Agatha had been an invalid all her short life. Suffering had made her fretful and terribly nervous, especially of death, which she always imagined to be coming soon to her. She was not at all resigned to her lot, nor anxious to learn resignation, unless to escape the punishment that she feared must be the result of rebellion.

A more unhappy, self-tormenting child could scarcely exist.

Directly Catherine caught sight of the piteous-looking countenance, with its great dark passionate eyes, her heart went out to Agatha.

The little girl was lying flat on a wheel-couch before the fire, with her face turned away from the warmth, towards the door of the room. There were tears on her cheeks; she had been indulging in a stormy fit of crying because she had been, as the colonel had surmised, wearying for the coming of Catherine.

'You might have come to me sooner!'

These were her first words.

Bending to kiss her—a greeting that was warmly returned—Catherine answered:

'It is such a long while since I saw Uncle Jack that it was excusable for us to have a great deal to say to one another, wasn't it? Don't scold me on the very first evening of our acquaintance, Agatha, for you and I will be friends soon, I hope. It is very nice of you to be anxious to share your home with me, dear. I cannot come to live here, but I shall pay you frequent visits, and spend my holidays with you both.'

'You won't come altogether?'

'I cannot give up my work.'

Agatha laughed bitterly, and shrugged her shoulders with the gesture of a spoiled child.

'I suppose you're afraid of offending our enemy! Guardian, don't look cross with me because I said that! He is our enemy, if he isn't more willing to make up the quarrel than you say he is. Miss Carmichael, you'll be very silly if you don't take Uncle Ross's side of the dispute, not ours! Being poor, and living in a tiny cottage, and having to be economical, is so horrid!'

The colonel showed no sign of being cross; there was only an expression of perplexity in the gaze he bent upon his ward.

'Now, dearie, do not try to shock Catherine—she will not understand, as I do, that you never mean one half the shocking things you say.'

'Oh, guardian, I can't be polite to her, just as though she were a stranger, for I'm much too glad she's come. Catherine, if you make Uncle Ross adopt you, I suppose you'll be cutting us out, spoiling any chances we may have, you know, but I don't mind that a bit, and you can see guardian doesn't. Will you promise always to remember that? I would like the quarrel to be made up, just so that we went back to Carm Hail to live, but that's all! I don't want any one to leave money to us, because——Oh, never mind about why. Only say you won't misunderstand when I grumble! I want you most of all; if you'd come and live here, it wouldn't be as dull, and it's only the dulness that matters much.'

This extraordinary series of sentences was delivered in a jerky, half-shy, half-reckless fashion, and Agatha's glance remained fixed on Catherine's face.

Stroking the child's thin cheek, Miss Carmichael asked playfully:

'Don't you know that you would have to be still more economical if I came to live here, dear?'

To her amazement Agatha burst into tears.

'There! you will misunderstand me! I only mind economy because I'm miserable often, and dull, and frightened. Now you've forced me to tell the truth, and guardian's feelings will be hurt. Oh, I'm always doing wrong somehow!'

Catherine sat down on the edge of the couch, and laid her face on the tumbled mass of brown curls.

'You little goose! I was half in fun. I do believe that you want me to come; only I can't, so you must be content to have me sometimes.'

The sobs still continued.

Uncle Jack smiled wistfully at his niece, shook his head with a puzzled air, and stole out of the room, wisely thinking that the two girls, of ages so different, would arrive sooner at mutual understanding if they were left alone together.

Catherine refrained from asking for an explanation of the sobs, and presently Agatha raised a tear-strewn face out of the pillows, and nestling her cheek against her new friend's arm, said penitently:

'I'm sorry I'm such a little beast. My ideas are all in a muddle, so that it's impossible for me to make you understand what I mean. And I was trying to be diplomatic, and you've no notion how difficult that is when one's head is always aching!'

'Poor little woman! But why want to be diplomatic? Simplicity is true, noble and best. Your guardian has a simple heart.'

'I am going to try to make you understand, Catherine!' cried Agatha resolutely. 'Ever since guardian adopted me I've heard praises of you—of your courage, and sincerity, and beauty, and talents—until you've become a sort of ideal to me. Do you see?'

'A very poor basis to found an ideal upon!' laughed Catherine.

'I know all about your Australian life—how you found out when the stockman (Jock was his name, wasn't it?) was being cruel to the cattle, and you told your stepfather about him, in spite of his threats of revenge. I've made a map of the station, and guardian marked the paddock-fence where your pony threw you when you were a child, and you called to your mother that you were "all right," though your leg was broken! I know how you used to spend your time, working for poor people, and trying to make the awful rough men kinder to their wives and children—and teaching the children about God and reading the Bible to invalids. Oh, you're a very satisfactory ideal, I assure you!'

Catherine's face was one bright blush at this enthusiastic commendation. She was about to protest against it, but Agatha went on eagerly:

'Don't contradict, please don't, for it's all true. I told you about it, so that you might leave off being surprised at my wanting you so much. You can't seem like a stranger. I made up my mind to love you, long before I guessed you'd come to England, so when your letter came this morning I went just wild with delight. Guardian said at once that you would live with us, and then I thought how beautiful life would be. There was nothing but happiness in my mind until then.'

She paused, frowning at the consideration of what came afterwards.

'Go on, dear,' said Catherine encouragingly.

'Then I found out that my wishes were all in a muddle too. Living in a cottage is so tedious! There's nothing to see, and nothing to do. Guardian's out a great deal, busy over the volunteers, and there's no one but Robert to help Harriet, so he can't be spared often to wheel my chair. I do most dreadfully want to go back to Carm Hall to live, to have nice food, and pretty rooms, and money to buy presents, and—oh, and everything I used to have! Now, I suppose, you think me horrid and mean!'

'No, dearie.'

'Uncle Ross—I always called him that, you know—won't make the first advance, so the quarrel won't ever be made up unless guardian tries to do it. He would if he wasn't so proud, for he's very unhappy about being at war with a brother. You should just hear him pray about it every morning and night,—for we've family prayers now, with Harriet and Robert,—his voice often shakes, and on Uncle Ross's birthday the prayers are ever so long. At Christmas, and Easter, and any home-anniversary, he is just wretched, Catherine. Yet he is too proud to be persuaded to make any more advances.'

'Any more?' repeated Miss Carmichael, questioningly.

'Yes, he made lots at first. He used to write, until Uncle Ross refused to open any more letters; he sent congratulations to him on his birthday, until that message came back unread; he always spoke on Sundays in the churchyard, until once, when it was the anniversary of Loring's going away, and through a chance word the quarrel got as bad as ever again; and now Uncle Ross always passes us by with a stiff bow. Oh, guardian is in the right, only he's unhappy, and Uncle Ross isn't. Catherine, I scarcely know what I want! that is the truth! I should hate for uncle to adopt you, because that would take you away from us; yet I almost began to hope that your coming would patch up the feud somehow. Can't you be peacemaker?'

'I will do everything in my power to promote peace, dear.'

'Yet by choosing this cottage for "home" you'll offend Uncle Ross bitterly. It'll be like Loring's choice all over again!—between Carm Hall and riches, and guardian and poverty. For it was his love for guardian that made Loring want to be a soldier. Dear Loring! He was always so good to me! Catherine, most people would call your choice dreadfully silly!'

Catherine was aware of this, but her brave spirit was quite undaunted by the reflection. The choice had been offered her suddenly, between hurting Uncle Jack's feelings and accepting the home he had so lovingly offered her; and as her heart had dictated, so had she acted. In gratitude and affection had the choice been made. Now, far from regretting it, she had become aware of many strong reasons in its favour.

To begin with, it gave her the chance to be Uncle Jack's confidante, even in a humble way his helper, in religious questions; it provided her with freedom which she could use in trying to heal the quarrel between her uncles; it offered her a new task and duty, that of helping poor, fretful, ignorant, passionate Agatha to find peace in the thought of Jesus Christ.

Had Catherine remained homeless, she could have done, perhaps, much of the work she was already yearning to perform, but Uncle Ross might have doubted her perfect sincerity. Now she could not be suspected of mercenary motives in trying to influence him. Had she waited until he had offered her a home at Carm Hall, which might have happened, she would either have been obliged to offend him by refusing, or probably would have been forbidden to visit Redan Cottage. No!—though the world might ridicule her unselfish choice, she was proud and glad of it!

For Brian North's sake it was natural that she should momentarily regret the lost chance of Uncle Ross's help for him; but she was perfectly sincere in the hearty words by which she assured Agatha that, though her choice might be ridiculed by some, she was yet both determined and happy in it.

The girl clung to her, and protested both against her resolution to stay with Mrs. Arderne and her obligation to return now to Woodley Villa. But Catherine was firm.

'You'll come again to-morrow, won't you?'

'If I possibly can, darling.'

'Oh, I want you so badly! I think you'll help me not to be so miserable. I'm very ill, you know; the pain's often bad, and then I think I'm going to die at once, and—and if I did, I'm certain I shouldn't—go to heaven.'

'Agatha!'

With attempted bravado Agatha laughed.

'No, of course I shouldn't! I'm beastly selfish, and I've never done anything but think grumbles at God. I'm not resigned a bit,—not meek and humble of heart,—I don't see why I should be.'

'Don't you? Have you never thought about the debt we sinners owe to the Son of the Heavenly Father, who died upon the cross for us, that we might become entitled to the glorious eternity of heavenly life?'

'But God made me,—crippled, useless, invalided as I am!'

'But, dearie, suppose some great physician came to tell you that you must suffer and be helpless for one short hour, and that then you would recover your health and strength for eighty or ninety years, would you not bless his name?'

'Of course I would!'

'And supposing that the physician had obtained your cure through making some colossal sacrifice himself as a propitiation?'

'Catherine—you—you mean that Christ is the Great Physician!'

'Yes, dear. When from the eternal heavens you look back upon your life of pain and weariness on earth, it will seem but as a fleeting hour, and you will wonder why you couldn't understand God's loving promises better while you lived,—why you grumbled at the moments of suffering which His compassion sent you to purify your soul from sin, to prevent your caring too much for the things of this earth. Why, Agatha, don't we despise a little child who cries and storms about some momentary, necessary pain? Yet we all of us behave just as weakly before the eyes of our Father.'

'But I shan't ever get to heaven. I'm not good.'

'Jesus came on earth to save sinners. Remember how we are told, "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, He will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in His love, He will joy over thee with singing." Tell me, is that a picture of a cruel God? of One who does not feel for the weakness and perversity of human nature? Oh, my dearie, think over those three words only, "He will save," and offer Him your heart, with all its imperfect longings. He is the Saviour who "pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by transgression," who "retaineth not His anger for ever, because He delighteth in mercy."'

Agatha's dark eyes gazed wonderingly at Catherine's sweet, smiling face.

'I—I will think about Him,' she whispered after a pause. 'But, oh, do come again to-morrow if you can. Guardian doesn't talk about God as clearly as you do; he's groping after Him still, Catherine, but you speak and look just as though you'd been to heaven yourself, and seen Him face to face!'

'So may we all see Him, dear,—in the blessings of earth, in daisies, and sunsets, and storms; in love, and humility, and suffering. For heaven is where He is, and He is everywhere! I shall pray that you may receive Him into your heart, and so make heaven there, little Agatha.'