CHAPTER II. UNDAY was the busiest day in all the week at St. Magnus's Rectory. The house, a pretty gable-ended building, shut in by high iron gates, stood in a quiet by-street, that was happy in possessing no outlet of its own, being comfortably terminated by a large ivy-covered mansion at the further end. People who were strangers to Southminster found this particular St. Magnus Street a constant snare and delusion, when, turning briskly into it from the adjoining one, they went blindly on until brought up short by the old Admiral's house, before they realised the trap into which they had fallen. The gardens belonging to all these houses were unusually good; indeed, the ancient name for Southminster (as for several other English towns, I fancy) had been 'The City of Gardens;' and the one at St. Magnus' ran far out at the back-a perfect luxury of fruit-trees and oldfashioned flowers, sloping down to a tiny but delicious copsewhere little Frances, the only child of the widowed Rector, a fairy of twelve, ran riot between the intervals of lessons and country walks.

As Rector of the poorest parish in Southminster, where tramp lodging-houses abounded and sin most certainly did, Mr. Hutton (and no man was more likely than he) knew surely what discouragement was in his ceaseless fight against evil. But he and his brave, earnest sister-in-law, had long ago blotted out the word 'Failure' from their moral dictionary of thoughts and feelings. Discouragement is of the devil,' was their rooted conviction and belief, with which they vainly, as yet, strove to impress their friend and fellow-worker, Marta Carden.

'He giveth more grace,' was the pastor's comment, breathed with many a sigh though it often was, as project after project would seem to fall fruitless to the ground.

And yet the gleams of sunshine-the few who stood their ground bravely against temptation, the successes of good triumphing over evil-how bright and glowing they were! Some even now rose up and called him blessed; and as for stars in a heavenly crown, more would shine in that faithful servant's than he wot of here and now.

But I have wandered from Sunday and its multiplied work. The three full services, Sunday School, and Baptisms, were over at last, and John Hutton threw himself into the easy-chair drawn up for his benefit before the cosy dining-room fire, thrust his tired feet into the slippers that Frances had been warming so carefully, and felt that rest was delightful

with the gladness of spirit that the Master's work ever leaves behind it. The Sunday's hot supper was just being brought steaming in, when that incorrigible door-bell rang again. Visitors at the Rectory were wont to abuse the bell in no measured terms -even threaten to tie it up and stop its unwelcome voice for ever, which was sure to be heard at inauspicious moments, when the host and hostess. were enjoying a brief respite from parish cares.

'The front-door bell again!' sighed Miss Bromhead. I hope that is not a summons for you to go out anywhere, John!'

'Please, sir, Mason is here,' said Clara the housemaid, in a deprecating, half-injured tone, at 'Master's being disturbed so late,' ' and he says as he wants a nurse terribly bad, and there ain't any to be got nowhere in the town. They're all out at the Nurses' Institute, and the parish nurse is busy at old Betty's, you know, sir, and he begs pardon, sir'— Sarah paused abruptly as her master strode past her into the hall, and stopped her too lengthy narration with a quiet 'I'll come and speak to him.'

He was met by a most anxious scrape and gaze from the said Mason, a tall, pale man, with tumbled hair and a decidedly scared expression of countenance.

'What illness have you now at home, Mason?' 'Three children, bless them! down with the fever, sir, and my wife a-bed with the baby, and the house just upside down, as I don't know like what! A nurse we must have, sir; it don't matter who as long as she can nurse. Where to get one beats me holler! I've been all over the place-some's out and some's afraid of the service; but there! I can't go home without hearing of one, not if I walks the night through.'

'Have you tried the Workhouse, my man?' questioned his listener.

'No, sir, that I haven't,' said Mason, doubtfully. 'You see I never seemed to think of that, somehow ; it seems a queer place to get a nurse from-don't it, sir? But if so be—”

'In my opinion you might do much worse. Susan,' said the Rector, going back into the dining-room suddenly, 'how about Miss Carden's protégée, the nurse at the Workhouse Infirmary? Here is poor Mason out of his wits to find one for his wife and children-a bad case of fever, evidently. Did not Marta want to hear of some place for her after she left the Workhouse? I should say he might ask for Lucy Mendam from me-eh ?'

'Yes, he certainly might, John. We know they allow any of the women who are used to nursing to

hire themselves out for the merest trifle on an extreme occasion like this. But poor Marta, she will certainly despair of good coming from it, seeing Lucy is her recommendation, in a way.'

'Don't tell her, then. Marta is growing quite morbid on the subject of her failures, good Christian woman as she is. I shall advise Mason, then, to apply for her-Lucy, I mean-the first thing to-morrow morning (too late now, I fear), and he must get some neighbour to see after them just for to-night, if possible.'

Back went the Rector and propounded his plan, which was received with much respect, and finally assented to, with a murmured remonstrance that a well-to-do mechanic like himself had never been obliged to the parish for anything before.

'And you won't be now, silly fellow!' Mr. Hutton said, with a smile: 'you will be allowed to pay her something, no doubt; and if you are too proud for help from that quarter, they must all be bundled off to the fever-ward at the Infirmary.'

Mason was silenced, and departed, somewhat comforted, to coax temporary kind offices from a neighbour less timorous than the rest, and long for the morning to come.

Next morning saw him early at the Workhouse, and on his request being presented to the matron she instantly consented to Lucy Mendam's hiring herself out for any length of time that might be required.

'And, indeed, I should have fixed upon her in any case!' she said decidedly. Lucy is the most capable woman in every way that we've had for a long time, and it seems a crying shame, say I, that something or other has brought her to such a pass as this! She isn't a poor, rough sort of creature either, like many of our women are, but neat and clean, and strong as a horse, and seems to have a kind of gift in the way of nursing-so maybe she'll suit you: that is, if she'll go. If she doesn't suit, you just send her back without payment. But I guess she will, and be only too glad to go.'

And so she was. A light came into Lucy's dark eyes, that had not been there for many a long day, at the prospect of work and honest payment. 'I'd go, if I crept on my knees all the way,' she murmured to herself, as she hastily doffed the Workhouse cap and put on her shawl and bonnet; 'anything in the world to get honest work again. And yet, I shall miss Miss Carden for ever so long! And I've not spoken to her yet-No, I haven't had the courage, poor coward that I am! Well, I must wait. Grannie!' Lucy said, stepping up to the bed where the old woman lay, 'I'm going away for a bit, maybe I shan't see you no more.'

'Good-bye, good-bye, my lass!' was the feeble answer. We shall miss you: but there, do your duty faithful wherever you be, and try to think as God's eye is on you, a-watching and loving of you always.' And, Grannie, if the lady comes in while I am away-my lady, Miss Carden, you know-tell her I hoped to begin and turn over a new leaf, and be true to my trust! Try and remember, Grannie!' 'Aye, aye, girl!'

But at ninety-four, Grannie's memory was scarcely to be relied on, as Lucy felt with a sigh.

'I can't give the message to anybody else though; perhaps I'm a fool to give it to her but there, I may see her along the way,' she thought.

Mason welcomed the nurse gladly, and led her quickly through by-streets and unfrequented paths, quite out of Miss Carden's beat, till they reached a row of red-brick houses, neat and fair-sized enough, standing low down, close to the river, which glided slowly past at their foot.

Lucy and her companion entered one of these houses, and went hastily upstairs. A gentleman, evidently the doctor, met them at the head of the narrow staircase, just preparing to depart himself.

'So you've got a nurse at last! And not a minute before the time,' he exclaimed. 'Are you used to nursing, my girl?'

'Yes, sir!' said Lucy, dropping a courtesy: all the former half-defiance of her manner gone, and the earnest, helpful look of a true nurse and 'ministering woman,' shining already on her face.

'Hum!' said the doctor, regarding her neat capable appearance, and then noting the humble parish dress. 'You seem the right sort: but such a woman as you look ought never to have put on such clothes as those!'

'Yes, Mason, my man, they're all as bad as they can be, and your nurse's work is cut out for her, I can tell you. There, go in and cheer up your poor wife, while I give my pupil her directions out here. She seems to me as if she would be of some use.'

Poor Lucy's heart beat high with hope and courage. 'To humble thee and to prove thee,' she was repeating over and over to herself, as she listened to and carefully took in the meaning of Dr. Wanstall's instructions.

'Humbled' she had been indeed in her former life of mistakes and sin—a life that seemed so infinitely far away now, and whose story she had revealed to none, but which God and her own sad heart alone knew. The Pardon that lady had spoken of so hopefully and gently, the Love that covers all sins, might it not be at this moment 'proving' her late repentance by this chance of honest labour that had opened out before her? (To be continued.)

it, we are as safe in the fiercest battle as in a drawingroom in London.'

Within the city there was constant wearing anxiety to provide food for the thousands of inhabitants and for the soldiers. On Sept. 22 General Gordon wrote: 'It is of no use sending up to Sennaar again for dhoora (meal), for we have no money to pay for it.' Yet on the same day, finding a native woman in trouble because on her way to buy two dollars' worth of dhoora she had been pushed by some ungallant fellow, and the dollars fell into the river,' he says 'I gave her the two dollars and comforted her black soul.'

On Nov. 2 we read: 'Six weeks' consumption of dhoora in magazine to-day, and then the sponge must be thrown up,' and on Nov. 7, 'Women yelling for dhoora under the Palace windows.' Yet on Nov. 21 he can say, 'I do not believe one person has died of hunger during the eight months we have been shut up.'

The fear of treachery, too, was ever present with him, and this danger continually increased as the months went by and no help reached them from England. He had promised this help to those whom he was encouraging to hold out against the Mahdi; and bitter indeed to him, who was the very soul of honour, must it have been to hear the reproaches of those within the city, and the jeers of those without, that his promises had been mere empty words. Day after day he rose at daybreak and went out on the Palace roof, searching the horizon with his telescope to see if the English were in sight. Night after night he laid down, his heart sick with hope deferred, yet to rise again on the morrow, still hoping against hope.

At the end of August a large expedition had been organized in England, under General Lord Wolseley, to go to General Gordon's relief, and rumours of the approach of the English army reached Khartoum. Each time, however, that General Gordon mentions. the Expedition' in his Journal he reiterates more and more strongly his fixed resolve not to return with it, unless all the soldiers and inhabitants of Khartoum who wished to leave the Soudan were also enabled to do so in safety. General Gordon sent four of his steamers, with 400 soldiers, down the Nile as far as Metemneh (where the road across the desert reaches the river) to wait for the approach of the relief expedition and to give assistance on its arrival. In each vessel there was a written placard to say that, as the Soudanese troops could not speak English, any Englishman going on board was requested to treat them with forbearance and consideration, as they were his soldiers and had done good service. The same wish was also expressed in his Journal.

But the absence of these steamers, and the soldiers on them, sorely weakened General Gordon's own hands in the defence of Khartoum. On Nov. 12, the Mahdi himself having arrived outside the city with fresh troops, a violent attack was made. It was known in the city the night before that this might be expected, but a careless telegraph clerk failed to report it to General Gordon; and therefore, when the Arabs commenced the attack at 5.30 a.m., the steamers had not put on steam. All depended on these steamers, of which only two were now at his service. One of these two, the Husseinjeh, soon went aground; the other, the Ismailia, was still safe. At noon General Gordon wrote in his Journal, The firing has ceased, I am glad to say. I have lived years in these last hours! Had I lost the Ismailia, I I should have lost the Husseinjeh (aground), and then Omdurman, and then the North Fort and then the town! Considering that the Arab gun can (and has) made holes two feet square in the steamer, my anxiety is not to be wondered at. This is our first encounter with the Mahdi's personal troops. One tumbles at 3 a.m. into a troubled sleep; a drum beats-tup! tup! tup! It comes into a dream, but after a few moments one becomes more awake, and it is revealed to the brain that one is in Khartoum !'

'Men may say what they like about glorious war, but to me it is a horrid nuisance (if it is permitted to say anything is a nuisance which comes on us). I saw that poor little beast, the Husseinjeh (a Thames launch), fall back, stern foremost, under a terrific fire of breechloaders; I saw a shell strike the water at her bows; I saw her stop and puff off steam, and I gave the glass to my boy, sickened unto death.'

After this date the difficulties and dangers were increased tenfold; the Arabs grew bolder daily; Khartoum was more and more closely invested, and it became impossible to get any fresh supplies of food for the city; while General Gordon could less and less place dependence on those under him. Yet of those who were constantly trying him he wrote: But because they are weak there is so much the more reason to try and help them; for I think it was because we were such worthless creatures that our Lord came to deliver us.'

How little he thought of himself and his own troubles, and what true sympathy he could feel for the trials of others, is shown most plainly and most touchingly in the following words. Referring to the fearful anxiety through which he was passing he said: 'But that I have had to undergo a tithe what any nurse has to undergo who is attached to a querulous invalid is absurd, and not to be weighed together.' And again,