STILLING THE TEMPEST (Mark iv. 35-41; Matt. viii. 23-27; Luke viii. 22-25). (HE same day" on which he had spoken the parables' contained in the preceding verses of Mark iv., and on which he had performed the miracles recorded in Matt. viii. 16, and in which, as St. Luke (viii. 21) tells us, he had defined who his mother and his brethren were. "Let us pass over." No doubt he was anxious to withdraw himself for a while from the multitudes who thronged around him, to see the miracles he performed, and to hear the words he spoke, wishing to be alone with his apostles, and "those who were with them," and so by the rest which, as man, he required he might fit himself for continuing his Father's work. "The other side." Opposite to that on which he had been teaching the multitudes. This sea is called by the names of the Sea of Galilee, the Lake of Gennesaret, and the Lake of Chinnereth. On its shores some of the apostles were fulfilling their various avocations when they were summoned to be fishers of men; and here, too, many parables were spoken and miracles performed. "Even as he was in the ship." He was sitting in the ship, from which he had been instructing the people, when he made the request of his disciples to go over, and they, without hesitation, without making any preparation for the voyage, or providing food or extra raiment, immediately launched forth. "Other little ships." Probably fishing-boats, belonging to some of the people in the multitude, who, seeing him and his companions about to set sail, resolved on following him. What their motive was in doing so, we have no means of knowing. "A great storm of wind." This lake, surrounded on all sides by high hills, was subject to storms, which rushing down the mountain gorges, caused the waves to rage. This storm was such as to endanger their lives: but he was asleep; showing how calm one may sleep who has a pure conscience, and who is at peace with God, notwithstanding the unfavourable appearance of all external circumstances. "The waves beat into the ship." What a scene was this to display the power of Jesus! The gathering in of the darkness (it was evening when they started), the dashing waves, the howling winds, the rolling and tossing ship, which at times is all but filled with water. "Carest thou not that we perish?" When to all human appearance they were fast sinking, his disciples wake him with great surprise and importunity, "Master, is it no concern to thee that we are all of us in the utmost danger, and hast thou no regard to what we are exposed in such a terrible extremity as this? Unless you exert some power on "He arose, and rebuked the wind." What an air of Divine majesty and authority is here! The Saviour stands amidst the howling tempest on the raging sea, and by the power of his word alone rebukes the wind, saying, "Peace," and to the waves, "Be still; and immediately there was a great calm." "Why are ye fearful?" Having quieted the disturbed elements, he now proceeds to rebuke his followers for their want of faith. "Can you imagine,” he in effect says, "that God would suffer me to be lost in a tempest? or that I would consult my own safety in the neglect of yours?" "Where is your faith?" Well might he ask this question of those who had had so many signal evidences both of his power and tender care. "What manner of man?" Wonder coupled with fear took possession of all who witnessed this stupendous proof of his Divinity. At one moment a storm, then a calm. Now they are in jeopardy, and again all danger has fled; and in amazement they stand before Him whom they acknowledge to have power, not only over diseases, but also over the most tumultuous elements, which instantly obey him. How great and glorious does the blessed Redeemer appear in this miracle! He stills the tempests when they roar, and makes the storm a calm. He silences at once the noise and fury of the waves, and in the midst of its confusion, says to the raging sea, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed" (Job xxxviii. 11). As Like the storm on this lake, so does the tempest of sin thicken around the sinner. As the occupants of the boat were in apparent danger, so does he tremble on the brink of impending destruction. they came, so does he come to the Saviour with the cry, I perish!" He is heard; the tempest is rebuked; the sinner is saved. Peace takes possession of the scul. Who would not cheerfully commit themselves to Him who can do so great things for them? Under such a protection, how courageously may his Church ride through every storm and weather every danger! Christ is with her, and she is safe, even though he may seem to be sleeping. How easily can his power silence all our tumultuous passions, and reduce our souls to that state of quietness and assurance by which alone we are capable of enjoying ourselves and God. Feeling that we need his help, may we still cry out, "Master, Master!" and may it be the language, not of doubt or of terror, but of faith-of a faith determined, at all hazards, to adhere to him, whatever dangers may be encountered on our passage through the waves of this troublesome world, or whatever advantages are to be resigned. At "Wait until your twenty-first birthday "-p. 229. HIS BY RIGHT. BY ALTON CLYDE, AUTHOR OF "UNDER FOOT," "JOHN HESKETH'S CHARGE," ETC. ETC. CHAPTER XLIII.-FOUND GUILTY. T last it was over-the trial which had fixed the | who had followed the tedious progress of an investi. attention of the crowded court until the prolonged gation which had laid bare a cunningly-devised strain had become almost unendurable to the more system of fraud, and tracked through all its crafty sensitively-organised among the eager-eyed throng windings the career of one man, whose masterly VOL. VII. 330 cunning and ingenuity in eluding the vigilance of the law had invested the inquiry with more than usual interest. Hence the curiosity which had centred itself in the prisoner at the bar. He had stood for hours under that battery of eyes, while the evidence for and against him was being sifted and manipulated by the learned counsel on either side, as they fenced and wrangled, each in his own way pounding and snubbing the unfortunate witnesses, as though it was an experiment mutually agreed upon, to test how much human nerves could bear without giving way under the irritating strain. The humbler legal scribes worked industriously with their pens, and the observant judge took his notes for the benefit of himself and the sagacious twelve who held the fate of the prisoner in their hands. So he had stood in the unenviable notoriety which had made him a mark for the gaze of that multitude, silent, sullen and defiant, a mien that threw off pity and told against him with the crowd, who revolted from the self-possession that seemed to them so callous. There were others who had read different signs in the occasional convulsive twitchings of the restless, blue-veined, hands, and the biting of the thin, grey moustache, as he watched and waited the result of his trial. Of this discriminating few was Lewis Darley, who had come up to London on business. He had not intended making the journey for a month to come, but hearing that Bernard Ayrton was to be tried for defrauding the public, he decided to be in London in time to be present at the trial. From his first reading of the newspaper paragraph announcing that Bernard Ayrton had been arrested on the charge of obtaining money under false pretences, as the director and head of a bubble company, formed for the purpose of relieving deluded capitalists who had cash which they were anxious to invest, the old man made up his mind that if possible he would be present at the trial. He kept that resolution, and by his presence added another sting to the torture of the man who had been (in the interests of society) so perseveringly hunted by Messrs. Nield and Gibbs. It was during the cross-examination of one of the witnesses by the counsel for the prosecution, that the prisoner casting one of his keen restless glances round the court, became aware of the presence of Lewis Darley. That discovery was most unwelcome, and affected him in a way that might have been betrayed to close observers; he had not been prepared for that encounter, at which he chafed inwardly. It wanted only one thing to complete the bitter humiliation of his position, and it was there confronting him in that fixed gaze, and forcing itself upon him in the consciousness that he was standing in a felon's dock, with Lewis Darley looking on. From the moment their eyes met, the crowded court seemed to centre itself in that one figure which, to him, stood out from the rest and oppressed him with the! knowledge of its presence. While the voice of the counsel was filling his ears-even in the breathless pause while the jury were considering their verdict, he was blind to everything but that one grim grey face that seemed to be endlessly multiplied throughout that great gathering. What motive had led Lewis Darley there, to exult over him? Bernard Ayrton asked himself this question as he looked across the mass of faces that lay between them, and met the steady steadfast gaze that seemed bent upon reading his soul. Found guilty. The verdict had been expected by the majority of those who had watched the progress of the trial, yet when it was pronounced by the foreman of the jury, the words seemed to cut through the silence of the court. The effect on the prisoner was narrowly watched by all, but they saw only a convulsive grasping at the rail of the dock, as if to steady himself as he stood waiting for what was to follow. No one heard his low gasping repetition of the one word—“ guilty." Lewis Darley leant forward to gaze more intently at the fraudulent director, his hand tightening its grasp of the heavy notched walking-stick which was an indispensable part of his outdoor equipment. He muttered under his breath, "To think of my seeing him a criminal at the bar! my worst judgment of him never came near the truth." Three years' imprisonment was the sentence of the Court on the prisoner. That broke up the dogged composure in which the man had wrapped himself throughout the trial. His eyes gave out a quick resentful flash that showed the undying vindictiveness of the man's nature, as he looked across the sea of faces that divided him from the one he sought-a look that Lewis Darley knew how to read. It said to him, distinctly as if it had been spoken in words, "You are exulting in my disgrace, and have come here expressly to taunt me, and I know it. You think my three years' banishment will prevent my wresting the secret from you, but it will come to an end, and then take care that you are not beaten with your own weapons, and remember it will not be the first time that I have triumphed over you and yours." HIS BY RIGHT. and I am glad you respond, my dear, by calling occasionally; for myself, you know I always enjoy a chat with Farmer Hood, it seems to make me feel young again." "That is why I thought of taking you, papa, for I have noticed that you always seem to be better after you have had a talk with Mr. Hood, and you have been so dull the last few days." Sir Richard sighed, but seeing his daughter's look of concern, said hastily, "I am glad you have persuaded me to go out with you, my dear, for I feel sure the drive will do me good. Tell Barker to walk the horses up the hill, so that we may enjoy the view; many times as I have seen it, I shall never tire of that picture." 227 Some one coming over the style, papa, that I should be very glad to see there to-day." Sir Richard glanced curiously at his daughter, for her answer puzzled him, and he wondered to himself who this somebody could be, and he made up his mind to find out then and there. "I have been trying to guess who this important person is, and have come to the conclusion, my dear, that it must be Frank Ainsworth or the Honourable Mr. Appleby." Mr. Appleby, indeed!" was Lucy's indignant exclamation. Sir Richard laughed quietly as he said, "Poor | fellow, it's evident he's not the favoured one. So it was Frank Ainsworth, you sly little puss, that occupied your thoughts." "Oh, papa, how you jump at conclusions; it wasShe paused, and looking into her father's smiling face, debated whether she should tell him, for she knew it would recall sad memories and bring back the cloud to his face. Her father's next question decided her. “I am waiting for you to finish the sentence, my dear." birthday.” Lucy smiled as she gave the servant his master's order, for whenever they drove to East End her father invariably gave the same instructions to the coachman. Some minutes later an open carriage, drawn by Sir Richard's much-admired pair of greys, passed through the park gates. It contained the baronet and his daughter. Lady Chadburn did not approve of the visits to East End Farm, nor the familiar terms on which Farmer Hood and his family were received by Sir Richard; she deemed the "I was thinking of Harold; it is natural for us all association lowering to the Chadburns-opinions that to think of him to-day, papa, you know it is his were fully endorsed by Cyril. The dominant pride | of the woman still lived, in spite of the chastening influence which had been about her during the illness of her husband, and the new gentleness which had developed in her manner since Harold had left his home. The road taken by the carriage was the same through which Lucy rode on the day that she and Harold held their last confidential talk. Some recollection of that time flashed across her mind as they rolled along the well-remembered road. She looked wistfully towards the fields which Harold had crossed-looked as though she half expected to see him crossing the style and to hear Snap's well-structions, usually brought the horses to a walk, but known bark heralding his approach. "Why, my dear, what is there in that field to attract your attention ?" As he spoke Sir Richard carefully surveyed the field in question, but without discovering anything to account for Lucy's intent gaze. "I can see nothing in it except a solitary cow taking a meal from the hedge." The baronet's tone was unusually lively, and it rejoiced Lucy's heart, but there was a vein of sadness in her voice as she answered, "I believe I have been looking without seeing anything, papa." Sir Kichard was disposed to be a little facetious. “Looking without seeing anything, Lucy, why that looks ominous, it is one of the symptoms of love." Lucy's face flushed painfully as she answered, "I mean I was thinking, papa, that I saw nothing but what was in my memory." "Dear me, that is one of the worst symptoms of the disease. What was the picture your memory recalled? Come, no secrets, miss." Sir Richard's head drooped for a few seconds, and Lucy heard him murmur to himself, "His birthday, poor lad, if he is alive he will be thinking of home." (Then he turned to his daughter.) "I had not forgotten it, my dear." That was all he said, and during the rest of the journey he lay back with his eyes closed. Poor Lucy could scarcely keep from crying at the thought of having been the cause of reviving such a painful subject. They had now reached that part of the road where Barker, obedient to his master's often repeated in that morning it was all lost upon Sir Richard, who did not even bestow a glance upon the view which he often declared was equal to anything he had seen abroad. The mention of Harold brought a rush of sad remembrance that for the time overshadowed all and reacted in making him moody and silent; even the prospective chat with the old farmer lost its attraction, and it was only his unwillingness to disappoint Lucy that kept him from proposing not te get down at the farm. Their coming had been watched for; Farmer Hood, a white-haired old man of patriarchal age and appearance, was standing in the wide old-fashioned porch, evidently on the look-out for Sir Richard's carriage, while his pretty granddaughter stood near, busily raking up the dead leaves which had fallen on the walk. She was the first to signal to the old man the approach of the visitors, by her joyous exclamation-"Here they are, grandfather, Sir Richard and Miss Lucy! didn't I tell you they would be sure to come if it was fine to-day? I'm so glad, for they are going to stay a little while, and it will make the old place quite lively, and I intend Miss Lucy to taste my elder wine." Pretty Patty's was not the only face that brightened with pleasure at the sight of the grey horses. Lucy and her father were not the only visitors at East End. A laughing trio had just made their appearance from the garden, where each had been following their own devices. There were Frank Ainsworth, his brother Tom, and Charlotte, whom her brothers generally selected from the batch of sisters as their companion. When the visitors had alighted, and all due courtesies had been exchanged, Sir Richard and Lucy were carried off in triumph to the best parlour, there to be tempted perhaps to commit themselves to the trial of Miss Patty's elder wine. Lucy fancied she saw a mischievous look in Patty's eyes as she whispered, "You did not expect to meet any of the Ainsworths here; they called as they were passing, and hearing that we expected you and your father, elected to wait until your arrival, at least Frank did. How handsome he looks in his uniform!" Lucy did her best to appear unconcerned, but she could not prevent the tell-tale colour from drifting into her face; and she was glad when the old farmer called to his granddaughter-" Patty, you had better let Miss Lucy see the new greenhouse; Sir Richard and I will follow just now." While inspecting the new house, Lucy was cleverly separated from the rest of the party by the young lieutenant, who successfully manoeuvred for that purpose, when he managed to whisper a few hurried words: "Miss Chadburn-Lucy, I have been watching for you so anxiously; from the moment that I heard you were expected I took veritable possession of East End, and kept Tom and Charley here rather against their will, for there is to be a cricket-match this afternoon and he's impatient to get home, so as to be prepared; but it was not to tell you this that I have been so anxious to see you: it is about your brother Harold." Patty and Tom Ainsworth were coming towards them, and Lucy saw that in a few seconds their têteà-tête would be at an end, and she exclaimed in a hurried whisper, "Oh, Frank ! tell me at once if you have heard any news of him." CHAPTER XLV. "WILL YOU TRUST ME?" LEWIS DARLEY showed much concern on learning the particulars of Phoebe's accident, as related to him by Bessie. He grew excited over her description of the part played by Gerald, a warm flush passing into his wrinkled face as he listened with profound attention. When she came to the part where she thought they would both be lost, the old man rose excitedly from his seat and exclaimed, "Go on, my dear-go on; it must have been dreadfully exciting; I almost feel as if I was there myself, watching the struggle, it makes me cold and hot by turns." When Bessie had finished telling him, he said with evident pride, "Well done, Gerald! he is a fine fellow after all, Bessie, and has proved that he has na degenerate blood in him." "He has proved himself a hero, uncle, and I shall esteem and honour him for it to the end of my life." Her enthusiasm was not lost upon the old man. Bessie continued: "I cannot tell you how much astonished I was to recognise Gerald, whom I should have supposed to be in Workenbury with his patients, if I had thought about him at all. He came so unexpectedly that it seemed as if Providence had led him there for the purpose of saving Phoebe." "No doubt he was, my dear," commented the old man, solemnly. "Nothing happens by chance; these things are in higher hands than ours. Poor Philis, I often hear her call that girl the plague of her life, but I suppose that is only to be taken figuratively, like many of her queer cross sayings, for with all her gruffness, no mother could be more devoted to a daughter than she has been to Phoebe." "Oh, uncle! if she had been drowned it would have killed her," put in Bessie, the quick tears filling her brown eyes. Her affection was almost equally divided between Phoebe and her mother. "Poor old Philis, she tries to make one believe that her heart is hard as flint, but I know better than that, don't I, uncle?" In reply to this half-coaxing question, the old man could not resist taking one of the girl's hands in his and gently stroking it as he said, "Yes, my darling, Philis has been a faithful, tender nurse to you, and I am glad you remember it. From the first she has divided with you the love she has given to her own child. That is why I should always consider myself in debt to Philis, even if there was no long life of faithful service to be counted up." Some sudden shifting of thought had brought a serious look to Bessie's expressive face, as she repeated softly, "And I feel it also, dear uncle; I cannot forget that it was Philis who first taught me what a mother's love was like-that love which I hold in such reverence, but which I shall never know, except as a light shining upon other lives." Her lip trembled as she spoke, and the old man looked distressed, as he always was whenever she alluded to her orphanhood. His hand shook a little as he laid it like a benediction on the glossy brown head, faltering, "My darling, I-I have tried my best to make up that want to you; tell me, have I quite failed?" In reply, she clasped her hands caressingly over his arm, and her clear eyes gave him a tender, half |