FELLOW LABOURERS
TIME went on very quietly with Rhoda now. Another winter came and went,
another spring with its lessons of hope and promise. Her work widened,
and she had many of the people round in her heart and prayers. Before
another year had passed, both Ned Evans and his sister were added to
the little number of those who by their changed lives gave witness to
the saving power of grace in their souls. Miss Frith's lodger died, but
the little girl had so won her affections that, with the consent of
some of her distant relatives, she adopted her, and the child did much
towards banishing the shade of gloom that even now at times gathered on
the brow of the lonely woman.
Rhoda's life was a busy one, but a happy one. She herself was gaining
experience in the work that was dear to her heart, and was learning
that sowing the seed was sometimes a long process, and that reaping
did not always immediately follow. She had her times of depression and
disappointment; some, about whom she was most hopeful, grew cold and
fell back to their old life again; but others stepped in and filled the
ranks, and the work, though slow, did not flag.
She had several visits from her brothers from time to time, and even
the most fastidious of them were fain to acknowledge that she was both
comfortable and happy in her small domain.
Mr. Long now helped her much by coming up and taking the Sunday
afternoon service very frequently, and he told her it was a most
enjoyable time to him.
Towards the end of the second summer of her stay there, Howard came
down for a longer visit than usual.
And a week after he had arrived, Mr. Rokeby returned home. Rhoda was
taking a walk with her brother across the moor when they met him. He
seemed to her to have a graver, softened look on his face as he greeted
her. But having heard of the death of his sister abroad, she attributed
it to that, and introduced him to her brother, feeling sure that they
would like each other.
She was not disappointed, for Howard brightened up, and confided to her
after Mr. Rokeby had left them that he should enjoy a little shooting
with him, and should certainly avail himself of his invitation to go
over to Rokeby Court.
And for the next week or two, they saw a great deal of Mr. Rokeby. He
came to dine with them, and would often drop in about tea-time in the
afternoon. But Rhoda seemed to elude all "têtes-à-têtes" with him, and
was only her free happy self when joining in the general conversation.
It was a lovely September afternoon. Rhoda was standing at her gate,
looking over the glowing landscape in front of her, and when she
heard a man's footstep approaching she looked up with a bright smile,
expecting to see her brother, who had gone down to Ashampton a couple
of hours before.
But it was Mr. Rokeby.
"Are you disappointed to see me?" he asked with a smile. "Is your
brother in?"
"No, but he will be back soon. Do come in and wait."
She led the way into the house, and he followed, his eyes watching her
every movement.
"There are a good many changes in the neighbourhood," he remarked
presently. "I have always been meaning to ask you after your Sunday
service. It is still going on, I suppose? I thought of coming over to
it next Sunday, if I may."
"Mr. Long will be very glad to see you," Rhoda answered simply. "I hope
he will be taking it then."
"That is one of the changes I am marvelling at. What has stirred up Mr.
Long to such activity? Do you work under him now?"
Rhoda laughed. "I do not feel I do," she said, "but it is very pleasant
to have his hearty sympathy and co-operation in all my work here. I
sometimes wonder if I ought to be moving on to some other place that is
in more need of workers."
Mr. Rokeby got up from his seat, and stood looking out of the window
facing the setting sun, and for a moment there was silence, then
suddenly he turned round and came to her side. Looking down upon her he
said very quietly, but with a slight tremor in his tone—
"May I tell you of some one who is in sore need of you? Will you listen
to his case?"
A distressed look came into Rhoda's eyes, and a hot flush rose to her
cheeks.
"Perhaps," she said very gently, "it would be better for both of us if
you did not."
"I think I must be heard. I will not take my dismissal so easily. I
know what you feel—that I am not in sympathy with your views, and that
therefore we would not suit each other. I should have spoken two years
ago if it had not been for this. I felt it would be an insurmountable
obstacle in the way. I knew from what I had seen of you what your
answer would be, and so I went abroad. I could never pretend to be what
I was not, and I determined not to speak to you till my interests were
the same as yours. I have been blindly groping my way for years towards
the light.
"Do you remember the last Sunday before I went away? I shall never
forget that little service in the Tents' kitchen. Honestly, I confess I
went there because I wanted to have another sight of you—to hear your
voice once again; but I came away with another voice in my ears, and it
was the commencement of the scales dropping from my eyes, and the light
entering my soul. I will not tell you at present all the phases I went
through, but I can assure you now that your Master is mine, and His
work will be my chief delight. If we are to live as strangers, I can
still thank God, He ever brought you into this neighbourhood, because
it was the reality of your religion that first impressed me. But if—oh,
Rhoda, can you come to me, and let us work together for Him? There
is such a wide sphere for you over my part of the moor, so many that
you will be able to reach. Dare I hope for your love? Will you give
yourself to me?"
He had taken her hands in his, and was bending over her with a world of
love and longing in his clear frank eyes.
But Rhoda was speechless; she felt she could not send this suitor away
as she had many others, and her heart was in a tumult.
He waited, and at last she looked up.
"I meant to live my life alone," she said, a little unsteadily, "but I
do not think that now—I can."
That was enough. His arms were round her, and then a little later,
drawing her to the open window, and looking out upon the golden sky and
purple moor, he softly uttered these words,—
"O God, give us Thy blessing, and make Thyself increasingly precious
to both of us!"
And now for one more look at Rhoda before we leave her. Her work is
not finished, perhaps even a fuller sphere is awaiting her; and this
thought is filling her heart as she stands on the steps of Rokeby Court
one lovely spring morning in May.
Her marriage had taken place at her uncle's house in London, and six
out of her seven brothers had been present at it. She was thankful
that her choice was so thoroughly appreciated that not a dissentient
voice was heard amongst them. Indeed, the general feeling was, as
Edgar informed her, that of relief that she was going to "return to a
civilized life."
She went abroad with her husband for six weeks, and came to her new
home the beginning of May.
Hannah was established there as housekeeper, and met her young mistress
with a shining face.
And now, on the first morning after her arrival, Rhoda stands looking
down the avenue of scented limes away to the distant moors, and her
eyes grow moist with feeling as her thoughts are raised heavenwards.
A hand is quietly laid on her shoulder, and turning she meets her
husband's inquiring gaze.
"I was thinking," she said, as she linked her arm in his, "what a field
there is before us on this side of the moor; and I was wondering how
soon we could commence work."
He laughed.
"You are indefatigable. Six weeks' holiday is quite enough for you, I
presume. Well, I am ready. I am not afraid I shall lose my wife if I
leave her free to follow the desires of her heart, for we will work
together, Rhoda. I have been idle too long."
Then after a pause, he said, with a sparkle in his eyes, "And now that
we are going to settle down as man and wife, may I ask which is to be
the ruling spirit? I remember the time when I doubted the probability
of your ever giving way to the will of another. You have been so
accustomed to manage your own life that it may seem strange to have
another who has the right to guide you at times. What are your views on
the subject?"
"I don't think there will be friction between us," said Rhoda, her eyes
leaving the distant scene and dwelling on her husband's face. "Where
there is love and confidence, there can be no question of one ruling
the other."
Then, as one of the flashing smiles her husband liked so much to see
crossed her face, she added, "I have promised to obey you, so must do
so. I know you will not abuse your power."
"If we are both led by the same Guide, we shall walk in the same path,"
her husband observed thoughtfully, "but there are times when I realize
I am a long way behind you."
"Ah, no! We have only been called at different times into God's
vineyard. Do you know the one little verse that has been much in my
mind lately, and which seems to comfort and cheer me, when I think of
the vast amount of work to be done, and so few comparatively to do it?
"'For we are labourers together with God . . .'
"Working in a cause that cannot fail, and in which no labour will be
lost."
There was a moment's silence, then the resolute man's voice added very
solemnly,—
"'Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always
abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your
labour is not in vain in the Lord.'"
THE END.