Thomas Bradly was pre-eminently a _bright_ Christian. A quaint old
author says that "a gloomy Christian does not do credit to Christ's
housekeeping." There was no gloom about Bradly's religion: it shone in
his heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted the
troubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffed
at and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in
_his_ happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth.
It has been said that he had an unmarried sister who lived with him, and
that she was an invalid. Jane Bradly was a year younger than her
brother Thomas, but sickness and sorrow made her look older than she
really was. She was sweet and gentle-looking, with that peculiar air of
refinement which suffering often stamps on the features of those who are
being spiritualised by fiery trial and are ripening for glory. And
there was something, too, that was very strange about her case. She was
not confined to her bed, and was able to leave the house in order to
attend the services at the church, which she did most regularly. Yet
she very rarely left the house on any other occasion, and never visited
a neighbour; and if any of her brother's friends came in, she would
leave her chair by the fire and retire into another room.
When the family first came to Crossbourne, a good deal of curiosity was
felt and expressed about her, and many attempts were made to draw her
out; but as neither Bradly nor his wife nor children ever gave the
smallest encouragement to questioners, and as Jane herself quietly
declined every invitation to take a meal or spend an hour away from
home, curiosity was obliged to seek gratification elsewhere, and baffled
inquirers to talk about her amongst themselves with ominous whispers and
shrugging shoulders.
Clearly, Jane's complaint was one which medicine could not reach, for no
medical man ever called on her at her brother's house; though well-
meaning persons used at first to urge on Thomas the advisability of
consulting the parish doctor for her. And when others recommended their
own favourite patent remedies which had never been known to fail--at
least, so said the printed wrapper--he would thank them, and say that
"it wasn't physic as she wanted." "Ah! Then she must have met with a
disappointment where she had placed her affections; was it not so?" To
which Thomas dryly replied that "he was not aware that it was so; but if
it had been, he should have kept it to himself." This and similar broad
hints at length closed the gossiping mouths of Crossbourne--at any rate,
in the presence of any members of the Bradly family--and Jane and her
troubles ceased to occupy much attention out of her own home.
Still, the deep shadow lay across the hearth and heart of her brother.
Very touching it was to see the considerate tenderness with which he
always dealt with her. Never a loud or hasty word did she hear from
him, nor indeed from any member of the family. When he came in from his
work his first words were for her: some cheery little speech, yet
uttered in rather an undertone, lest his natural abruptness unchecked
should startle her. The best massive arm-chair, and the snuggest nook
by the kitchen fire, were hers; and by the Bible, which was her constant
companion, and lay on a little table which stood beside her, a few
bright flowers, as their season came round, were placed as tokens of a
thoughtful and abiding love.
Yet she pined, and grew gradually weaker; but no murmur was heard to
escape her lips. The sorrow which lay on her heart like a mountain of
snow could not deprive her of God's peace, while it was chilling and
crushing out her life. As far as they would allow her, and her strength
would permit, she took her part in the household work; but she was
principally occupied with her needle, and as she was an excellent
workwoman, she was never without such orders as she was able to
undertake.
The vicar was deeply interested in her, and was a frequent visitor; but
while she manifestly derived comfort from his instructions and prayers,
any attempt on his part to draw her into confiding to him, (as a friend
and spiritual adviser) her special sorrow at once reduced her to
silence. And yet it seemed to him that there were times when she was on
the very verge of breaking through her reserve. Not that he desired
this, except for her own sake. How gladly would he have shared her
burden with her, "and so fulfilled the law of Christ," would she but
have in trusted him with it! It was so sad to see the deep shadow of an
abiding care on that gentle face, the unnatural flush on the cheeks, and
the eyes at one time filled with tears, and at another with a look of
earnest beseeching, as though she longed to unburden her troubled heart,
and yet dared not--as though she yearned for his advice and sympathy,
and yet could not bring herself to open to him her grief. And thus it
was that the poor afflicted one was drooping lower and lower; and the
cloud which rested on her quiet, patient features was to be seen at
times on her brother's also.
It was a few days after the accident on the line by which the miserable
Joe Wright was hurried into eternity, that the vicar, who was coming out
of the cottage of poor Joe's widow, met Thomas Bradly as he was on his
way home from his work. Both looked very grave; and Mr Maltby said,--
"I see, Thomas, that you feel, as I do, what a shocking accident this
has been. The drink, I don't doubt, must have been at the bottom of it,
for we know too well what the poor man's habits were. What can I say to
comfort his unhappy widow? Of course, it is not for us to judge her
husband; we do not know what passed in Joe's heart during his last
moments. But that is very poor consolation, after all, when we know
that, `as a man sows, so shall he reap.' All I can do is to try and
lead the poor woman herself to her Saviour. We know that the door to
pardon and peace is not yet closed to her."
"That's too true, sir," replied Bradly. "I fear we can't have any
comfortable thoughts about Joe; the least said about him the better.
But, to tell you the truth, sir, I were just then turning my own trouble
over in my mind, and that's what made me look so grave."
"What--about your sister Jane?"
"Yes, sir. I know as it's all right; and yet somehow I can't help
feeling a bit anxious about her. She must either mend afore long, or
break down altogether. I should very much like her to open her heart
and her trouble to yourself, sir; for I'm sure it would do her good. I
know it all myself, of course; but then I've promised her to be as close
as wax, and never to talk about it to a soul without she gives me leave.
And her Saviour knows it all, too. She goes with it regular to him;
but still she brings back some of it with her each time. She don't mean
it; but it's more nor flesh and blood is equal to, to leave it entirely
to him. Now, I do believe, if she would just tell you all, or let me
tell it you before her, it would help to lighten her heart and ease her
mind. She knows, indeed--as of course every true Christian knows from
his Bible--that no mortal man, be he who he may, can do for her what the
blessed Saviour only can do; but I am sure that it will make your words,
your counsels, and your prayers more precious and profitable to her when
she feels that her pastor knows her great sorrow, and can join with her
in taking it to the throne of grace, and pleading for light and
guidance, and a way out of it too, if the Lord will."
"I quite agree with you, Thomas," said Mr Maltby. "At present I can
give her only general words of advice and comfort, and can only pray for
her about her sorrow in a general way; but if she sees it to be right,
and can bear to confide the story of her trial to me, I shall then be
able to assist her in grasping with an increasing faith those `exceeding
great and precious promises' which will be specially applicable to her
case, and may meet any peculiar circumstances connected with her
affliction."
"Thank you, sir, most kindly," said the other. "I think I have nearly
persuaded her to let me tell you all; and I believe it will be best done
before herself, for then one telling will do for all, and she will be
able to put in a word here and there to make all clear."
"Just so, Thomas," said the vicar. "I can easily understand that when
once she has broken through her reserve with me, or suffered you to
break through it for her, she will be able better to bear the full
disclosure, from having part of the weight already removed from her
heart."
"That's just my view," said Bradly, "and I've told her so more than
once. I'm sure she'll feel lighter in her heart when once she has fully
made up her mind that you shall know all, even before you've heard a
word of her story; and I'm sure she sees it so now herself. So, if it
won't be troubling you too much to ask you to step over to our house to-
morrow night about seven o'clock, unless I send you back word, we'll
have the best parlour all to ourselves, and I believe the Lord will make
it a blessed night for poor Jane and for us all."
"It shall be so then, Thomas," replied the vicar. "I will, if spared,
be at your house at seven o'clock, unless I hear anything meanwhile to
the contrary from yourself."
It was with a feeling of deep interest, and a fervent prayer for a
blessing, that Ernest Maltby knocked the next evening at the door of
Thomas Bradly's quiet dwelling. Thomas welcomed him with a smile.
"It'll be all right, I know," he said; "I've told her you're coming, and
she has made no objection; and now that the time's come, the Lord has
taken away the worst of the fear."
The vicar entered, and found the invalid seated by a bright fire, with
her little table and the Bible on it by her side. Her poor wan cheeks
were flushed with a deeper colour than usual as she rose to greet the
clergyman; but there was not so much a look of suffering now in her
eyes, as of hopeful, humble, patient trust. Her needlework lay near her
Bible, for her skilful fingers were never idle.
Her brother set a chair for their visitor near the fire, and seated
himself by him. For a moment no one spoke; then Jane handed the Bible
to Mr Maltby, who opened it and read the Hundred and Forty-Second
Psalm, giving special emphasis to the words of the third verse, "When my
spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path." He
offered a short prayer after the reading, and then waited for either
brother or sister to spread out the trouble before him.
"You must know, sir," began Thomas, with an emotion which checked his
usual outspoken utterance for a while, "as me and mine don't belong to
these parts; and I daresay you've heard some of the queer tales which
them as pays more attention to their neighbour's business than their own
has got up about us. However, that matters very little. Our native
place is about fifty miles from Crossbourne. Maybe you've heard of
Squire Morville (Sir Lionel Morville's his proper title). He lives in a
great mansion called Monksworthy Hall, just on the top of the hill after
you've gone through the village. There's a splendid park round it.
Most of the land about belongs to Sir Lionel; and he's lord of the
manor. Well, I were born, and my father and grandfather before me, in
Monksworthy, and so were Jane; and all things went on pretty smooth with
us till a few years back. We'd our troubles, of course; but then _we_
didn't expect to be without 'em--Wasn't to be looked for that our road
through life should be as level all the way as a bowling-green. Sir
Lionel were very good to his tenants; but he were rather too fond of
having lots of company at the Hall--more, I'm sure, than his lady liked;
for she was a truly godly woman, and I don't doubt is so to this day.
"My father and mother had a very large family, so that there wasn't full
work for us all as we growed up; and, as I was one of the younger ones,
they was glad to get me bound apprentice, through the squire's help, to
my present trade in the north. But I liked my own native village better
than any other spot as I'd ever seen, so I came back after I'd served my
time, and picked up work and a wife, as a good many of the young people
had been emigrating to Canada and Australia, and Sir Lionel wanted hands
just then. Well, then, God sent us our children, and they soon grew up,
and it weren't such easy work to feed them and clothe them as it is in a
place like this. However, the Lord took care of us, and we always had
enough.
"Jane went to the Hall to be housemaid soon after I married; and Lady
Morville were so fond of her that, she would never hear of her leaving
for any other place.--Nay, Jane dear, you mustn't fret; it'll all turn
out well in the end. There's One as loves us both, better than Sir
Lionel and his lady, and he'll make all straight sooner or later.
"Now, you must know, sir, as I'd come back from the north a teetotaler.
I'd seen so much of the drunkenness and the drink-traps there that I'd
made up my mind as total abstinence were the wisest, safest, and best
course for both worlds; and Jane, who had never cared for either beer or
wine, took the pledge with me when I came home, for the sake of doing
good to others.
"Lady Morville didn't concern herself about this; but there was one at
the Hall who did, and that one were John Hollands, the butler. It was
more nor he could put up with, that any one of the servants should
presume to go a different road from him, and refuse the ale when it went
round at meals in the kitchen. So, as all his chaffing, and the
chaffing of the other servants, couldn't shake Jane, he was determined
he'd make her smart for it. And there was something more than this too.
I've said that Sir Lionel were a free sort of gentleman, fond of having
lots of company; and of course the company wasn't short of ale, and
wine, and spirits; and so long as there was a plentiful stock in the
cellar, the squire didn't trouble himself to count bottles or barrels.
He was not a man himself as drank to excess; he thought drunkenness a
low, vulgar habit, and never encouraged it; but he spent his money
freely, and those as lived in his family were never watched nor stinted.
You may suppose, then, sir, as John Hollands had a fine time of it. He
were cock of the walk in the servants' hall, and no mistake. Eh, to see
him at church on Sunday! What with his great red face, and his great
red waistcoat, and his great watch-chain with a big bunch of seals at
the end of it, I couldn't help thinking sometimes as he looked a picture
of `the devil and all his works, the pomps and vanity of this wicked
world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh,' which the Catechism tells
us to renounce.
"You may be sure such a man had a deal in his power; and so he had. And
it wasn't only the wine, beer, and spirits as he used pretty much as he
liked. Eh! The waste that went on downstairs was perfectly frightful;
and a pretty penny he and the cook made between 'em out of their
master's property, which they sold on the sly.
"Jane saw something of this, and longed to put a stop to it; but, poor
thing, what could she really do? She _did_ once take an opportunity of
speaking her mind gently to the butler, when they happened to be alone,
and tried to show him how wrong and wickedly he was acting. But all she
got was, that he gave her back such a volley of oaths and curses as made
her feel that it would be no use talking to him any more on the subject
just then. And he weren't content with merely abusing her; he
threatened her besides as he'd make her see afore long what sort of
paying off `sneaking spies' usually got for their pains. And he kept
his word.
"Lady Morville had got a favourite lady's-maid, who came to her when
Jane had been some years at the Hall. This maid were a stylish, dashing
young woman, and had a tongue as would turn any way it was wanted. So
she soon made herself so useful to her mistress that she was more like
an equal than a servant. But she were a thoroughly unprincipled woman,
and hated Jane almost as soon as she had set eyes on her. Now she were
far too deep to do anything as would get herself into trouble. She
might have robbed her ladyship in many ways; and so she did, but not by
taking her jewels or anything of that sort. She would wheedle things
out of her mistress in the slyest way. And then, too, Lady Morville
would trust her to pay some of her bills for her; and then she'd manage
to pop things into the account which my lady had never ordered, or she
would alter the figures in such a way as to cheat her ladyship. And she
hadn't been long at the Hall, as you may suppose, before she and the
butler became fast friends; and a pretty lot of robbery and mischief was
carried on by them two. Jane couldn't keep her eyes shut, so she saw
many things she longed to expose to her mistress; but it would have been
very difficult to bring the wrong-doings to light, even if Lady Morville
had given her the opportunity of doing so--which she never did.
"Georgina--that were the name of the lady's-maid--was fully aware,
however, that Jane had her eyes upon her, and she was resolved to get
her out of the way. But how was that to be done? For Jane bore a high
character in the house, and her ladyship would not listen to any
gossiping tales against her. Her mind was soon made up: a little talk
with John Hollands, and the train was laid.
"Now, she could have taken a bit of jewellery from her mistress, and
hidden it in Jane's box, or among her things; and this was John
Hollands' idea, as Jane afterwards found out from another fellow-
servant, who was sorry for her, and had overheard the two making up
their plans together. But Georgina said: `No; that were a stale trick,
and her ladyship might believe Jane's positive assertion of innocence.
She would manage it better than that.' And so she did.
"To Jane's surprise, both the butler and the lady's-maid changed their
manner towards her after a while, and became quite friendly: indeed,
Hollands even took an opportunity to thank Jane for her good advice, and
to say that he was beginning to see things in a different light; and
Georgina made her a present of a neat silver pencil-case. Jane couldn't
quite understand it; but having no guile in herself, she weren't up to
suspecting guile in other folks, and she were only too thankful to see
anything that looked like a change for the better.
"Things were in this fashion, when one morning, just before Sir Lionel's
breakfast-time, as Jane was sweeping and dusting the back drawing-room,
John Hollands looked in. There'd been a large dinner-party the night
before, and the family was rather late. Steps were heard overhead in
her ladyship's bedroom, and then Georgina comes in. `Come in here, Mr
Hollands,' she says, `and look here, both of you; see what I've found on
the stairs!' The butler came in, and the lady's-maid holds out to him a
beautiful bracelet all sparkling with jewels. He took it in his hand
and turned it over, and says, `It must have been dropped by one of the
ladies as dined here yesterday; you'd better give it to her
ladyship.'--`Of course I shall,' says the other; `only there's no harm
looking at it.--Ain't it a love of a bracelet, Jane? Just take it in
your hand and look at it afore I take it up to mistress.' Jane took the
bracelet, and said that it was a beauty indeed, and was going to return
it to Georgina, but that wicked woman had turned her head away,
pretending not to notice Jane's hand stretched out to her. Then steps
were heard close to the door, and Georgina cried out half aloud,
`There's her ladyship coming; won't you catch it, Jane! Come along, Mr
Hollands;' and they were gone out at another door in a moment, just as
Lady Morville came in at the other end of the room. And there stood
poor Jane, her face all in a blaze, with her broom in one hand and the
bracelet in the other.
"Scarcely knowing what she did, but not wishing; of course, to be found
with the bracelet in her fingers, Jane tried to slip it into her pocket;
but it wouldn't do, her mistress had already seen it. So she says,
quiet and calm-like, `Jane, don't attempt to hide it from me; I believe
that's one of the bracelets Sir Lionel gave me on my last birthday. I
couldn't find either of them when I was dressing for dinner last night,
nor Georgina either. Come, tell me, Jane, how did it come into your
possession?'
"What could poor Jane say or do? She bursts out a-crying, poor thing,
and then turns her round, when she'd thrown up a little prayer to the
Lord from her heart, and she says, `Please, my lady, I never saw the
bracelet till a few minutes ago. Georgina brought it in while I was
sweeping, and showed it to Mr Hollands and me; and I was just going to
give it back to Georgina, for they said that some lady must have dropped
it last night--and I never knew it was your ladyship's--and they ran out
of the room and left it in my hand--and then your ladyship came in and
found me with it.'
"Now you may be sure, sir, as Jane had no easy work to get them words
out, and, I suppose, Lady Morville thought as she was making up a lie;
so she says very gravely, `I don't at all understand you, Jane: how can
Georgina have brought the bracelet to you? She was searching for the
pair last night herself, and knows that they were missing from my jewel-
case. And how can she have said that some lady must have dropped this
bracelet, when she must know it perfectly well to be my own? Besides,
it is only a few minutes ago that she told me she believed I should find
it in this room somewhere, only she didn't like to say why.'
"Jane saw it all now--they had laid a cruel trap for her, and she was
caught in it. At first she had no answer but tears, and then she
declared that she had told the simple truth, and nothing but the truth.
`It may be so, Jane,' said her mistress; `of course what you say is
possible, but, I fear, not very probable.'
"She rung the bell, and Georgina answered it with a smirk on her face.
`Just call Hollands, and come in here with him,' said her ladyship. The
butler soon came in; and Jane says, if ever the devil looked through any
man's eyes, she believes he did through his, as he glared at her with a
look of triumph, his mistress's back being turned towards him. Lady
Morville then asked them if Jane's story was true, and if Georgina had
shown her the bracelet. John Hollands lifts up his hands and eyes, and
cries out, `Was there ever such hypocrisy and deceit!' As for Georgina,
she pretends to get into a passion, and declares as it was all a make-up
thing to rob her and the butler of their characters. And then she says,
`Why, my lady, I've missed things myself, and I've had my suspicions;
but I've not liked to say anything. There's a silver pencil-case, which
my dear mother gave me, and it's got my initials on it: it's gone from
my room, and I can't hear anything about it.' Jane at once pulls the
pencil-case out of her pocket, and lays it on the table. `I see how it
is,' she says; `you two are determined to ruin me; but the Lord above,
he knows I'm innocent.--Your ladyship, Georgina made me a present of
that pencil-case a short time ago. I didn't want to take it; but she
wouldn't be refused, and said I must keep it as a token of good-will
from her.'--`Well, did I ever hear such assurance!' cried Georgina. `I
wonder what she'll say next? But one thing's clear, my lady: I can't
stay here, to be suspected of robbing your ladyship. I've not lost my
character yet, if Jane's lost hers. But, at any rate, she has got your
ladyship's bracelet; you found her with it yourself. Now, as she has
got the one, she'll know, of course, where the other is. You may be
sure, my lady, that the same person as took the one took the pair. It
ain't likely there were two thieves in the case. If I might be so bold,
I would, if I were in your ladyship's place, ask her to produce _both_
the bracelets, and restore them to you; and when she's done that, it
will be for your ladyship to say whether you do or do not believe her to
be innocent, and that she's told the truth about my pencil-case.'
"Nobody said anything for a minute, for it were plain as Lady Morville
were very much grieved and perplexed. At last she turns to Jane, and
says, `You hear what Georgina says, Jane; it is not unreasonable. Two
bracelets have been taken, and one of the pair is found on you. I
cannot say how you came by it, but it seems most likely that you must
know where the other is. Produce it, and the matter shall go no
further. I've always had the highest opinion of you up to this moment;
and if sudden temptation in this case has led you into a sin, the best
and wisest thing for you to do is just to own it, and to give up the
other bracelet, and then the matter shall drop there, and we will all
agree that by-gones shall be by-gones, for the best among us may be
overtaken in a fault.' But by this time poor Jane had recovered herself
a bit. She dried her tears, and, looking her mistress steadily in the
face, said, `I have told your ladyship the simple truth, and nothing but
the truth; and I appeal to your ladyship, have you ever found me out in
any untruthfulness or deceit all these years as you've knowed me? I see
plainly enough why Mr Hollands and Georgina have been plotting this
cruelty against me; but it would, I know, be of no use if I was to tell
your ladyship what their carryings on has been--I should not be
believed. But there's One whose eyes are in every place, beholding the
evil and the good, and he will set it all right when he sees it to be
best, and he'll clear my character.'
"No more were said at that time; but in the afternoon Lady Morville
sends for Jane, and has her in her own room by herself, and she tells
her as appearances are very much against her; but as she'd never knowed
anything to her discredit before, and she had borne a very high
character all the time as she'd been at the Hall, this matter should be
hushed up, but she felt it wouldn't be right for her to remain. And so
my poor sister, as she couldn't say no otherwise than she did before,
and as she couldn't bear to face the other servants any more, left the
Hall that very night by her own wish, and told me her story as I've told
it you; for we've talked it over together scores of times, and I've got
it quite by heart. And from that day to this she's never looked up;
for, as it says in the psalm, `the iron has entered into her soul.'
"I couldn't stop long after that in Monksworthy, and so we all came over
here; and the Lord has prospered us--all but poor Jane; and yet I know
she'll tell you he has never left her nor forsaken her, and he's made
his promises `yea and Amen' to her, spite of her sorrow. But it's a
very sore trial, and the burden of it lies heavy on her heart still.
"There, sir, you've had the whole of it now, as well as I could give it
you; and I'm sure you'll deal gently with the poor creature, like the
good Master who wouldn't break the bruised reed."
For a little while no one spoke. Mr Maltby was deeply touched, and
Jane, whose face had been for some time past buried in her hands, could
not for a while restrain her sobbing. At last she looked up and said:
"Yes, dear Mr Maltby, Thomas has told you exactly how it all was, as he
has often heard it from me. They tell me not to fret. Ah! But it's
good advice easier given than followed. I don't want to murmur; I know
it's the Lord's will; but the trouble's gnawing and gnawing my life
away. Disgraced, dismissed as a thief and a liar, without a character,
a burden instead of a help to those who love me--oh, it _is_ hard, very
hard to bear! But those blessed words of the psalm you read, oh, how
they have comforted me! And in that Word of God I know I shall find
peace and strength. Ah, that reminds me Thomas has not mentioned to you
another thing that added weight to my burden. I had, when I was living
at the Hall, a little Bible of my dear mother's, which I used to read
every day. Only a very short time before the day when the bracelet was
shown me, that Bible was taken out of my box; and I've never seen it
since. I asked all the other servants about it, but every one declared
they had neither touched nor seen it. It could not have been taken for
its value, for it was very old, and worn-looking, and shabby, and the
paper and print were very poor; but I loved it because it was my dear
mother's, and had been given to her as a reward when she was a very
little girl. It had her maiden name and the year of our Lord in
it--`Mary Williams. June 10, 1793.' Oh! It was such a precious book
to me, for I had drawn a line in red-ink under all my favourite texts,
and I could find anything I wanted in it in a moment! I can't help
fearing that John Hollands or Georgina took it away just to spite me."
"Poor Jane!" said the vicar gently and lovingly "your story is a sad one
indeed. Truly the chastening must for the present be not joyous, but
grievous; and yet it comes from the hand of a Father who loves you, who
will, I doubt not, cause it in due time to bring forth the peaceable
fruit of righteousness."
"And you do, then, dear sir," cried Jane, with tearful earnestness,
"believe, after what you have heard, that I am really innocent of the
charge which has been made against me?"
"Believe it, Jane!" exclaimed Mr Maltby; "yes, indeed! I could not
doubt your innocence for a moment; and remember, the Lord himself knows
it, and will make it before long as clear as the noonday."
"Oh, thank you, dear sir, a thousand times for those cheering words! I
am so glad now that all has been told you; I feel my heart lighter
already. Yes, I _will_ trust that light will come in _his_ time."
"It will," replied the vicar, "and before long too. I feel firmly
persuaded, I can hardly tell you why, that it will not be so very long
before this dark cloud shall pass away."
"May the Lord grant it!" said Thomas Bradly; and added, "You understand
now, sir, exactly how matters lie; and we shall both feel the happier
that you know all, for we are sure that we shall always have your
sympathy and prayers, and if anything should turn up we shall know where
to go for advice; and in the meantime, we must wait and be patient. I
can't help feeling with you that, somehow or other, poor Jane's getting
near the end of the wood, and will come out into the sunshine afore so
very long."