"A great

The tone was so bitter that Sydney was deeply moved. sacrifice," he said gravely. "That was your choice, was not it?" "It was absolutely imperative. No one shall have cause to curse

my father's memory."

'Except his son, it seems. I had hoped that to you the sacrifice, great as it must be, was a labour of love."

"Love!" said Kenneth, with contemptuous sternness. "It is our honour that is at stake. A Grahame could do no less."

"Perhaps not," said Sydney, suddenly lifting his eyes to a great dark engraving of the Crucifixion placed above the mantlepiece-Durer's Consummatum est—" but, a Christian might do more."

Kenneth started, as his eyes too rested on the awful representation of that great Sacrifice. Some strange chord was touched within him, but he did not speak. Both sat in silence, for how long neither knew. At last Kenneth arose, and with a muttered "good night," hastily left the room.

For some weeks the two friends did not meet. Sydney felt that the first advance must now come from Kenneth. He had gone as far as he could, but though some effect had been produced, he knew not whether it were for good or harm. He would wait and see. It was Lent, and he had plenty of work on his hands.

Kenneth went every day to his office, more silent and moody than ever. But he had been touched as it were by the spear of Ithuriel, and thenceforth there raged within his soul a desperate and incessant conflict between his good angel and the spirit of evil. That picture haunted his memory day and night. By the glory of that all-perfect Sacrifice, he saw his own dimmed and tarnished by pride and hatred. He had indeed taken the Cross, but in a spirit which made all his service a hard and bitter slavery. In heart he had been a rebel, and now that his eyes were opened, he saw why he had forfeited all claim to have the yoke made easy, and the burden light. He might have chosen the right path, but he had thought to surmount the difficulties of the way by the help of such weak supports as family honour, and personal pride. Moreover, a cloud had darkened his spiritual vision, till the night of desolation had seemed to swallow up all hope, and love, and faith. But now he had come to himself. His once-loved Master had recalled him to His service, by speaking to him as it were from the Cross. He cast himself once more at the feet of his King, and vowed to Him a life-long allegiance, not with the

joyous confidence of old, but with deep self-abasement and humble penitence.

One dark rainy evening in Holy Week Sydney met him coming out of the dimly-lighted church. The Curate held out his hand, which was at once taken.

"I was coming to see you-and to thank you," said Kenneth, with fervent grasp and trembling voice. All reserve and estrangement had vanished, and he did not scruple to lay bare to his friend the course of his spiritual life.

That Easter-tide was for Kenneth the dawn of a happier and better day, for henceforth he was able to bear his burden not only bravely but brightly. With the renewed loyalty and love of earlier days, there had come into his heart an added grace of humility. Now he felt content, and even glad to take the lowest place in the Master's service, to wait at the temple-gate while others pressed on to take the highest room. His zeal, tempered with humility, gained fresh and ever-growing strength. And so it was that he resolved to do whatever work came in his way, notwithstanding the obstacles which had seemed to him insurmountable. He would no longer shrink from the humble path of usefulness that lay open to him. In the choir and the night school his services were invaluable to the hard-worked clerical staff, and he learned to look upon the shortcomings of his fellowworkers with patience and forbearance; while his friendship with Sydney ripened into a deep and lasting affection.

Though he went on his way quietly, no one could fail to remark the change in Kenneth. Gradually his look of weariness and oppression began to wear off; he resumed many of his old studies, finding that they still possessed their former charms; poetry and history, romance and art, were as full of interest now as they ever had been; the fault had been in himself when he had fancied they could no longer give him pleasure. Now that he was living and working for the true end of existence, all things seemed rich with life and promise.

In spite of the large demands made upon his time by his daily work, there were many odd moments when he could refresh himself with a beloved book; and he seldom passed a week without looking into the National Gallery to feast his eyes upon some glorious masterpiece of art. The alteration in Kenneth's demeanour was noticed by his friends with much satisfaction.

"It is quite nice to see him getting up his spirits again, poor dear

..

fellow!" said good Mrs. Earle confidentially to Mrs. Brooks, the Vicar's wife. No one but I knew how deeply he felt his darling mother's loss, he really could not get over it. I saw him getting more sad and broken down every day. But now that nice cheerful young man Mr. Parker has done him so much good."

66

"They were old friends at school, I believe," said Mrs. Brooks. Yes; that makes such a difference to a man. I used to do my best to let him know what a good work was going on at S. Stephen's, and to rouse him to take an interest in it, but he never seemed, somehow, to care about it.”

Certainly he has turned over a new leaf, of late," said Mrs. Brooks, drily; and then she changed the conversation.

Kenneth was no favourite of hers; she thought him a sulky young man, full of Scotch pride. For his sister she showed some amount of affection. Christina's talent for usefulness soon developed itself, and met with the approbation of Mrs. Brooks. At fifteen she was the ruling spirit in Mrs. Earle's little household, but though neither cooking nor needlework came amiss to her, they were second to more intellectual occupations. When the good old lady's deafness increased so much as to render her incapable of much teaching, Christina induced her brother to let her go to a College for girls near at hand, where she could get good lessons in French and music. He might have objected on the score of expense, had she not declared herself able to defray it, on condition of his consenting to let her teach the Vicarage children. When he found that she had already talked over the plan with Mrs. Brooks, and that Mrs. Earle was favourable to it, he quietly resigned himself to their wishes. Charlie, at nine years old, obtained a place in the S. Stephen's choir school, where his musical talent and uniform good behaviour made him a greater favourite with the master than with his fellow-choristers.

Christina was thoroughly happy in her vocation. Work, as she told her brother, was her delight. Nor could she appreciate, as Kenneth did, the magnitude of the gulf which lay between their past life and the present. The change in social position and native surroundings had come to her so early, that the thought of it did not trouble her much. Perhaps Kenneth laid too much stress upon the pleasant refinements and privileges now beyond his reach; but he often wished that his sister had more to do with people who were her equals by birth. For himself, the deprivation mattered less, he thought; and

then he had a friend in Sydney Parker. But he did not care much about Christina's College associates; and neither the gentle, fidgety little Mrs. Earle, nor yet Mrs. Brooks, the "superior person" of their acquaintance, came up to his standard of what ladies ought to be.

CHAPTER III.

"In sweet music is such art."

WELL, to be sure! I am pleased! Dear me, Mr. Grahame, I didn't see you—you must excuse the oversight-I just dropped in to inquire whether it is the case, that your dear sister is going to make her début at Professor Schulz's concert this day fortnight. Some of the young ladies at College are quite envious, I assure you! Not but what the dear girl deserves her good fortune-and of course she is so superior to most. Well, Christina dear, as I was saying, I am pleased! and I shall just pop over the way and tell Addie Snape.Dear me, she'll be so pleased too, unless you have been in and told the news already." Miss Maria Crowther rattled on, not perceiving with her short-sighted eyes that the stiff and stern young man, whom she was in general nervously shy, was looking if possible stiffer and sterner than ever during her monologue. While Christina, standing by, and conscious of his darkening countenance, felt less grateful for the torrent of congratulation than she otherwise might have been. She longed to bring it to an end, and answered quickly, “Oh, I have not told any one, it was better to wait till the time. By the way, shall you be at College to-morrow ?”

of

Oh, yes! and since you are so modest, I shall spread your fame, my dear!" said Miss Crowther, with a knowing nod, and beaming smile. “I shall tell all my pupils, you may be sure! You are lucky indeed in having such a patron as the Professor. I've known many who would have paid ten guineas or more for the privilege of making their début under such auspices. The best advertisement you can have! I'll tell my pupils to get their parents to go. The 16th, isn't it? and S. James's Hall? Are the tickets at Monday Pop. prices, do you know ?"

"It isn't S. James's Hall-and it's a matinée d'invitation," said Christina, hastily. "I've no doubt the Professor will give you a ticket, if I ask him. It's to be at the Hanover Square Rooms, at 3.30, on the 16th."

"Very nice, too, my dear!" cried little Miss Crowther, with another nod and smile. "Oh yes; why Susanna Spearman herself made her début as the Professor's favourite pupil-and see where she is now! The pianiste of the season-though of course not so much before the public as Leonora Spearman (people do run after a singer so!) still, she's at the very top of the profession, a better artist than her sister by a long way. Oh, to hear her rendering of the Appassionata! so original and her execution I prefer even to the Professor's. Well, I mustn't detain you, dear, any longer-and Mr. Kenneth, too-I've been keeping you both standing-dear me, I'm so sorry; but I thought I must just step in for a moment, to congratulate.-" Kenneth went forward to open the door for the good lady, who had now turned to depart. But she had not yet finished. "O, my dear, and I am forgetting all the time something I had to tell you-your good news put it out of my head I suppose-but just as I had run over the way to Willis's, to get a nice little something extra-we have friends coming to drink tea with us, and you know gentlemen like a little something for their tea besides our usual fare-well, just as I was stepping across whom should I see but the Vicar, and that young Kingsland with him! quite armin-arm as you may say;" ("May we ?" inwardly ejaculated Kenneth ;) "I declare, it made me jump! the very last thing I should have expected, after all his conduct! and perhaps you can tell me, as you are so intimate at the Brooks's, whether he's come back to be in the choir. I don't know how my brother will take it, after young Kingsland's impudence to him-George will put up with a good deal, but really-." Christina felt still more vexed during this last speech, for she knew well that Kenneth hated parochial even more than musical gossip. However, when Miss Crowther turned to him with "And do you happen to know, Mr. Kenneth, whether he has promised to behave himself as he should for the future?" he merely answered quietly, "It is no use coming to me, Miss Crowther, I am generally the last person to find out anything. Your brother will no doubt hear from the Vicar, if it is so."

Miss Crowther made her farewells, and at last crossed the threshold. But she turned again, with an air of apology, to Kenneth, perceiving for the first time that he looked, as she said afterwards, crosser than usual," and added, "I must congratulate you too, Mr. Kenneth, about dear Christina's good fortune. Such a pretty name, too! it will quite help to make her fortune, with such a sweet face as she has, and so