CONCLUSION.
We 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.
FINIS.
KILMARNOCK:
JOHN RITCHIE, PUBLISHER.