 'Who can be saved if a rich man cannot?' they asked; 'a rich man has everythin' his own way. He's a ruler, and everybody gives way to him. He's plenty of time; there's nothin' to hinder him from keepin' the command

ments from his youth up. He can give loads o' money away, and nobody blames him. Who then can be saved?' Ah! they never thought the kingdom o' heaven is as men runnin' a race; and who can run well that is laden with thick clay? If a man is passin' over clayey ground, and he clogs his own feet with it, how is he to win a race? He was a young man, and nimble enough to run along the high-road to meet with Jesus; but his soul was heavy laden with the pleasures and the cares o' riches, and could not run up the shinin' road to God.

"Through a needle's eye! Isn't that much the same as enterin' in at the strait gate? The gate's just wide enough to let our souls in, but it can't be stretched to let in one rag of our possessions. If we poor folk love our bits of cottages, or our gardens, or our boats, so as to make us forget God, why we are trying to drive our camel through the needle's eye; and it can't be done. We're what the world calls poor, almost all of us, but we can make Jesus very sorrowful. If we were out in a great storm, with darkness comin' on, and rocks, strange rocks ahead, and us driftin' on them, and we saw a quiet haven close by, only with a channel so narrow and so low an archway to go under that we must lower our masts and see that our tacklin' was all taut and tight, would we go on to the rocks and be lost, rather than run into that safe harbour? Nay, wouldn't we quit nets, and boats, and all, and escape with our bare lives? You would, you would. Well, then, for your soul's sake, get rid of all that keeps you back from God; enter in at the strait gate; go through the needle's eye. Peter said, 'We have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?' Ah! Peter, are you goin' to make a bargain with the Lord? But the Lord was not grieved with him. The disciples had done their part first; they had done what the rich man could not do. had forsaken all they had, and followed Him. They had gone through the needle's_eye. And what did Jesus promise them? Everlasting life! The only thing the poor rich young man lacked. Well done, disciples! good and faithful servants! ye shall lack nothin'; enter ye into the joy of our Lord.

They

"The kingdom of God! There are no rich folks or poor folks there; no great men or small men. The rich and the poor meet together; the Lord is the maker of them all.' He makes men rich or poor as He sees fit, knowin' what is best for every one of us. 'We brought nothin' into this world,' says Paul to Timothy, and it is certain we can

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"But I was wishful to say a word or two about the kingdom of God. Paul was caught up into the third heaven, and heard unspeakable things, which it is not lawful for man to utter. That is the grand palace and throne of the kingdom; but the kingdom of God is here in this life. Paul says, and he knew better than most men, that it's righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. It's mostly an unspeakable thing, but I'll tell you all I can about it. There's righteousness. You and me, we can live in this world in a way to please the righteous God. I know I've my faults and failin's; all of us have; but there's many a thing I do that I can look up to God about, and know He is pleased with it. 'I do always those things that please Him,' says Jesus. Ah, Lord! Thou wert His only begotten Son, in whom He is ever well pleased. But we do not always do things that please Him; only sometimes; when we are most like little children playin' at work, and thinkin' they are pushin' father's boat down into the sea with their little hands, whilst he's pullin' with might and main, and smiles at them for helpin' him. God smiles down upon us when we think we're helpin' Him.

"Then after righteousness comes peace; the peace that Jesus left to His disciples. He was goin' into glory; and He left His peace with us, a peace passin' all understanding. I'll try to tell you what it is like, though it is unspeakable. Sometimes I've been far away from land on the open sea, and there's been nought but blue sky above me, and the blue water all around me. The sky seemed like the sea, and the sea shone like the sky; all calm, quietness, peace. No land there with its work and worry. And I've let myself float on it, like a babe lyin' on its mother's lap looking up to the blue smilin' sky above me. That's how my soul is with God. I am restin' upon Him in a great calm and peace. There's nought but God above, and beneath, and all about my soul. When it lifts up its eyes and looks around there's nought but God to be seen; there's no fears, no cares, no steerin' or rowin' for itself. Above it there is only the smilin' face of God. This is peace;

what joy unspeakable and full of glory is I don't know yet, but my joy shall be full, and no man shall take it away from me. This is the kingdom of God.

"Rich men that love their riches, and poor men that hate their poverty cannot enter in, except through the needle's eye. Which of you will pass through this needle's eye?"

Old Fosse had been standing with his face turned towards the dusky group of listeners, sitting silently in the dimly-lighted interior, while Justin had remained in the corner of the porch, from which he could see the sunlit cliffs. As the old man's voice, growing tremulous as it came near the close, altogether ceased, he moved quietly away, and taking an unfrequented track, was soon beyond the sound of the singing, which rose and fell at measured intervals. It was a lovely summer evening, and Justin sought a quiet, solitary spot on the cliffs, where no eye could see him, and no foot pass by.

He wished to be alone. All day his soul had been dwelling in darkness; and a new light was dawning upon it, solemn and mysterious as the daybreak after a tempestuous night. In his dread of poverty, and his desire to be rich, he had fallen into his temptation and the snare spread for him, and had erred from the faith. He had shut himself out of the kingdom of God.

Then there came to him one of those strange and mysterious crises in the history of the soul, which none know save those who are called to pass through them. A deep awe overwhelmed him, and he hid his face even from the dying light of the day. The earthy husk of life was stripped off, and shrivelled up in the presence of the mighty influence that swept over him. His soul was wrestling for a greater blessing than he had ever dreamed of before. Not a word came to his lips, or was fashioned in his brain. He was not conscious of the flight of the solemn hours. The quiet sounds of night did not penetrate his ear, and the soft summer breeze touched his head without arousing him. So motionless was he, he might have been dead.

But when he raised his head and lifted up his pallid, awe-stricken face, there was no more irresolution in his heart. Herford lay below him in the dusk of the summer's night, with its sleeping cottages and strip of silversand, where the white-fringed waves were rippling quietly. Above it stood his home with one light burning still in Pansy's window. The church stood out clearly on its little slope of rising ground. All this was his own no longer. He must go out into the world

recognised no more as the prosperous landowner and popular magistrate. There would be conflicting and false rumours about him, and for a few days he would be the wonder and talk of the county. Then he would be forgotten, and Richard would be Herford of Herford.

village, the servant told him. Richard had not been present in the church the day before, in spite of Pansy's entreaties that he would go with her to hear her father preach. The irritation of the continual sight of his elder brother occupying the position that was his by birthright, was working within his He had suffered the bitterest pang for his shallow nature as much deep hatred as he daughter's sake. As yet indeed he did not was capable of feeling. He had met with know what the conflict had cost him, but it Diana as she came out of church, and walked was over. There was a great calm in his with her over the cliffs to Rillage Grange, inmost soul, as of one whose feet feel the where he stayed the rest of the day, and late steadfast rock beneath them after long on into the night. Leah Dart had found him buffeting with mighty waves of the sea. He there on her return from her uncle Fosse's knew that he had only one master, and that preaching, and as soon as Miss Di left her the yoke of all other servitudes was broken father and his guest, she relaxed her stringent from off his neck. The love of the world rule, and indulged her patient, and Master had been cast into the consuming fire of the Dick, with something very nearly approaching love of God, and had been destroyed for the carousals so strictly forbidden by Dr. He had entered into the kingdom of Vye. Squire Lynn's glass she watched over herself, but Richard was at liberty to drink as much as he pleased.

ever.

God.

CHAPTER XXIX.-RESTITUTION.

Ir was more than ten years since Justin had turned aside into that way which had seemed good in his eyes, but he had held the estates against the silent protest of his conscience no longer than eight days. He had been fully persuaded, possibly because he wished it, that his step-brother was dead, and that Herford was fairly and justly his own. Even during these eight days the conflict had been more on behalf of his daughter than for himself. But now he was resolved to face the reality, to be true. What he could do to shield Pansy from suffering he would do, for himself he was almost ready to welcome it.

But the path was no easy one to pursue, though the inward barriers were cast down. It was a solemn night for Justin, as he deliberated over his immediate action. Richard must be reinstated in the house of his ancestors, whilst he must turn out into the world with a shadow attending him which would cling to his name, and dim the fair reputation he had won. He was utterly stripped of all, even of his name, for he would no longer be Herford of Herford. Now that the question was settled he could see his position with great clearness: he must become an almost penniless man with a suspicion dogging him like his shadow. For how would the world understand what he had done? What would those nearest to him think of it? How would Diana, how would Pansy bear it?

He came down late in the morning and inquired for Richard, who was gone into the

The consequence of this was that Richard was feeling dull and in low spirits this morning. Whenever his spirits sank there was a lurking imp of self-reproach ready to lift up its head, and torment him with vexing thoughts of his old father dying, without recalling the curses he had invoked upon him. At these seasons Richard felt himself accursed. He was superstitious; the old stories told him in his earliest years by the credulous and ignorant fishermen of a former generation, had struck deep roots in his illinformed and untrained mind. He had a fixed unshaken faith in the power of a curse, and of the sheer impossibility of escaping from its malign influence. His father's malediction hung over him like an eternal threat, never to be repealed. This morning he had awoke from a hateful dream, in which he had seen vividly his father's withered face, and heard his broken voice muttering curses against him.

He was making up his mind that he must quit Herford, where every spot recalled his father, and seek some stirring scene where he might stifle such memories. He strayed absently through the churchyard, and into the church, the door of which was open. The walls of the old chancel were covered with marble tablets to the memory of past Herfords of Herford, and Lynns of Rillage. His father's monumental stone was there, containing simply his name, and the dates of his birth and death. There was no epitaph, no panegyric on his virtues.-" Aged 83." Those were the last characters. All the other Herfords had records of their having

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There had been no interview yet between the brothers without a feeling of chilly reserve, and almost a sense of animosity between them. But at this moment Richard was soft-hearted. His thoughts had been dwelling on the past, and he could remember how proud he used to be of his big brother, when he was yet a young boy not old enough to rush into sin. How good Justin had been to him when he came home for his holidays! He had indulged him with all the sympathetic kindness a big boy sometimes shows towards a little one. Richard could recollect riding aloft on his shoulders over the fields, and swimming out with him towards the whitecrested waves which tossed and played with him safely while his brother's arm was about him. He could not forget how earnestly Justin had striven to turn him aside from his mad career of folly and disobedience, nor how he had pleaded with him never to carry out his threat of running away from home. The hardship of seeing Justin made the head of the family consisted in the fact that he was not really his own elder brother and heir to the estate. It would have been no grievance if Justin had been born a Herford.

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These thoughts hurried through Richard's mind as Justin came deliberately up the aisle, and he held out his hand in silence and grasped Justin's hand warmly. Justin was startled and touched to the quick. There had been no sign of sensibility or of penitence before in the returned prodigal, yet here he was standing before his father's monument with tears in his eyes. The old love for his younger brother, so soon smothered by the fatal indulgence that had ruined him, sprang afresh into Justin's heart. He clasped Dick's hand with a hearty pressure.

"Justin," he said, after a long pause, and speaking in broken accents, "it's an awful thing to have your own father's curse hanging over you! It can never be unsaid now, you know, and it's always working against me. How can a fellow repent, and grow better, when his father's curse is on him? I'm like Cain; I'm doomed to be a vagabond on the earth as long as I live."

Justin was grasping his hand still, and looking into his face with a grave and steady regard. He could love his prodigal brother now, and feel a keen and deep desire for his welfare. But Dick's words stung him. Was it true that he had been binding his brother's soul to sin during all these years?

"Would you have repented if your father had forgiven you?" he asked.

"How can I tell?” replied Richard almost petulantly. "He died cursing me; he cut me off, his only son."

"He forgave you before he died," answered Justin; "he forgave you fully, and he restored your birthright to you, as he thought. He gave our mother the will which disinherited you, as he believed, and bade her burn it."

"By George!" exclaimed Richard, turning very pale.

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'It was almost the last thing he said in his life," continued Justin, "at the last hour. Till then he held fast by his resentment, and nobody knew he had forgiven you but me. But at the last he intended to make you amends. There is no curse upon you. Dick, my poor fellow, if that has kept you back from repentance and a better life, I shall rejoice for ever in what I am about to do this day."

"My old father forgave me!" he muttered.

"Fully," answered Justin; "he intended to destroy his last will, which disinherited you. He always meant to destroy it the day you came home again, and he had it burned, as he thought, and as I thought too, on his

death-bed. But he had made a mistake; he had put the wrong will into the wrong cover. He gave my mother the will he wished kept, and kept the one he wished destroyed-the one that made me his heir. It was a fatal mistake for me."

"More fatal for me," said Richard with a faint sneer. The suspicions that had been awakened by Leah Dart came back upon his mind with fresh force. A sudden low suspicion was manifest in his tone and manner which made Justin wince.

"It was a mistake full of harm for us both," he said. "It would have been best for me to have made the truth known at once; but several considerations weighed strongly with me. I made every possible inquiry after you; I advertised in every colonial paper, and in the chief American papers, begging of you to return."

"Ah! I saw some," interrupted Richard; "but I'd heard the old man had cut me off with a shilling, and I did not choose to come home to eat humble pie from a half-brother that had no right to the property or the name. By George! it's a queer story; it'll take a good deal of looking into, this will.”

"If you had come home," said Justin quietly, "as soon as you saw my advertisement, I should have reinstated you. I took neither name nor property till I felt almost satisfied you were dead. You have been at home eight or nine days, and I am ready to relinquish all to you."

"Make me master of Herford!" exclaimed Richard, in intense surprise.

"I have already sent for Uncle Watson," he continued, "to advise us. He will satisfy you that I am acting in perfect fairness. There may be some little delay, but from this time you are the sole owner of the estates in my eyes. Richard, let this be the turning-point in your life. You are not a foolish, headstrong lad now; listen to reason. You will step at once into a good position, with a fair income, larger than any of your forefathers had, and sufficient for the life of a country gentleman, who looks after his own lands and manages his own affairs. You will have considerable power and influence, for which you must one day give account to God. If you have been troubled by the thought of your father's anger and curse, how much more you should be afraid of God's! I implore you, make this the point at which you will turn away from your follies and sins, and seek God's forgiveness. You would have sought your father's forgiveness if you had come home before he had died.

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