CONCLUSION.

E will now pass over the next four years. After Edgar North was taken home, to be for ever with his Saviour, Arthur returned to Myrtle Hill with a sad, sad heart; for he loved Edgar very much, and he was the only boy-friend he ever had.

But then his sorrow was sweetened by the knowledge that Edgar was not gone into a dim, unknown region; but had left this world to be with that gracious Saviour who loved him far more, and cared for him better than any earthly friend could, however willing; and then Arthur knew that by-and-by they would be together; and meanwhile he was under the same good Shepherd’s care, and just as safe as his little friend; for the Lord Jesus has promised that His sheep shall “never perish.” Is it not happy to be a lamb of that flock which has Jesus for its Shepherd?

So the years passed on. Arthur was still studying very hard at his lessons, and trying to work for his Master in the little ways he could. And did he all this time forget his dear father and mother in the far-off land? No, indeed. Often and often his fancy would wander far over the deep blue sea, to that country which contained those who were nearest and dearest to him, and the yearning to see them was just as strong as ever. Seven long years had passed since that sad day of parting, which Arthur remembered so well; and these years had made a great difference in him. He was not the same little boy as when we first saw him; indeed he quite thought his sixteen years entitled him to drop the appellation of “boy;” and he had grown to be very tall, so that he looked older than he really was. I think few people but his mother would have recognized him, and she would have known him by the same bright, open look on his face, and his merry blue eyes, for they were unchanged. Arthur had not been left alone all these years for nothing. In his loneliness and sorrow he had been learning slowly, but surely, more and more to cast all his care on another, to confide in Him as a child in its father; he knew more of the rest of lying in those “everlasting arms,” and had proved what a refuge God is; and this was well worth all the sorrow through which he had learnt the lesson.

One morning in May, when Arthur came down to breakfast, he found on the table something that was always welcome to him—a letter from India. He tore it open eagerly enough, but how little he knew what it contained! It was from his mother, and she wrote to tell her boy that Mr. Vivyan’s time had now ended, so nothing hindered their return to England, and even now, by the time this letter arrived, they would be on their way home. It was hurriedly written, as she was busy preparing for the voyage, so there was little more said in it than was necessary; but Arthur’s heart gave a quick response as he read the words: “And God only knows the great joy He has in store for me in giving me back my darling Arthur.”

Was it really true? Arthur could scarcely believe it, that the long thought of and yearned for time was indeed so near. How often in his fancy he had tried to picture to himself that meeting, and to imagine what his feelings would be, and now it was coming so soon. He felt almost a little stunned at first, it was so sudden; but he was very, very happy, and very thankful to his Father in heaven for giving him this joy.

It was not long before Mrs. Estcourt came down. Her face showed that she already knew the good news, for she had a letter that morning too, and she met Arthur, who came eagerly to greet her, with a fond, sympathising embrace. “Oh, Arthur,” she said, “I am so glad for you.” His aunt then told him, during the course of breakfast, that they expected the ship would probably reach England in about a week from this time, and they would come direct to Myrtle Hill, where they would stay a little while.

It was some days after this, when Arthur had hardly got over the first excitement, that another letter arrived. This time the post-mark was Southampton. They were in England, and hoped to be at Mrs. Estcourt’s house the following day. What a long and wearisome morning the next was! for, as I dare say every one knows, time always passes slowly when we are expecting or waiting for anything. Mrs. Vivyan had said in her letter, that the train by which they intended to come arrived at about five o’clock. The day could not have been more lovely; it was a soft, bright, early summer’s evening, and the country around Myrtle Hill looked very beautiful in the mellow sunlight; the trees which surrounded the house cast long, dark shadows on the green sloping lawn, and rustled gently as the breeze stirred amongst them. Arthur was out there watching and listening for the sound of carriage wheels, and though the time seemed to him to be creeping instead of flying, it was not really so very long before he heard it. In another minute a tall, fair lady was stepping out of the carriage. Arthur only said “Mother!” and rushed into her arms, and then to his father: it would be hard to say which was the happiest in that meeting-moment, only Arthur felt rather as if he were in a dream. May not such earthly joys show us a little what it will be to see the One whom, having not seen, we love? And as Arthur thus rejoiced in the fulfilment of his long-cherished hope, what will it be to have our one great hope at last realized? “And His servants shall serve Him, and they shall see His face.”

It was not until late in the evening that Arthur and his mother were quite alone, when all the first bustle and talking were over; and then what a happy, quiet talk it was! and how their hearts were overflowing with happiness! Then they both knelt down together again before the throne of grace, and Mrs. Vivyan offered up heartfelt thanks and praise to God for past protection, and for now bringing herself and her son together.

Arthur left Myrtle Hill to live with his father and mother; and his mother rejoiced to see that her fondest hopes and wishes for him were fulfilled; and when he had left his childhood behind him, it was still his joy to deliver to others the glad message of salvation with which his Master had entrusted him.

KILMARNOCK:
JOHN RITCHIE, PUBLISHER.