outcome, was to have the heart filled with the love of God, and so, satisfied. How that should be, Rotha studied. It appeared that trouble drove men to God; and that the consequence of looking to him was the finding out how true and how gracious he is; so fixing desire upon him, which desire, when earnest enough and simple enough, should have all it wanted. And cannot people have all this without trouble? thought Rotha. But she remembered how little she had sought God when her head had been full of lessons and studies and books and all the joys of life at Mrs. Mowbray's. She had not forgotten him certainly, but her life did not need him to fill any void; she was busied with other things. A little sorrowfully she turned to the next reference. Ge. 1. 20. Joseph's comforting words to the brothers who had once tried to ruin him.
"As for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good,--"
Rotha's heart made a leap. Yes, she knew Joseph's story, and what untoward circumstances they had been which had borne such very sweet fruit. Could it be, that in her own case things might work even so? Her aunt's evil intention do her no harm, but be a means of advantage? "All things shall work for good"--then, one way or the other way, but perhaps both ways. Yet she was quite unable to imagine _how_ good could possibly accrue to her from all this stoppage of her studies, separation from her friends, seclusion from all the world at the top of an empty house, and banishment to the society of Joe Purcell and his wife. To be sure, things were as dark with Joseph when he was sold for a slave. Rotha's heart was a little lightened. The next passage brought the water to her eyes again. O how sweet it ran!
"Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments or no. And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know, that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live."--De. viii. 3, 4.
"_Suffered thee to hunger_." Poor Rotha! the tears ran warm from her eyes, mingled but honest tears, in which the sense of _her_ wilderness and _her_ hunger was touched with genuine sorrow for her want of trust and her unwillingness to take up with the hidden manna. Yet she believed in it and prayed for it, and was very sure that when she once should come to live upon it, it would prove both sweet and satisfying. Ah, this was what she had guessed; there were changes to be wrought in herself, experiences to be attained, for the sake of which she had come to this place. Well! let the Lord dispose things as seemed to him best; she would not rebel. She would hope for the good coming. The next verse was one well known.
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."--Ps. xlvi. 1.
Yes, Rotha knew that. She went on, to Jeremiah's prophecy concerning a part of the captive Jews carried away to Babylon. And truly she seemed to herself in almost as bad a case.
"Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel, Like these good figs, so will I acknowledge them that are carried away captive of Judah, whom I have sent out of this place into the land of the Chaldeans for their good. For I will set mine eyes upon them for good, and I will bring them again to their land; and I will build them, and not pull them down; and I will plant them, and not pluck them up. And I will give them an heart to know me, that I am the Lord: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart."--Jer. xxiv. 5-7.
Rotha bowed her head upon her book. I am content! she said in herself. Let the Lord do even this with me, and take the way that is best. Only let me come out so!--
But the next wonderful words made her cry again. They cut so deep, even while they promised to heal so wholly.
"And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them; I will say, It is my people; and they shall say, The Lord is my God."--Zach. xiii. 9.
If Rotha's tears flowed, her heart did not give back from its decision. Yes, she repeated,--I would rather be the Lord's tried gold, even at such cost; at any cost. Must one go through the fire, before one can say and have a right to say, "The Lord is my God"? or does one never want to say it, thoroughly, until then? But to be the Lord's pure gold I cannot miss that. I wonder if Mrs. Mowbray has been through the fire? Oh I know she has. Mr. Southwode?--I think he must. I remember how very grave his face used to be sometimes.
Here Rotha's meditations were interrupted. She heard steps come clumping up the stairs, and there was a tap at her door.
"Prissy's got supper ready," said Mr. Purcell. "I've come up to call you."
With which utterance he turned about and went down the stairs again. Rotha gave a loving look at her Bible and "Treasury," locked her door, and followed him.
"It's quite a ways to the top o' the house," remarked Mr. Purcell. "It'd be wuss 'n a day's work to go up and down every meal."
"Nobody aint a goin' up and down every meal," said his wife. "_I_ aint, I can tell you."
"How am I to know, then, when meals are ready?" Rotha asked.
"I don' know," said Mr. Purcell; and his wife added nothing. Rotha began to consider what was her best mode of action. _This_ sort of experience, she felt, would be unendurable.
The table was set with coarse but clean cloth and crockery. I might say much the same of the viands. The bread however was very good, and even delicate. Besides bread and butter there was cold boiled pickled pork, cold potatoes, and a plate of raw onions cut up in vinegar. Mr. Purcell helped Rotha to the two first-named articles.
"Like inguns?"
"Onions? Yes, sometimes," said Rotha, "when they are cooked."
"These is rareripes. First rate--best thing on table. Better 'n if they was cooked. Try 'em?"
"No, thank you."
"I knowed she wouldn't, Joe," said Mrs. Purcell, setting down Rotha's cup of tea. "What us likes wouldn't suit the likes o' her. She's from the City o' Pride. Us is country folks, and don't know nothin'."
"I've a kind o' tender pity for the folks as don't know inguns," said Mr. Purcell. "It's _them_ what don't know nothin'."
"She don't want your pity, neither," returned his wife. "I'd keep it, if I was you. Or you may pity her for havin' to eat along with we; it's _that_ as goes hard."
"You are making it harder than necessary," said Rotha calmly, though her colour rose. "Please to let me and my likings or dislikings alone. There is no need to discuss them."
After which speech there was a dead, ominous silence, which prevailed during a large part of the meal. This could not be borne, Rotha felt. She broke the silence as Mrs. Purcell gave her her second cup of tea.
"I have been thinking over what you said about calling me to meals. I think the best way will be, not to call me."
"How'll you get down then?" inquired Mrs. Purcell sharply.
"I will come when I am ready."
"But I don't keep no table a standin'. 'Taint a hotel. If you'll eat when us eats, you can, as Joe and Mis' Busby will have it so; but if you aint here when us sits down, there won't be no other time. I can't stand waitin' on nobody."
"I was going to say," pursued Rotha, "that you can set by a plate for me with whatever you have, and I'll take it cold--if it is cold."
"Where'll you take it?"
"Wherever I please. I do not know."
"There aint no place but the kitchen."
Rotha was silent, trying to keep temper and patience.
"And when I've got my room cleaned up," Mrs. Purcell went on with increasing heat, "I aint a goin' to have nobody walkin' in to make a muss again. This room's my place, and Mis' Busby nor nobody else hasn't got no right in it. I aint a goin' to be nobody's servant, neither; and if folks from the City o' Pride comes visitin' we, they's got to do as us does. I never asked 'em, nor Joe neither."
"Hush, hush, Prissy!"
said her husband soothingly.
"I didn't--and you didn't," returned his wife.
"But Mis' Busby has the house, and it aint as if it warn't her'n; and the young woman won't make you no trouble she can help."
"She won't make me none she _can't_ help," said Mrs. Purcell. "Us has to work, and I mean to work; but us has got work enough to do already, and I aint a goin' to take no