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MIDWAY ON LIFE'S JOURNEY.

BY BEATRICE BRISTOWE,

Author of " Clarissa's Tangled Web,"" Unforgotten," &c.

CHAPTER XIII.-CONCLUSION.

A FEW years have passed away since in the church of Woodborough was solemnised a marriage as quiet as a marriage well could be, whereto assembled half the population of the parish (for when was ever secret to be kept in a country village!), gathered either within the church itself or in the churchyard, or beside the brief space of road which lay between the churchyard gate and the entrance to the field encircling Firtree Cottage.

And there had followed three weeks of exceeding happiness to bridegroom and to bride, spent amid the lovely scenery of Derbyshire, unvisited by Agnes before, but once by Michael in the days when he could see, and remembered with a vividness which enabled him, he said, not only to be glad in her pleasure, but to share it.

And happier still was the home-coming, when once again Agnes -entered the beautiful city-not alone, not taking her unattended -way to solitary lodgings, to keep patient watch beside the window, - or in uncertain wanderings through quadrangle, street, and garden, for but one passing vision of the friend she loved so truly; but now bearing his name, his chosen life-long companion; sustained, ennobled by his faithful protection and love, and able, at length, to pour forth the hoarded treasures of her own affection in daily, hourly devotion.

Many might have considered as somewhat gloomy the home to which Michael brought his bride, with its old-fashioned substantiality, high, narrow windows and dark oak panelling, its manycrowded book-shelves, its busts and bronzes, and museum-like cabinets. But to Agnes it was all delightful. She held the house sacred in which her husband had dwelt in loneliness, and all things possessed of interest and value that were identified with his pursuits and tastes.

It was a great satisfaction whenever the direction of his studies permitted her to act as reader, or amanuensis, or in other such like capacity; and, at first, something of keen regret she felt that, her education having been such only as is ordinarily accorded to ladies, she was so frequently obliged to yield to others of greater acquirements the valued place beside his desk. But she never allowed

him to be aware of such pain experienced; and she soon discovered that he possessed interests and avocations other than literary, in which she could participate wholly, and wherein no aid was so helpful and pleasant as her own.

Michael had not felt that his blindness excused him from personal intercourse with the poor and suffering; and there was an alley near the canal, where his presence was as familiar as in the libraries of All Souls or of Christ Church, in the Bodleian or the Ratcliffe within these homes of poverty Agnes was now as often seen. And by degrees she learned, with added pride and joy in her husband's unselfish goodness, how considerable a proportion of his income was expended in benevolence; not so much in subscriptions to splendid charities-hospitals and asylums-though these were not altogether neglected, as in assistance directly afforded to safferers from blindness, paralysis, or other malady forbidding selfsupport, not a few of whom were, by his generosity, enabled to live on in a measure of comfort amid old associations, and under the willing care of loving relatives. With the most delicate consideration such help had always been rendered, and somewhat laborious as of necessity writing was, the various correspondence these charities involved had been invariably carried on with his own hand. Now a kindly letter from his wife, instead of from himself, more often accompanied the regular remittance, never delayed, or the birthday remembrance, or the gift at Christmastide.

Never for a moment did it occur to Agnes to wish that a smaller share of her husband's fortune were expended on religious and benevolent endeavour, and a larger in a more luxurious and fashionable style of living or that his time were less occupied with his learned pursuits, and more given to social intercourse and pleasure. Michael was for her, still and ever, a very king among men, whom it was a delight, a necessity, to obey, serve, love, and honour; his manner of life seemed to her wholly right and beautiful and noble, and all he said and did the perfection of dignity and grace.

So she thought of her husband in those earlier days of marriage, and so, only with yet stronger persuasion,-if that be possible-she thinks of him now. And Michael loves his wife with all the might of his strong, tender, constant nature, and rejoices over her with yet greater joy because of that long waiting-time uncheered by hope. Thus, dwelling in perfect affection and "as heirs together of the grace of life," their home can scarcely be other than one of serenity and gladness.

Six months after that marriage in Woodborough Church another marriage took place in a Nonconformist chapel in Netherbridge; and Miriam Ellis became the wife of Matthew Morland. The

hope which Miriam had expressed in her letter to Agnes that impediments to the wished-for union were somewhat clearing out of the way seemed at first likely to meet disappointment. Matthew's search for a school in which a higher income would be enjoyed had proved unsuccessful; and his elder brother had made the discovery that his own better pecuniary position rendered necessary a removal to a larger house with various additional expenses, and that for the present he must still leave to his bachelor brother the privilege of assisting their beloved mother and sister.

Miriam had borne the disappointment patiently; but Agnes, all the more because of her exceeding happiness, felt sorely troubled for her friend; and great indeed was her satisfaction when, before long, and through her husband's intervention, effectual help came to the long-waiting lovers.

Mr. Wolfendale had been for many years interested in elementary education, and he numbered among his friends more than one gentleman serving on the London and other school boards. By this means Morland became aware of an impending vacancy in a London Board school; his early application, backed by Mr. Wolfendale's valued recommendation, proved successful, and the appointment became his. Somewhat later, one of Mr. Wolfendale's pensioners having passed beyond the need of further care, he begged to be allowed to add Miss Morland to the number of the friends who permitted him the privilege of ministering to their comfort; and this offer, so gracefully made, could not be other than gratefully accepted.

Obstacles having been thus removed, the engagement as avowed, and preparations were made for the long-delayed union. Morland's connection with the school in Netherbridge ceasing in March, and his duties in London not commencing until the middle of May, advantage was taken of this, the longest holiday he had ever known since early boyhood, for solemnising the marriage and enjoying the honeymoon.

After a week spent by the seaside, Mr. and Mrs. Morland were welcomed by their friends to Oxford, and a fortnight was passed full of satisfaction to all. Matthew was proud and glad to meet in his courteous host and benefactor the stranger of noble bearing with whose appearance he had been at first sight so strongly impressed; and great was his delight to show all the glories and wonders of the city to his bride, by whom they were viewed with an enjoyment as intelligent and yet more vivid than his own, while Michael and Agnes were serenely happy in witnessing the joy which they had so materially helped to secure.

There has been abundance of hard work for Matthew Morland as master of the large school to which he was then appointed, and

over which he still rules; but his services are not only more highly remunerated, but more justly appreciated than they were at Netherbridge, so that he labours under less depressing influences.

Nor has Miriam's life been by any means an idle one. Despite the many duties of a wife and mother, which are never neglected, she has not altogether relinquished literary pursuits; and her attempts have continued successful, according to the measure of her own moderate estimate of their value and expectations of gain. Her husband, however, remains unalterably convinced that his wife's stories are of a far higher order than are those of many lady novelists who have been rewarded with fame and fortune. Her writings are, he says, "too good to be ever widely popular," and Miriam only smiles and allows him to enjoy his own opinion, and is glad that so he thinks.

Children have risen up rapidly within the home. Already two sturdy little boys attend their father's school; not behind most of their class-mates in their studies, but certainly taking a foremost place rather in the playground than in the schoolroom, their merry countenances and hearty laugh quite belying the old belief concerning the unhappiness of a schoolmaster's children. And at home is a little maiden of scarcely five summers, as different in appearance and all things else from these roguish boys as well can be, who will sit with motherly solicitude beside the cradle where her twin sisters lie sleeping, telling her three-year-old brother, standing at her knee, stories so full of wild fancy and strange child-wisdom, that the mother listens, half in delight and pride, and half in perplexity and with boding dread.

While these many little ones are rather overcrowding the small London house, only one child has come to grace and gladden the spacious and wealthy home in Oxford. The little Agnes is not, however, now companionless. For last year a great joy, though ending, as was inevitable, in renewed pain, was experienced by Mrs. Wolfendale. A visit of six months' duration was paid by Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to England, and the almost mother and adopted child met once more, and spent many happy weeks together. When at last the parting came, it was made far more bitter to Annie, and, through sympathy with her, to Agnes also, because, according to the hard necessity imposed on dwellers in some foreign climes, the Campbells, on their return to China, left behind their first-born, that she might grow up surrounded by the more healthful influences, moral and physical, of an English home.

But when the parting and the cruel pain of witnessing the mother's anguish were over, it was a solace to expend on her child's child a watchful care and motherly tenderness equal to that with which she cherished her own, yet dearer Agnes. And the

two children love one another fondly, and Michael has taken to his warm, fatherly heart the lonely little one separated from her natural protectors by the great and wide sea; but he is careful, as is also his wife, to speak to her often of these her own father and mother, and to keep them in her loving remembrance. "She will love you both dearly," the parents had said; "and so she ought, and so we desire; but do not let her quite forget us." And they had faithfully promised-the wish was so natural. How could they ever have endured to be forgotten by their own beloved and lovely child!

To less partial judgments than their own it is abundantly manifest that the little Agnes is dowered with very uncommon graces. She is good, clever, and very beautiful, and is the light of her mother's eyes, the pride and joy and one exceeding treasure of both her parents' hearts.

It is about a year ago that Agnes heard from her husband's lips the first, the only murmur, respecting his blindness which has ever met her ear.

There had been several days in which no shower had fallen, and the weather had become sultry and oppressive. But that afternoon there had gone over the city a storm of thunder, lightning, and rain; it had quite passed now, leaving the sky clear and bright, the air pure and invigorating, the refreshed fields and gardens shining in living green. At the back of their house in the street of St. Giles', Michael had, the year after their marriage, erected a summer parlour with French windows opening into the wide and pleasant garden which flanked the somewhat sombre abode, and had furnished it with light and simple elegance. In this parlour they were sitting-Agnes beside the wide-open window, looking out on the broad lawn, the brilliant flower-beds, and the sheltering trees; Michael resting in an easy chair in a shadowed recess, for to him the outdoor loveliness was equally invisible everywhere.

The child Agnes had been standing beside her mother until she bad suddenly darted forth, attracted by two butterflies of gorgeous hue, that, after fluttering hither and thither, had alighted on a purple iris. The mother's eyes had followed her delightedly. And, indeed, it was a pleasant picture; the child, in her fair white dress, standing among the fleur-de-lis, the sunshine glorifying her golden hair, and a face which, to other eyes than those of the mother, sometimes seemed almost as the face of an angel.

"How very lovely Agnes is! I think she grows more beautiful every day," she said; and wondering that no response came, she looked toward her husband.

He seemed to discern the movement, slight as it was. "Oh,