The next morning Carol rose at his usual time, and breakfasted with his cousins in the school-room. Miss Markham looked at him with puzzled eyes, especially when he told her he was quite ready to begin lessons again. She could not understand it. There seemed to be some mystery connected with his marvellous recovery from what everybody believed to be serious injuries. She took the opportunity, when his cousins were out of the room, to ask him quietly, "What has made you well so quickly, Carol?"

"Ask Auntie, please, Miss Markham, I am not allowed to talk about it," he replied. Miss Markham's wonderment was considerably increased, for Mrs. Mandeville had only told her, when the boy first came to the Manor, that he had been taught religious tenets which were altogether unorthodox. She did not then connect that remark with the boy's quick recovery. He often made remarks which surprised her. Sometimes she pondered over a remark he had made, and found there was more in it than at first had appeared. If she attempted to draw him out by questions, he became strangely silent and reserved. Once, it was during a history lesson, Carol exclaimed, "But evil could have no power, Miss Markham, if everyone knew that God--good--governs. If we had no belief in evil, evil could not hurt us."

Thinking over the words afterwards, Miss Markham admitted to herself that to acknowledge the omnipotence of God, must deprive evil of any power. But she wondered how it was Carol had come to see it so clearly. She could not, however, draw him to talk any more on the subject. After breakfast Mrs. Mandeville came to the school-room with the longed-for letter in her hand, and, as permission was readily given, Carol went to his own room to read it. Eagerly he broke open the envelope, and read:

"My dear, dear Carol,

"The telegram in answer to mine this morning has just arrived. I waited for it before commencing my letter to you. I rejoice for you, Truth has triumphed, error has fallen. When I returned to the Court last night, after being absent since Saturday afternoon, I found telegrams and letters awaiting me. On learning that the first telegram asking for help for you was more than three days old, I had to fight error on my own account, before I could fight it on yours. How quick error is to find the weak parts of our armor. My human love for you, darling, opened wide the portals, and a crowd of wrong thoughts rushed in. I found myself wondering why it should have so happened that I should be away, when I seemed most wanted, and under circumstances which made it impossible for the telegrams to be sent on.

"Then, in this sudden tempest of doubts and fears which had rushed upon me, came the words, calm, sweet, tender: 'I, if I, be lifted up, will draw all men unto me.' And I knew, I was absolutely sure, however great were the sense sufferings, Carol had held steadfastly to Truth: the Christ was lifted up; and, though he may not know it, some human heart has been drawn nearer the eternal Truth, Christ.

"Then I commenced to work for you, and when the roseate hues of early morning began to steal into the room, the knowledge came to me that there was nothing more to fight--error was overcome. All is well, even the delay which at first seemed altogether wrong. Now I will tell you the reason of it. On Saturday afternoon I was driving your pony in the small basket carriage, which you so often used. (Since they cannot have their little master, both Bob and the pony think the next best thing is to take me about.) I am becoming well acquainted with all the beautiful lanes in the neighborhood, for I frequently take these little excursions.

"We were three or four miles from home, when, in a very narrow lane, where it was impossible to pass another vehicle, we met a farmer, driving a dog-cart. The farmer showed his reluctance to be the one to back out of the lane. He accosted me with these words: 'Ma'am, I am in great haste; it is a matter of life and death.'

"'Indeed,' I said, 'is it the doctor you are in haste to reach?'

"'No,' he replied, briefly, 'the doctor has given her up. It is the lady that lives at Willmar Court I want to see.'

"'Then you have not far to go,' I said. 'She is here. What is your trouble?' Then he told me that his only child, a girl of seven, was believed to be dying. The doctor gave no hope of saving her. 'It seems the news of your beautiful healing has spread through the neighboring villages, and the grief-stricken parents of this little girl thought there might be hope for her.'

"I told the farmer I would go with him, and straightway sent Bob home with the pony, bidding him to tell the servants I should return as soon as possible, but not to trouble if I did not return that night.

"As soon as we had backed out of the lane, the farmer drove furiously, and it was not long before we reached his homestead. I found the belief of death so strong surrounding the child, that it seemed necessary to remain there.

"In two days it was overcome, but I stayed another day to give the wearied mother a good rest. The farmer drove me home last night, when I found everyone sadly troubled. They had begun to fear I was never going to return, and Bob could not give them any idea as to who had driven away with me. The letters and telegrams from Mandeville naturally added to their anxiety.

"Now, all is well: Good was governing--Love leading all the time. I cannot yet understand how it was the bull tossed you. Were you not able to realize your dominion? or was it the mesmerism of fear that seized you? Mrs. Mandeville mentions in her letter that you stood between your little cousins and the bull. My dear boy, of course you would! I could not imagine your doing otherwise. Doubtless the nurse's fear and the cries of the little girls affected you--the contagion of thought. Had you been quite alone, I feel so sure that you would have been able to realize your God-given dominion.

"Tell me more when you write (I am longing for a letter) of the old man and his little grand-daughter. Work always comes to willing hands and loving hearts, and what work is, or ever can be, so beautiful as work for the Master in His Vineyard. Never think any service little. Merely carrying even a cup of cold water will in no case lose its reward. But the joy of working--of being allowed to work--is sufficient. We do not look to the reward.

Before returning to the school-room, Carol sought his aunt in her morning-room. After reading his letters, he always took them to her, and asked her to read them too. They were not, perhaps, always as intelligible to her as they were to the boy, but they never failed to interest her. She was conscious of a growing desire to know the writer, whom she had never met. Later in the day Carol received another letter, delivered by hand. It was from Mrs. Burton, joyfully telling him the doctor was willing for her to take Eloise into Devonshire to his cousin.

He wrote immediately to Miss Desmond, asking her if she would invite Mrs. Burton and her little daughter to the Court, explaining the reason. He knew the invitation would not be long in coming.