was growing so hot.
"How long do you expect to remain here - in Palestine, Mr.Dinwiddie?" something prompted me to ask. He hesitated amoment or two and then replied -
"I cannot tell - probably as long as I stay anywhere on thisscene of action."
"You do not mean ever to come home?" I said.
"What is 'home,' Miss Daisy?" he replied, looking at me.
"It is where we were born," said papa.
"Would your daughter say so?"
"No," I answered; for I was born at Magnolia. "But I thinkhome is where we have lived, - is it not?"
"Melbourne?" Mr. Dinwiddie suggested.
"No," said I; "it is not Melbourne now, to be sure; butneither could it be possibly any place in Europe, or Asia."
"Are you sure? Not in _any_ circumstances?"
I cannot tell what, in his tone or look, drove his meaninghome. But I felt the colour rise in my face and I could notanswer.
"It is where the heart is, after all," Mr. Dinwiddie resumed."The Syrian sky does not make much difference. _My_ home iswaiting for me."
"But we speak of home here, and properly."
"Properly, for those who have it."
"I think, Mr. Dinwiddie, that we say 'home' sometimes, when wespeak only of where the heart was."
"Better not," he said. "Let us have a living home, not a deadone. And that we can, always."
"What do you know of places where the heart _was?_" said papa,looking at me curiously.
"Not much, papa; but I was thinking; and I think people meanthat sometimes."
"We will both trust she will never come nearer to theknowledge," said Mr. Dinwiddie, with one of his bright looksat papa and at me. It was assuming a little more interest inour affairs than I feared papa would like; but he took itquietly. More quietly than I could, though my reason fordisquietude was different. Mr. Dinwiddie's words had setvibrating a chord in my heart which could not just then give anote of pleasure. I wanted it to lie still. The wide fairlandscape took a look to me instantly, which indeed belongedto it, of "places where the heart was;" and the echo of brokenhopes came up to my ear from the gray ruins near and far. Yetthe flowers of spring were laughing and shouting under myfeet. Was it hope, or mockery?
"What are you questioning, Miss Daisy ?" said Mr. Dinwiddie,as he offered me some fruit.
"I seemed to hear two voices in nature, Mr. Dinwiddie; - Iwanted to find out which was the true."
"What were the voices? - and I will tell you."
"One came from the old heap of Ekron yonder, and the ruins ofRamleh, and Jerusalem, and Gibeon, and Bethel; - the othervoice came from the flowers."
"Trust the flowers."
"Why, more than the ruins?"
"Remember," - said he. "One is God's truth; the other is man'sfalsehood."
"But the ruins tell truth too, Mr. Dinwiddie."
"What truth? They tell of man's faithlessness, perversity,wrongheadedness, disobedience; persisted in, till there was noremedy. And now, to be sure, they are a desolation. But thatis not what God willed for the land."
"Yet surely, Mr. Dinwiddie, there come desolations intopeople's lives too."
"By the same reason."
"Surely without it sometimes."
"Nay," he said. " 'The Lord redeemeth the soul of His servants;and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate.' "
"But their lives are empty sometimes?"
"That they may be more full, then. Depend on it, the promiseis sure, - they shall not want any good I thing."
"One must let the Lord judge then," I said somewhatsorrowfully, "what are the good things."
"Will we not?" said Mr. Dinwiddie. "Do we know? We must agreeto his judgment, too; and then we shall find there is no wantto them that fear him. The Lord is my Shepherd! - I shall notwant. But the sheep follow the shepherd, and never dream ofchoosing out their own pasture, Miss Daisy."
My voice choked a little and I could not answer. And all therest of the day I could not get back my quiet. The talk ofleaving the choice of my life out of my own hands, had rousedmy hands to cling to their choice with a terrible grasp lestit should be taken away from them. The idea that Thorold and Imight be parted from each other, made my heart leap out withinexpressible longing to be with him. It was not till we gothome to the Mount of Olives again, and I was watching theglory of the sunset, turning Jerusalem to gold and bringingout rosy and purple and amethyst hues from the Moab mountains,that my heart leapt back to its rest and I heard the voice ofnature and God again above the din of my own heart.
As soon as the season was far enough advanced, and Mr.Dinwiddie could make his arrangements to be with us, we leftJerusalem and its surroundings and set off northwards. It washard to go. Where many a sorrowful traveller has left hislittle mound of farewell stones on Scopus, I stood and lookedback; as long as papa would wait for me. Jerusalem looked sofair, and the thought and prospect of another Jerusalem laybefore me, fairer indeed, but so distant. And I fancied stormsand some rough travelling between. And here, in the actualJerusalem, my life had been very sweet; peaceful with a wholeflood tide of peacefulness. I resolved I would not lose norforget this ungratefully; but as long as I could I would behappy. So I turned my face at last to enjoy every foot of theway to Nablous.
During our stay at Jerusalem and on the Mount of Olives, ofcourse letters and papers had been received regularly; andsometimes a bit of news from America had made all our heartsstir. Mine, with a new throb of hope and possible exultation;for what we heard was on the side of Northern successes.Still, papa and Mr. Dinwiddie agreed these were but thefortune of war, and could not - in the nature of things last.The South could not be overcome. So they said, and I feared.But a thrill of possible doubt came over me when I heard ofFort Donelson, and the battle of Pea Ridge, and the prowess ofthe little iron-clad _Monitor_. And a great throb of anotherkind heaved my heart, when we got the news of PresidentLincoln's Message, recommending that assistance should begiven by Congress to every Southern State which would abolishslavery. A light broke in upon the whole struggle; and fromthat time the war was a different thing to me. Papa and Mr.Dinwiddie talked a great deal about it, discussing the subjectin almost all its bearings. I sat by and said nothing.
I would not read the papers myself, all this time. In AmericaI had studied them, and in Switzerland and in Florence I haddevoured them. Here in the Holy Land, I had made an agreementwith myself to be happy; to leave the care of things which Icould not manage, and not to concern myself with thefluctuations on the face of affairs which I could not traceout to their consequences, do what I would. So. I heard theprincipal points of news from papa's talk and Mr. Dinwiddie's;I let the papers alone. Only with one exception. I could nothelp it. I could not withhold myself from looking at the listsof wounded and killed. I looked at nothing more; but thethought that one name might be there would have incessantlyhaunted me, if I had not made sure that it was not there. Idreaded every arrival from the steamers of a new mail budget.
From Mr. Thorold I got no letter. Nor from Miss Cardigan. FromMrs. Sandford one; which told me nothing I wanted to know. Tomamma papa had writ- ten, describing to her the pleasure wewere enjoying and the benefit his health was deriving from ourjourney, and asking her to join us at Beyrout and spend thesummer on Lebanon.
Towards Beyrout we now journeyed gently on; stopping andlingering by the way as our custom was. At Nablous, atNazareth, at Tiberias, at Safed, at Banias; then across thecountry to Sidon, down to Khaiffa and Carmel; finally we wentup to Beyrout. Papa enjoyed every bit of the way; to me it wasa journey scarcely of this earth, the happiness of it was sogreat. Mr. Dinwiddie everywhere our kind and skilful guide,counsellor, helper; knowing all the ground, and teaching us touse our time to the very best advantage. He made papa more atease about me, and me about papa.
At Beyrout, for the first time since we left Jerusalem, wefound ourselves again in a hotel. Mr. Dinwiddie went to findour despatches that were awaiting us. Papa lay down on thecushions of a divan. I sat at the wind
ow, wondering at what Isaw. I wonder now at the remembrance.
It was afternoon, and the shades and colours on the mountainsand the sea were a labyrinth of delight. Yes, the eye and themind lost themselves again and again, to start back again tothe consciousness of an enchanted existence. The mountainsrising from the coast were in full view of my window, shadedwith all sorts of green from the different woods andcultivation which clothed their sides. The eye followed theirgrowing heights and ridges, till it rested on the snow summitof Sunnin; then swept round the range to the southward; butever came back again to the lofty, reposeful majesty of thatwhite mountain top in the blue ether. Little streams I couldsee dashing down the