Chapter V: Part 5

Lois paused, and Mrs. Beauchamp, after a glance at the title-pages of the books, looked severely at Monica, who had sat perfectly still, with her eyes fixed on Lois, during the recital of Olive's wrong-doing.

"How came you to get books of this description from the library, Monica?"

"You never forbade me to, grandmother," murmured the girl, more to gain time than anything else, for she had resolved to make a clean breast of it.

"More I did," admitted Mrs. Beauchamp ruefully. "I am afraid I never realised that you would choose this style of literature; I have thought of you as a mere child, still. Oh, dear me, what a terrible responsibility girls are!" And the old lady sighed feebly, and looked at Lois for assistance.

"Perhaps Monica will ask your advice in future," was all Lois could say, for she felt she was in a somewhat difficult position. "At any rate, for my mother's sake, I am sure she will promise not to help Olive to disobey her again."

The kind tone was too much for Monica, and she said impulsively: "Oh, Miss Franklyn, I am so awfully sorry! Olive never would have read one if I hadn't persuaded her to; she knew she ought not. I would give anything, now, not to have lent them to her. Indeed, last time she was here I told her so, and said I was half-inclined not to read any more myself."

"I don't know what Mrs. Beauchamp's opinion may be," said Lois, to whose face Monica's honest avowal had brought a pleased expression, "but if you took _my_ advice, Monica, you would make up your mind to be _quite_ inclined to let them severely alone, for the next few years, at all events."

"I will," Monica replied, without hesitation; the reality in her tones betokening steadfastness of purpose.

"I am very glad," said Lois, and there was distinct approval in the expressive glance her grey eyes flashed on Monica, as she rose. "I will tell Olive of your resolve, and it will help her to be true to her promise."

Mrs. Beauchamp, looking alternately from one to the other, as the conversation seemed to be carried on without her help, suddenly realised that the question was settled, and she had no battle to fight with Monica. She could not help thinking how differently she would have gone to work, and how unsuccessful she would, in all probability, have been.

"I am sure, Miss Franklyn, I hope that your mother will accept my apologies for all this trouble. There seems no end to the anxiety my granddaughter causes every one!"

"It _was_ an anxiety to her, I must confess," said Lois, "but now that Olive has told her everything, she feels easier about it. She has such an abhorrence of anything approaching deceit."

"Of course," murmured Mrs. Beauchamp.

"Can Olive come to tea to-morrow, grandmother?" Monica's face was pleading.

"I really don't know, I'm sure. I hardly think you deserve----" began the old lady hesitatingly.

"May I interrupt?" said Lois, quickly. "I was to tell you that my mother felt that the most suitable punishment she could inflict upon Olive was to forbid her to see Monica again until she returns to school, whenever that may be."

And although Monica said, "Oh!" and looked disconsolate, she could not but admit that the punishment was a just one.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*"A NICE SCRAPE SHE'LL GET INTO!"*

"Monica Beauchamp is back at school."

The news soon spread, until all the Fourth Form girls were aware of the fact, and, for the most part, it was received with acclamation, for the bright, high-spirited girl had been missed during the month she had been away.

There was only one little clique who regretted her return, and that was Lily Howell and her votaries who, knowing she had a rooted objection to the new-comer, took their cue from their leader, and looked upon Monica as an interloper; but it must be confessed that, personally, they had no fault to find with her, except that the absolute indifference with which she treated them annoyed them terribly.

During recreation, when Olive would fain have had Monica all to herself, several of the girls, in other forms besides her own, gathered round her, and made quite a fuss of her. This of course did not escape Lily's notice, who, remembering one occasion when she had returned to school after a slight illness, and no one had expressed any pleasure at seeing her back again, was frightfully jealous of Monica.

But the chief reason why she was sorry to see Monica at school once more was because she knew that, with Monica in the arithmetic class, her own chance of coming out first in the examination was decidedly lessened. There were only two studies which Monica had any real interest in, and those were German and arithmetic; the former because she had a very fair idea of the language, and the latter she thoroughly enjoyed and consequently took pains with.

Up to the half-term, Monica had kept her place steadily, much to Lily's mortification, who had always been praised for her neatly worked examples, until Monica appeared upon the scene, with her less tidy, but far more quick and correct work. But the month she had been away provided Lily with a grand opportunity of getting ahead; and she had worked with a zeal, worthy of a better cause, to endeavour to supplant Monica.

Great was her chagrin, then, to find upon a new rule being explained by Miss Churchill, that Monica was well acquainted with it, and had worked out a given example, and got the right answer, before the problem had thoroughly penetrated Lily's brain. She did not know that Monica had spent many hours amusing herself with her _Hamblin Smith_ while she had been laid up at home, and so had got far ahead of what the Fourth Form was still doing.

"Very good indeed, Monica! You have worked that out well," commended Miss Churchill, as she looked at the sum; and Monica flushed with pleasure at words of praise such as she seldom had received before.

During that last fortnight of the summer term, she tried her very hardest to have a neat exercise book, as well as correct answers, but it was uphill work for Monica, whose home-lessons were invariably blotted and smudged, and the lines anything but straightly ruled. However, Miss Churchill, quick to notice and commend real effort, encouraged her several times with a word of praise. None of these escaped Lily Howell's ears, and she felt more convinced than ever that Monica was deliberately aiming at supplanting her in the forthcoming examination. No such idea had entered Monica's head; she was merely actuated by a desire to please Miss Churchill, and arithmetic was the only subject (of those taught by her) for which Monica had any liking. In English subjects and science she was a terrible pupil, and she was continually getting into trouble on account of carelessly written, or insufficiently learnt, work; but as it was just at the end of the term, and she had been away so long, she was let off more easily than she really deserved.

At length the examination week dawned, and those girls who were keen about their place in the class list spent all their spare time in cramming. Amethyst Drury, whose talents lay in the direction of English history and geography, was continually on the look out for some one to hear her say her "dates," and ask her questions about Africa, the country they were to be examined upon that term. Elsa, who, among others, was what their teacher called an "all-round girl," knew it was hopeless to try to look up everything, so she depended upon the knowledge she had gained during the term; by far the wisest plan. Olive, who seldom did well in any subject, on account of carelessness and inattention, expected to "get along somehow"; the only distinction she ever obtained was for drawing, and as she certainly had a real gift in that direction she was universally acknowledged to be the artist of the class.

It would be impossible, as well as unnecessary, to describe in detail the varied experiences of the examination week. Suffice it to say that the questions, according to the girls' opinions, were "harder than ever," and the candidates were none too hopeful when they gave up their papers, after a couple of hours' work upon each subject; somehow just the questions they had made sure Miss So-and-So would set had not been included, and the very things they had fondly hoped would not be required had been given a prominent place! But that is an experience common to all time, and by no means peculiar to the girls of that Fourth Form.

The arithmetic examination was almost the last on the list. And most of the girls who had expended their energies on previous subjects looked with dismay at the long list of difficult examples. Olive glanced at the others to see what they thought of it, but Elsa was beginning to write steadily, and Monica, catching her eye, gave her a reassuring smile; it seemed rather a nice paper to her. Amethyst, who was no mathematician, was biting the end of her penholder and looking frantic.

Olive was just going to dip her pen in the ink and begin to inscribe her name elaborately on the top sheet of the ruled paper before her, when something made her look in Lily Howell's direction just in time to see an ugly expression of malignant jealousy sweep over her face, as she observed Monica steadily applying herself to answer the questions which appalled her rival.

"There'll be awful ructions in that quarter, if Monica comes out top, as I do hope she will," soliloquised Olive, and then a reproving glance from Miss Churchill warned her to get on with her work.

For an hour no sound was heard but the scratching of pens and the rustling of paper, except now and then when a long-drawn sigh escaped the lips of one or other of the girls, as she realised her inability to solve a difficult problem.

By that time Olive had come to the end of her resources and could do no more, so she fastened her papers together and then began to look about at the other girls with a view to seeing how they were getting on. Her desk was in one corner of the room, and Monica (who long since had had to be moved to a distance from Olive, on account of whispering) was in the centre of the second row quite near the front. Lily Howell and her ally, Maggie Masters, were next to each other in the opposite corner from Olive's.

A glance at Monica showed her to be still hard at work over her paper, so Olive turned her attention elsewhere. As she looked across at Lily, their eyes met, and Olive turned away quickly, for she did not want to get into trouble with Miss Churchill, who might think they were communicating with each other in some way; but a peculiar expression she had seen in Lily's light grey orbs impelled her to look again a few seconds later, and then what she saw horrified her, and her eyes seemed rooted to the spot! For Lily was positively making copious use of the contents of some little note-book or paper, (Olive could not detect which) that was cleverly hidden, on the desk, by Maggie's pencil-box, from Miss Churchill's view.

"The horrid, mean, hateful sneak!" Olive, in her anger and contempt could not find enough opprobrious epithets. "She's got all her tables, and a whole lot of hints copied out, I do believe, and of course, now she'll go and beat Monica; but I'll be even with her! A nice scrape she'll get into!" And Olive chuckled to herself at the thought of what was in store. "Perhaps she'll be expelled, and a good job, too. I'd better nudge Gipsy, and make her see, in case the sneak goes and declares she didn't cheat."

Olive glanced over into the other corner again, but--nothing wrong was to be seen! All trace of the notes had vanished, and Lily was neatly ruling her manuscript paper as if no such thing as cheating had ever entered her head!

"Oh, you wretch!" And Olive felt as if she could have done anything to her, so exasperated was she to think that she had been "done"; for not once again, during the time that remained for the arithmetic paper, did she catch a glimpse of the missing paper. At length the gong sounded, and whether completed or not, the girls had to fasten their sheets together and hand the papers in to Miss Churchill.

They were glad enough to stretch their cramped limbs, and let their tongues loose during the recreation that followed, in discussing the questions and comparing their answers. Olive, of course, told Monica what she had seen Lily doing, and how vexed she was to think she could not prove it to Miss Churchill, if she were to tell her.

"Oh, let it be," said Monica, who loathed telling tales; "she'll be so mad if you tell, and she'll be sure to declare it wasn't a crib."

"I shall tell if she comes out top."

And Monica could not persuade her otherwise.

"We shall know to-morrow," said Olive as they entered the school door.

But in less than five minutes after the words had escaped her lips, part of the truth had come to light, and it happened in this way.

Lily (who was under the impression that her neat little scheme for aiding her memory had been quite unobserved by any one except Maggie, who had benefited by it, too), already, in imagination, saw her own name at the head of the list. But she thought it would be just as well to make assurance doubly sure, by securing Monica's downfall, if it were possible, in case she should be perilously near. So, as she passed up to the desk with her paper, taking care to be the last girl who filed out, she very quietly dropped her little paper of tables, etc., on the floor of Monica's desk, in such a manner as to make it appear as if it had slipped off Monica's lap, when she rose to go out.

"Now we shall be quits!" was her amiable thought, as she went with the rest into the playground. She bound Maggie, with promises of many good things, to absolute secrecy, and returned to the classroom to await developments.

The girls had no sooner taken their places than they became aware that something was wrong! The head-mistress Miss Buckingham came in with a very stern expression on her face, and Miss Churchill seemed on the verge of tears.

"I am grieved to tell you that there is a cheat--yes, a _cheat_," and Miss Buckingham repeated the words with scornful emphasis, "amongst you girls of the Fourth Form. Miss Churchill found this paper, containing arithmetical tables and various other information, under one of the desks when you had left the classroom. I desire that girl, who has sought to secure a good place in the examination list by such despicable means to stand up in her place."

A furtive glance from Lily, who was as white as a ghost, revealed the fact that the head-mistress was looking straight at Monica, and the real culprit breathed freely, and the colour came back to her cheeks. She did not know that Olive's gaze was riveted on her, or she would not have felt so easy in her mind as she did!

"Come, stand up," repeated Miss Buckingham, and Monica began to feel uncomfortable. Why did the head-mistress look so persistently at _her_, when it was Lily Howell who was the culprit.

"Well, I am sorry she will not confess it herself," said the calm, cold voice of the head of the school; "but Monica Beauchamp is the cheat!"

"I'm _not_!"

"She _isn't_!"

The two disclaimers burst simultaneously from the lips of Monica and Olive, who were aghast at this fresh piece of trickery, and could not imagine how it had come to pass.

"Olive Franklyn, sit down. Now, Monica, what have you to say in defence of yourself?"

"I know nothing whatever about it; I would scorn such a mean trick. Miss Churchill knows I would," and Monica looked reproachfully at the little mistress, who had been a sad and silent spectator, so far.

"I cannot believe you would cheat, Monica, but----" and she paused significantly.

Meanwhile, Olive had been frantically trying to make Monica see her, but failing to do so, she asked permission to speak, and told what she had seen on Lily's desk.

But both Lily and Maggie stoutly denied having had anything of the kind in their possession, and, as no other girl seemed to have observed it, Miss Churchill was reluctantly compelled to think that Olive, in championing her friend's cause, was drawing on her imagination. The figures and words on the paper were all in printing hand, so that no one's writing was recognisable.

No more light being thrown on the matter by further questioning, Miss Buckingham left the classroom, saying: "I shall not decide upon the punishment to be given until to-morrow morning, by which time I sincerely hope that the girl, whose conscience must be accusing her, will be ready to make confession."

In her own mind, Miss Buckingham was of opinion that Monica Beauchamp was entirely innocent; and she could not but feel that suspicion strongly rested upon Lily Howell, although the latter had feigned entire ignorance of the matter; for her changing colour belied her words.

The truth was arrived at in a singular and indisputable way after all.

When correcting the arithmetic papers, late that afternoon, in the teacher's room, Miss Churchill found some most astonishing blunders in Lily Howell's calculations. For some time she was mystified, and then it dawned upon her what had happened.

"Why, the girl's cubic measure is all wrong. No less than three times she has put down 1278 cubic inches instead of 1728, when reckoning a cubic foot. It is curious how she came to transpose the numbers? I wonder----"

She hastened across the hall to Miss Buckingham's room, and upon looking at the "crib," she saw, with a curious sense of satisfaction (for she felt sure Monica was innocent) that underneath "Solid or Cubic Measure" the first line, was

1278 cub. in. = 1 cub. ft.

"Found out!" she murmured, and recrossing the hall, she told two of the other teachers, who were also correcting papers, what she had discovered, and bade them look at the paper, and compare it with Lily's sums.

They both agreed it was a very clear case, and when, upon examination, Monica was found to have calculated her cubic inches rightly each time, no further proof of Lily Howell's guilt was needed.

Little did that individual dream of what awaited her on the morrow, when she retired to rest that night, rather well satisfied with the success which she thought she had achieved.

The girls waited breathlessly next morning for Miss Buckingham's verdict; many had been the conversations about it, and very varied were the punishments suggested. Every one was sure that, somehow, Lily would be proved guilty, most of them thinking that she would voluntarily confess.

Monica, knowing she was quite innocent, felt no real fear, although she was not at all sure that she would escape punishment, for she was under the impression that Miss Buckingham had believed her to be the culprit.

Every one was amazed when they heard the conclusion of the matter. In a few terse words the head-mistress explained how the truth had been brought to light; and no one felt that undue punishment was being meted out to Lily Howell when she was informed that after that term she would not be allowed to return to the Osmington High School.

"Not only for the using of unfair and forbidden means in order to secure a good place in the examination list, but far more on account of the wicked intention to bring discredit and punishment upon an innocent fellow-schoolgirl."

Miss Buckingham's words were stern and uncompromising, and poor unhappy Lily Howell cowered beneath her glance.

It was an unfortunate ending to the term, and the girls who came off victorious in the examinations did not feel the same satisfaction as they would have done if nothing of the kind had occurred. Monica, of course, was first in arithmetic; Amethyst secured a similar place in English history, and although she was beaten in geography, she did not mind so very much, as the honours fell to her friend Elsa.

A few days more, and the huge pile of buildings which constituted the Osmington High School was left in the charge of caretakers, for governesses and pupils alike had scattered in every direction to enjoy the long, summer vacation.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*"SUNDAY AGAIN ALREADY!"*

"Oh, isn't it simply glorious?"

"How beautiful the sea looks!"

Sundry exclamations such as these escaped the lips of most of the passengers in the heavily laden train bound for Sandyshore, as it emerged from a tunnel with a shrill whistle, and rounded the last corner prior to slowing down. A beautiful panorama stretched out before them; in the foreground lay the quaint old town, beyond that an expanse of deep, blue sea, and in the distance the white, rocky peaks of some promontory seemed almost dazzling in the brilliance of an August sun.

Two out of three young people in a reserved second-class compartment were in ecstasies of delight; and the third was contemplating a month at Sandyshore, with very different feelings from those she had expressed a couple of months ago. For Monica had obtained her wish, and she would have Olive as her companion and friend during all that holiday month.

It had not been quite easy to gain Mrs. Franklyn's consent to let Olive accompany the Beauchamp party; especially after the trouble about the novel-reading, but eventually she had consented, upon both Monica and Olive promising her faithfully not to cause her distress in that way again. And when Mrs. Beauchamp insisted upon Elsa going with them too, she and the doctor very gladly availed themselves of the kindness and generosity which would enable their twin-daughters to have such a thorough holiday and change, free of expense.

Monica had, at first, demurred a little over having Elsa, saying "two's company, and three's none," but her grandmother was firm. For one thing, Mrs. Beauchamp thought it would be just as well to have Elsa, on account of her trustworthiness, and the old lady was a trifle afraid of Olive getting into mischief without her more sensible sister being near by. Also she had a desire to know more of the gentle-mannered girl, and quite looked forward to enjoying her bright young society, when the other two girls were bent on following their own devices. So Monica had, perforce, to fall in with her grandmother's wishes, and when it was known that Mr. Drury was acting as locum-tenens of the quaint old church of St. Mary, Sandyshore, everything seemed to fit in splendidly.

As it happened, the Drurys preceded their friends by a couple of days. So Amethyst was at the station to meet the girls when they arrived. She had never been to Sandyshore before, and was captivated with the dear little old-fashioned town, as all its summer visitors were. Her merry tongue rattled away about all its charms and wonders while Barnes counted up the huge dress-baskets, trunks, and other articles of luggage belonging to the party, and engaged a couple of cabs to convey them to their destination.

At length, all was satisfactorily accomplished, and, with arrangements for an early meeting, Amethyst saw them drive off into the town, and then ran home to the quaint, rambling old vicarage, next to the church, which the Drurys were occupying.

Meanwhile, after a few minutes' drive through the narrow-streeted town, and up a very steep hill, "Mrs. Beauchamp and party" (according to the "Sandyshore Visitors' List") arrived at "Rocklands," a large house, standing in its own grounds, overlooking the entire bay.

Mrs. Beauchamp always engaged rooms at that particular house, owing to the magnificent view which she could enjoy, simply by sitting comfortably ensconced in one or other of the bay windows; for, in one direction, Rocklands overlooked the pier, to and from which pleasure steamers were continually passing; and when one tired of these, the sands, thickly sprinkled with bathing machines and private tents, amused and interested the onlooker with their varied phases of holiday life.

Comfort being of more importance than expense to Mrs. Beauchamp, she had made every arrangement for convenience during their month's stay at Rocklands by engaging a whole suite of rooms. Thus Elsa and Olive were charmed to find themselves the proud possessors of a delightful bedroom, while Monica occupied the one next to theirs. Seldom were their doors shut; it was such a new experience for Monica to have young companions to live with. Then the dining-room in which they had all their meals was entirely at the girls' disposal, between times, when they could do just as they pleased, and "need not be so much on their best behaviour," as Monica termed it, as in the drawing-room. But the weather was so delightful, and so seldom did it rain, that the trio were not often to be found indoors except in the evenings.

The next morning, the whole party were early on the small strip of shore, which extended for fully half a mile round the bay, and on which the visitors made themselves thoroughly at home. The short season was at its height, and at first sight there seemed no chance of securing a comfortable position; but as they walked along the Shore Road, looking down upon the gay throng of holiday-makers, Elsa descried a well-known figure, and saw Amethyst frantically signalling to them.

"There seems room there, Mrs. Beauchamp," she suggested, "where the Drurys are. Shall we go down?"

And in a few minutes, after mutual greetings, Mrs. Beauchamp was comfortably settled in her deck chair, while the girls, spreading a rug on the sand, threw themselves down upon it in careless attitudes.

That first morning was but a sample of most of those which followed.

Mrs. Beauchamp read, or chatted with Mr. and Mrs. Drury, while the young people enjoyed themselves in every way. A tent, next to the one used by the Drurys, was hired, and the girls had great fun over bathing. Mrs. Beauchamp wished Monica to learn to swim, so an old bathing-machine proprietor, one of the chief features of Sandyshore, used to give her and Olive a lesson every morning. Elsa was too timid to really enjoy more of the sea than could be had where the water was comparatively shallow, and Amethyst and she were quite content to look on at the more daring exploits of the other two girls.

Such fun and merriment did they all have that first week at Sandyshore, that it did not seem possible that they _could_ enjoy themselves more, although Amethyst's one cry was: "Won't it be just too perfectly lovely when Marcus comes?"

Marcus Drury, Amethyst's brother and senior by four or five years, had only recently gone up to Cambridge upon leaving Trent College. He had been spending a few weeks of the Long Vacation with another undergraduate at the latter's home in Scotland, but now he was expected to arrive at Sandyshore any day, and his devoted and admiring little sister was on the tiptoe of excitement about his coming. Of course, he was well known to the Franklyn girls, with whose brothers he had been friendly since the Drurys had lived at Osmington, but Monica felt a good deal of interest in the young fellow of whom she had heard so much.

Therefore, one morning, some ten days after their arrival at Sandyshore, when Amethyst came flying along the Shore Road to meet them with the words, "Marcus has come, and you'll never guess who is with him!" all three girls were quite as mystified as she wished them to be.

"No one I know," said Monica, with decision.

"No, you don't; but the others do." And Amethyst bubbled over with excitement. "Do be quick and guess: I can't keep it much longer."

"Not Dick?" hazarded Elsa, more to please her friend than because she expected to be right.

"No, not Dick," said Amethyst merrily. "Try again."

"Roger, then," said Olive.

"Yes, yes, yes! Isn't it splendid? He wanted to surprise you, and he's got a week's holiday from St. Adrian's, and Marcus met him in the Strand, or somewhere, and persuaded him to pack up and come down here with him."

"Oh, how lovely!" cried the twins simultaneously; "do let us see him. Where is he?"

"There," and Amethyst triumphantly pointed out a couple of young fellows not very far away, who had evidently been enjoying, from a distance, the surprise the news had caused.

Monica, feeling somewhat out of it, followed the others rather more slowly, and thus secured a good look at the newcomers while they were engaged in greeting Olive and Elsa.

There was no doubt as to which was which: the elder, of medium height, slightly built, dark, with brown eyes, was a Franklyn all over; while his companion, a tall, broad-shouldered youth, with merry blue eyes and curly hair, although he was not in the least like his sister, bore an unmistakable resemblance to Mr. Drury.

Raising his panama hat, round which his college colours were twisted, he came forward with outstretched hand, and Monica thought she had never liked any one so well, at first sight, as this debonair undergraduate. She had previously somewhat sneered at Amethyst's praises of her paragon brother, but she could understand her feelings now that she had met Marcus Drury.

She almost forgot his companion, until a quiet, manly voice, so different from the other's boyish tones, said, "How do you do, Miss Beauchamp? I am very glad to meet my sister's friend." And she found herself shaking hands with Olive's eldest brother.

A very short time sufficed to put them all at their ease, and then, as the tide was fast going out, they went in different directions for their bathe. But an hour later found the young people all together again, and the girls were charmed with the proposal that they should go for a row, there being just an hour left before dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. Drury, who had undertaken to keep Mrs. Beauchamp company until their return, watched the boatful with interest, until Roger's and Marcus' even strokes had rowed it so far as to be scarcely more than a speck.

"Dear boy," murmured Mrs. Drury, as she took up the knitting she had neglected; and her husband smiled as he said, quizzically: "Do you mean Roger?"

"I meant Marcus, of course," replied his wife, with a smile, "but Roger is a dear boy, too. I only wish----"

"What do you wish, Nora?" queried her husband, in a lower tone, as he tilted his black straw hat over his eyes, to protect them from the glare of the midday sun.

"Why, the same as I know you wish, Herbert," was the reply, "that in choosing the medical profession Roger had been actuated by the one desire to follow in the steps of the Good Physician."

"Yes, I would that he had, but I fear it was not so. But, Nora, motives and hearts, too, can be changed. Why should not Roger Franklyn go back to St. Adrian's 'transformed'?"

"Ah! why not?" And little Mrs. Drury's eyes grew earnest, as she looked out at the tiny black speck dancing on the ocean in the distance, and she prayed that God would answer that other mother's prayers, and give to Roger a new purpose, a new ideal in life.

The days flew swiftly by, what with picnics, tennis, bathing, boating, and many other amusements and enjoyments, and Sunday dawned.

Monica and Olive, it must be confessed, did not appreciate that one day in the week as much as they should, inasmuch as they were compelled, of necessity, to forego during its sacred hours all the secular amusements with which they filled up every moment of the week, from Monday morning until Saturday evening. They awoke that brilliant August morning to the unwelcome remembrance that it was "Sunday again already!"

But Elsa, whose happiest hours were spent in God's house, with a tender little smile hovering round her lips, drew up the blinds, and looked out upon the calm blue sea, and lifted her heart in thanksgiving to her Heavenly Father for making such a beautiful world. Even Olive's ceaseless chatter, as they dressed, did not disturb her; and when her sister had gone into Monica's room, as she invariably did, Elsa gently shut the door, and taking her little Bible, she knelt by the open window and prayed long and earnestly. She did not know how to pray properly, she only knew how to talk to her dearest Friend, and she was accustomed to tell Him everything, and ask with the simplicity and directness of a little child for what she needed.

That morning, after praying for help and strength for herself, to enable her to be a faithful follower of her Master, she remembered her darling mother (whom it had been a very real sorrow to leave) and all those at home; and then her heart seemed overwhelmed with the thought of those about her, who, as yet, did not know and serve her Saviour. "Oh! Lord," she prayed, "do speak to-day, _somehow_, to Monica and Olive. I can't bear to think of them going on living without Thee. And kind Mrs. Beauchamp wants something to satisfy her. O Lord, she wants _Thee_! and Roger needs Thee, too. Lord, show Thyself to them all to-day, and show them they will never be happy until they have come to Thee."

Thus, in all earnestness, but with childish simplicity, Elsa poured out her heart unto the Lord, and "the Lord hearkened and heard."

The dear old-fashioned church, taxed to its utmost to provide accommodation for the throngs of fashionably attired people who poured ceaselessly up the aisles, as the five-minute bell gave warning that service would soon commence, was eventually crammed with a huge congregation, made up of many types. Perhaps it would be safe to say that the majority of the people assembled within the sacred edifice had gone there because "it was the proper thing to do"; they neither expected nor desired any spiritual help.

Among this class were several of our acquaintances. In one pew, a prominent one, because the verger had an eye to a substantial sum for the offertory from such an imposing looking personage as Mrs. Beauchamp, in her trailing gown of black satin, and a Parisian bonnet, were seated the two Franklyn girls, Monica and her grandmother; Elsa being next to the old lady.

At a little distance, and at right angles to them, at the end of the vicarage pew in the south transept, Marcus' tall form towered above those in the vicinity, and made his neighbour, Roger Franklyn, look quite insignificant; also Mrs. Drury and Amethyst. It is to be feared that some of the occupants of the two pews were a trifle disposed to look at each other, at first; but a glance from her mother subdued Amethyst, and she soon forgot the others in paying attention to the service.

Marcus, who had a tenor voice, which promised to be of unusual quality, sang all the chants and hymns; but Roger, a slightly cynical expression disfiguring his clear-cut features, took no part in the service. With arms folded, and head erect, he stood looking straight before him, his eyes wandering, occasionally, to the pew in which his sisters sat; but he did not look at them so much as at their friend.

Monica, her softly rounded cheeks already tanned by exposure to sun and sea, was looking really handsome that morning. Her hair, arranged in a new and becoming fashion, was tied back with a large cream bow, which matched her flop hat and daintily made dress. The only scrap of colour about her was a couple of dark crimson roses, tucked carelessly into her waistband; and altogether she made a very pretty picture, standing, as she did, erect and tall, between the twins, who wore simple delaine frocks of a pale greenish hue.

Mr. Drury conducted the service, and a young clergyman, apparently a curate, read the lessons. Elsa, with a sinking heart, saw the latter ascend the pulpit stairs; for it must be confessed she had hoped her favourite, Mr. Drury, would be the preacher. But she need not have feared; God had given Leslie Herschel a message to deliver to the congregation assembled at St. Mary's Church that August Sunday morning, and as the young man looked down upon the throbbing mass of never-dying souls, his heart went up to God that many there that morning might be led to make the one great choice.

*CHAPTER XV.*

*"OH, MONICA, DON'T!"*

"My text you will find in the First Book of Chronicles, the twenty-ninth chapter and the fifth verse. 'Who then is willing to consecrate his service this day unto the Lord'?"

The young preacher, for he had been barely two years in orders, read the verse once, and yet again, feelingly, and as if he would impress every word of it upon his hearers, and then he closed his Bible, and began his sermon.

It was not a very long one; indeed there were a few who wished it had been half as long again. It was not by any means a brilliant peroration, but yet there were points about it which made it the most remarkable sermon to which many of his hearers had ever listened. And that last word gives the key to the whole thing; they _had_ to listen! Whether they liked it or not (and many, very many, did not at all appreciate the home-truths which they heard), some unseen and uncontrollable impulse forced them to listen, even against their will. The earnest, ringing tones of the young preacher, his dark eyes, which seemed to penetrate their very motives and thoughts, stirred the apathetic indifference of that nominally Christian congregation; and they realised, some of them for the first time, that the service of God was a very real and tangible thing, and that they had, so far, had no part or lot in the matter.

Leslie Herschel dwelt first upon the Master, then upon the service itself, and finally upon those who were called to serve, and when and how that service should be rendered.

"My friends," he said, in conclusion, "I claim your service, whole-hearted, faithful, loyal service, to-day, for my Master. He will force none, coerce no one into rendering unloving obedience, but He pleads with you to-day to come with willing hearts and offer Him your best. And what does He promise in return? Peace, joy, hope, satisfaction in this life, and eternal life in the world to come. I ask you, are you content to do without Him? Is this world, pleasant and attractive though it be, so satisfying that you need nothing more than the gaiety, the success, the honour, aye, and the gold which it offers to some, but by no means all of its devotees? But supposing you _are_ satisfied now (and I very much doubt if there exists a single individual who is absolutely satisfied), will you be satisfied, think you, when you come to stand, all unprepared, in the presence of your Judge? Will this world stand you in good stead _then_?" And the preacher leaned over the pulpit, while with searching glance his eyes seemed to scan every one of the disturbed faces before him. "The Bible tells me that 'this world passeth away.' What will it advantage you, _then_, whether you have moved in a select circle, or not? Whether you have acquired fame and distinction, or not? Whether you have been known among men as almost a millionaire, or not? Oh! my friends, I beseech you, with all earnestness, that you will _this day_ choose the Lord Christ for your Master.

"It is an old, but true, saying, that 'To-morrow never comes'; we are only sure of to-day, therefore 'Choose ye this day whom ye will serve,' and say: 'Behold, Thy servants are ready to do whatsoever my Lord the King shall appoint.'

"I do not, I dare not, promise you a path of ease and luxury, but I _can_ say, for I have proved it, that the life which has Christ as its Alpha and Omega is the only truly happy one, the only life worth living. And that word 'whatsoever,' if you really mean what you say, may entail the giving up of many a cherished plan, many a life-long project. It may mean going to China or Africa as a medical missionary for one; to face the misery and horrors of life among the denizens of the East End for another; to live a Christlike life in a worldly and uncongenial atmosphere for a third.

"But in it all, and through it all, Christ's never-failing arm will guide and uphold you, and His voice will be heard, saying: 'Behold, I come quickly, and My reward is with Me, to give every man according as his work shall be.' '_Who_, then, is willing to consecrate his service _this day_ unto the Lord?' May God in His mercy grant that from many a heart in this church this morning the cry may go up to Him, 'O Lord ... _I_ am willing.'"

The strains of the organ, on which the opening bars of that beautiful consecration hymn:

Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee,

were being exquisitely played by the organist, accentuated rather than disturbed the hush of solemnity which had fallen upon the congregation, as the young preacher concluded his earnest appeal for personal dedication; and there were undoubtedly several that morning who, realising the claim which Christ had upon them, willingly surrendered all to Him.

The Beauchamp and Drury parties met in the quaint old churchyard, and the two elder ladies walked slowly on, while the young people waited about for Mr. Drury.

"A wonderful sermon, was it not?" said Mrs. Drury.

"Ye--es; but rather too dictatorial in style for such a young preacher." Mrs. Beauchamp's tones expressed dissatisfaction.

"Did you think it dictatorial?" enquired the vicar's wife pleasantly; "it did not strike me in that way. I thought it was a grand opportunity, splendidly seized. With such a varied congregation, coming as we do from all parts of England, no one but God can foresee the results that may accrue, with His blessing, from the faithful message this morning."

"Perhaps so," was Mrs. Beauchamp's somewhat absent reply; and she turned back as if to wait for the girls.

Amethyst and Elsa were close at hand, and quickly joined them, but Monica and Olive were some distance behind, walking slowly, and apparently deep in conversation. Mrs. Drury, who had not been unobservant of the effect of the sermon upon Monica, as she sat listening, listlessly at first, and then was roused into paying startled attention to the (to her) unusual discourse, tactfully drew her own child and Elsa into conversation, as they walked on. For she was sure, from the expressions on the faces of the girls behind, that they were discussing what they had been hearing.

As a matter of fact, after a few commonplaces with Marcus and Roger, the girls left them, and slowly following the others, had been silent companions for a few moments.

Then Olive, shaking off the unwelcome feelings which had taken possession of her, said gaily: "A penny for your thoughts, Monica!"

"You can have them without the penny," was her friend's rather sad reply, as she slipped her arm into Olive's. "I'm half inclined to do what he said, Ollie."

Olive raised a startled face to Monica's, and read quite a new expression upon it, in which there was a certain amount of determination. "What do you mean?" she queried; but in her own heart she knew full well what Monica meant.

"Why, to say _I_ am willing," said Monica, with some confusion, for she felt diffident about expressing what she meant even to her greatest friend.

"Oh, Monica, don't! We'll never have any more good times together," said Olive, and it must have been her bad angel who prompted her words; "if you do you'll have to leave me behind, for _I'm_ not going to give in."

"I wish I could live like he said," and Monica's face looked wistful. "Sometimes I----"

"Well?"

"Sometimes I long to be able to write and tell dad that it is all settled. He _would_ be so glad."

"Well, I don't see much in it," said Olive obstinately. Her better feelings were aroused by Monica's words, but she deliberately crushed them down.

"Oh, yes, there is; there's _everything_ in it! You've only to look at that young clergyman, and your mother, and even Elsa, to see what a difference there is. Oh, Olive, if I had your mother to help me I _would_, really, say to God what we sang just now,

Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee"--

and Monica's young face glowed with feeling.

"No, you wouldn't," was Olive's moody reply, "any more than I do. Of course, I mean to be a Christian some day, but not while I'm only a girl; I want some pleasure first."

"Oh, Olive, Olive, you little know the dark cloud that even now is beginning to gather over your head!"

With a sigh, Monica turned away, and, with one consent, they hurried after the others, and no more was said. But the elder girl's heart had been roused and awakened, and never again would she drift into her former state of indifference.

The two young fellows, waiting about in the churchyard for Mr. Drury, at length received a message to the effect that he would be detained still longer, and they had better not wait for him. So they, too, strolled down to the Shore Road, where they knew they would eventually come across their friends.

"I'm almost sorry I'm not in your shoes, old man," said Marcus, as he adapted his long, swinging strides to his friend's shorter steps.

"It's a very good thing that you are a little undecided about it," was Roger's somewhat enigmatical reply. "But tell me what you mean?"

"Why, I felt this morning as if I would give anything to go in for medicine, with a view to going abroad; but I know father has set his heart on my taking orders."

"If I remember rightly, the preacher distinctly observed that the service was not to be one of picking and choosing but a case of 'whatsoever.'"

Something unusual about the tone in which Roger made this remark, and a total absence of his usual cynicism, made his friend glance curiously at him, and he realised that a change, undefinable at present, but nevertheless unmistakable, had taken place in Roger Franklyn.

"I say, old chap, I wish with all my heart _you_ would be a 'Whatsoever Christian,'" he said impulsively.

"With God's help I mean to be," was the unexpected reply, as Roger lifted his hat, and glanced upward, as if registering a vow.

"Thank God!" was Marcus' low but fervent response, as he gripped his friend's hand with such force as to make him wince.

"I knew you would be glad," was the quiet reply, "and so will my dearest mother; she has been praying a long time for her eldest boy, and he has been very obstinate. But I shall need all your prayers, now, for already I foresee trouble and disappointment looming in the distance. The pater is expecting me to follow in his footsteps when I leave St. Adrian's, but I--oh! Drury, I am sure those words were meant for me this morning. There was probably not another medical student in the church, and I felt called to offer myself to Him for foreign service, if He will accept me."

"You need not doubt His acceptance, old fellow. When we give what God asks for, you may be very sure He takes it. How glad Herschel will be!"

"Who is Herschel?" ask Roger quickly.

"Why, this morning's preacher. Did not you hear father talking about him last night? No? Oh, then I must tell you. He is staying down here with his mother and a sister, I believe, and father met him yesterday, some time. Leslie Herschel's father (the late Dean of Balmore) and he were great friends, so he was awfully glad to come across him, and asked him, straight off, to preach this morning. He has had a curacy in some huge mining town, but he is going out to the Soudan this autumn."

"It's marvellous how God makes things fit in," remarked young Franklyn, with rather an embarrassed laugh; it was such a new thing for _him_ to be talking in that strain. "I suppose, humanly speaking, Mr. Drury might have preached a hundred sermons and they would never have touched me; but just this one, from an utter stranger, _did_. And if he had been here either last Sunday, or next, instead of to-day, I should not have heard it!"

"There is a little chorus we undergrads sing sometimes, before we begin our Open-Airs, in Cambridge," said Marcus, "which runs thus--

'I believe God answers prayer.
I am sure God answers prayer.
I have proved God answers prayer.
Glory to His name.'"

"He certainly answered prayer for me this morning, and I'll trust Him for all the future."

Thus, Roger Franklyn, medical student, was "transformed"; and, in the course of a few days, he returned to his work at St. Adrian's, filled with a new purpose, governed by one desire, and one only, namely, to consecrate his service henceforth unto the Lord.

Mr. and Mrs. Drury's hearts were filled with thanksgiving when they heard of his conversion, and a smile irradiated Leslie Herschel's face when he was told of one result, at any rate, of his claim for service.

And Elsa: who can describe Elsa's joy, when, late that Sunday evening as her brother bade her "good-night" at Rocklands gate, he bent down and whispered his news in her ear? He knew well enough which of his twin sisters would be the one to rejoice with him, for Elsa's brave efforts to live a consistent Christian life in her own home had not been unobserved by her eldest brother.

"Oh, Roger, darling, how splendid!" and she clung tenderly to him. "_How_ glad mamma will be when she hears; she has been praying for you so long. And I have, too," she added shyly.

"Dear little sister," he murmured, as he stooped and kissed her forehead. "Go on praying, Elsa, not only for me, but for Dick, and Olive, and the others."

Monica was strangely subdued all that Sunday. Twice Mrs. Beauchamp enquired if she were not well, but she replied that nothing ailed her. Elsa, who felt sure that she had been, in some way, influenced by the sermon, tried to muster sufficient courage to speak to her about it; but no opportunity occurred. Olive seemed determined never to leave Monica's side for a moment. So persistent was she, that even Monica grew cross once, and said pettishly, "Do be quiet for a bit, Olive, I want to read." But if any one had taken the trouble to watch her movements, they would have seen that she rarely turned a page, although she appeared to be absorbed in her story.

In reality, Monica was thinking; good and evil were striving for the mastery within her, and she did not seem able to come to any decision. She longed to become a Christian, in her inmost heart, but something seemed to bar the way. At first, she could not think what the obstacle could be; but before she had lain down to rest that night, she knew that it was her friend, Olive, who was hindering her from taking the decisive step. Olive had said, "Oh, Monica, don't!" and although she knew that she was acting worse than foolishly, Monica decided not to make the great choice just then!

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*"DO BE CAREFUL, GIRLS."*

"Hurrah! Three cheers for mumsie!" cried Amethyst excitedly, one morning.

"What's up now?" enquired her brother, in a provokingly calm tone.

"Why, we're all going for a picnic to Gullane Head, father as well, for the whole day. Isn't it scrumptious?" And she danced about him in great glee.

"Very," he agreed, "but whom do you mean by 'all'? Four people scarcely constitute a picnic."

"Silly boy!" she retorted; "of course Monica and the Franklyns are coming. Mumsie arranged it all with Mrs. Beauchamp yesterday, only she would not say a word until this morning, in case it should not be fine. But there's no fear of rain to-day," and she glanced up at the deep blue sky, in which no speck of cloud was visible, with great satisfaction.

"How do you propose to get there?"