"Miss Eunice is not worse, is she, Fidelia?" said he as they entered the gate.

"No, Jabez; but--good-night."

One word of Dr Everett's stayed with Fidelia. Eunice must not be excited or troubled. Still many days must not pa.s.s before her decision to stay at home was made known to her. Would it grieve and trouble her very much?

In her perplexity Fidelia spoke first to Mrs Stone, who listened in silence to all she had to say.

"Is it that which has been troubling you all these days?" said she, with the air of one relieved. "Let's talk it over and find out what is best, before we say a word to Eunice about it. Is it of her you are thinking, or yourself? Before we go further you must settle that."

"It isn't that I think Eunice needs me at home, if that is what you mean."

"Yes; you know I will take good care of her. I love her, and I have nursed sick folks before. She'll miss you? Yes; but then she has set her heart on your getting the good of another year at the seminary, and she may feel worse about your having to lose that than about her having to lose your company. And she begins this winter with better health and better courage than she did last winter."

"And do you think I would have gone away last winter if I had known? I know she has you now. Yes, Aunt Ruby, it is of myself I am thinking.

She is all I've got, and I must stay with her while she is here. Months or years--what is the difference?"

"I understand your feeling." There was a long silence, and then Mrs Stone added--"I don't know that I am capable of realising all the good a year at the seminary would do you. I think you couldn't fail to get much good for this world, and for the next as well, from the company of your sister. But if she has set her heart on your going away, I don't see but you must go, dear."

"I cannot, Aunt Ruby."

"I know that's your feeling. But you mustn't be wilful about it, Fidelia."

"I cannot go."

"Have you spoken to Dr Everett?"

"Yes, but he didn't help me any."

"Well, I don't see but you'll have to talk to Eunice about it. Only you must make up your mind to do just as she says. And you must lay it all before the Lord. It is His will you must seek to know."

"You will have to do that for me, Aunt Ruby. I don't seem to have any right to do that."

"Because you can't submit. But, child, you may set your heart on getting your own will, and you may get it; and, if you do, it will be bitterness to you. Give up your will to be guided by the Lord, and then you will know what it is to be content."

"How can it be His will that I should leave her who has been more than a mother to me all my life, now that she is so near--Oh, Aunt Ruby, I cannot go!"

To say that Fidelia was heart-sick these days, is not saying too much.

She grieved over Eunice; and all her sorrow and her love were embittered by the memory of the "bad dream" which would return; and she hated it and herself, traitor as she called herself. She did not sleep at night, and she was restless and listless by day; her face grew pale, and her eyes grew large and full of anxious pain; and her sister, who had watched her through it all, could keep silence no longer, and so she spoke.

Fidelia had come down as usual with her book in her hand, but, seated at the window, with her eyes on the fading vine-leaves that fluttered about it, she seemed to have forgotten her book and the reading which Eunice had prepared herself to hear.

"Are you ready, dear?" said Eunice.

"Ready?" repeated Fidelia. "I don't know. I don't seem to care much about it to-day, or about anything else."

"Fidelia, come and sit here by me. Never mind the book, dear. What is it that troubles you? Is it the thought of going away?"

"I don't think I can go, Eunice. I don't think I had better go."

"Will you tell me all about it, dear?" said Eunice, speaking very gently. "Come and sit by me."

Fidelia rose and went slowly to her sister's side.

"For one thing, I don't feel as if I could leave you," said she, putting great restraint upon herself, that she might speak quietly.

"Well, and what else?"

"I should have to work even harder that I did last year in order to graduate. It is quite doubtful whether I could if I should do my best; and I don't seem to care about it enough to try."

"You might feel differently when you were there among the rest of the pupils."

Fidelia shook her head.

"I think perhaps I should study at home, and perhaps teach awhile, as we first intended; and I might go next year. I don't seem to have the ambition I used to have about it. Going to the seminary isn't everything. I guess you had better let me stay at home."

"I will think about it, dear. I am sorry you feel so," said Eunice gravely.

Of course Fidelia had her own way. After much consideration of the matter by Eunice and her two counsellors, Mrs Stone and the doctor, it was thought best that it should be so. She was too unhappy and indifferent to appreciate or to profit by the advantages to be enjoyed at the seminary, and for the present she would be better at home. She could still go there later, if the way should open; and so it was left.

Jabez's plans were not settled for the next summer yet; but, whether he was to rent Miss Eunice's garden or not, it must be planted and sowed by some one; and the more there was done in the fall the less there would be to do in the spring.

"And I consider that it was in the contract that I should leave it all straight," said Jabez; and so he worked faithfully, and Fidelia worked with him; and the sharp autumn winds brought a tinge of colour to her pale face, and now and then the sound of her laugh brought a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of the two women sitting within.

She was very gentle and loving with Eunice all this time, watching over her, and antic.i.p.ating her wishes in many sweet and unexpected ways. She was helpful to Mrs Stone also--indeed, showing a little wilfulness in the constant taking of the least pleasant part of the household work into her own hands. She was trying to be good, but she was not happy.

She might have known--she did know, that without submission to the will of G.o.d no one could be either truly happy or good; and she was not submissive. Things had gone sadly wrong with their happy life, and for her she saw no chance happiness again.

Poor foolish child!--that she could not see, because she shut her eyes to the light.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE WINTER SCHOOL.

Fidelia had too much real strength of character long to yield willingly to sorrow or to the pain of rebellion. She had the sense to see that her sadness depressed her sister, and did her harm.

She could not "make believe" to be happy and light-hearted as of old, but after a time she did try to accept the circ.u.mstances of her life as it seemed to lie before her, and to determine to make the best of it; and Eunice was content to wait patiently till a better peace on a surer foundation should be hers. And help came to Fidelia, after a time, in a way not foreseen.

They were all expected to spend Thanksgiving Day at Dr Everett's. That is, they were to go to church in the morning, and return to dine early with the Everetts, intending to be home before dark. There was a little change in the plan, however. At the church they met Mrs Pease, the sister of Ezra Stone, who invited Mrs Stone to go home with her and keep Thanksgiving with "her own folks at the old place;" and Mrs Stone accepted the invitation, though it seemed rather like leaving "her own folks" to do so.

Mrs Pease had not been any too friendly hitherto and her sister-in-law was too glad to meet her halfway. So she gave up the pleasure she had been promising herself at Dr Everett's, and went with her. Her kind heart had been touched by the sight of the boys growing up there "on father's old place," as she always called it to herself, and she longed for a chance to do them good, for the sake of the boys she had lost, and who were lying beside their father and their little sister far away in the West. So she gladly went.

All Thanksgiving Days and dinners are alike in most respects in homes were nothing very sorrowful has happened since the last one. It was in all respects a delightful day at Dr Everett's. It was very mild for the season, and the young people went out and in, and amused themselves in various ways, and, without making any definite plan to that end, had a good time.

"Fidelia seems to be growing more cheerful again," said the doctor, as the sound of gay voices came to them where they were sitting in the house.

"Yes; I hope it will be well with her after awhile. I am not afraid for her," said Eunice. But though she smiled she sighed also; and then she added--"I would have liked to live a little longer for her sake."

"You may live many years yet, as Justin says. With a quiet life, such as you live, you may be well, though not strong, for years to come. You may see your sister's children yet before you die."

Eunice shook her head.