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Dolly was silent.

"He's crochetty, that's what he is," Christina went on. "I hate a man to be crochetty. I shall work him out of it, if ever we come to live together."

"I don't believe you will, Christina."

"Why not?"--quickly.

"I don't _think_ you will," Dolly repeated.

"Because you have the same notions that he has. My dear little Dolly!

you don't know the world. You _can't_ live in the world and be running your head perpetually against it; indeed you cannot. You may break your head, but you won't do anything else. And the world will laugh at you."

"But, Christina, whom do you serve? For it comes to that."

"Whom do I serve! Pooh, that's not the question."

"It comes to that, Christina."

"Well, of course there is but one answer. But Sandie would have me give up everything;--everything!--all I like, and all I want to do."

"Christina, it seems to me the Bible says we must give Christ our whole selves."

"Oh, if you are going to take the Bible literally"----

"How else can you take it?"

"Seasonably."

"But how are you going to settle what is reasonable? Didn't the Lord know what He wanted His people to do? And He said we must give Him ourselves and all we have got."

"Have you?" said Christina.

"What?"

"Given up all, as you say?"

"I think I have," Dolly answered slowly. "I am sure, Christina, I do not want anything but what God chooses to give me."

"And are you ready to give up all your own pleasure and amusement, and your time, and be like no one else, and have no friends in the world?"

Christina spoke the words in a kind of hurry.

"You go too fast," said Dolly. "You ask too many things at once; and you forget what Mr. Shubrick said--that it is pleasure to please our Master. _He_ said it was His meat to do His Father's will; and He is our pattern. And doing His will does not prevent either pleasure or amusement, of the right sort; not at all. O Christina! I do not think anybody is rightly happy, except those who love Christ and obey him."

"Are you happy?" was the next quick question. Dolly could not answer it as immediately.

"If I am not," she said at last, "it is because there are some things in my life just now that--trouble me."

"Dear Dolly!" said Christina affectionately. "But you looked quite happy this evening."

"I was," said Dolly. "You made me so."

Christina kissed her, and thereupon at once fell asleep. But Dolly was not sleepy. Her thoughts were wide awake, and roved over everything in the world, it seemed to her; at least over all her friend's affairs and over all her own. She was not fretting, only looking at things.

Christina's ease and security and carelessness, her own burdens and responsibilities; the fulness of means here, the difficulty of getting supplies in her own household; Sandie Shubrick, finally, and Lawrence St. Leger! What a strange difference between one lot and another! It was a bright night; the moonlight streamed in at one of the windows in a yellow flood. Dolly lay staring at the pool of light on the floor.

Roman moonlight! And so the same moonlight had poured down in old times upon the city of the Caesars; lighted up their palaces and triumphal arches; yes, and the pile of the Colosseum and the bones of the martyrs. The same moonlight! Old Rome lay buried; the oppressor and the oppressed were passed away; the persecutor and his victims alike long gone from the scene of their doings and sufferings; and the same moon shining on! What shadows we are in comparison! thought Dolly; and then her thoughts instantly corrected themselves. Not we, but _this_, is the shadow; this material, so unchanging earth. Sense misleads us. "The world passeth away and the lust thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." Then it is only to do that, thought Dolly; be it hard or easy; that is the only thing to care about. And therewith another word came to her; it seemed to be written in the moonlight:--"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" It came so soft and sweet upon Dolly's heart as I can hardly tell; her eyelids dropped from their watch, and in another minute she too was fast asleep.

The next day was wholly pleasant to her. It was merry, as Christmas ought to be; and Dolly had laid aside her own cares and took everything as light-heartedly as anybody else. More, perhaps, if the truth were known; for Dolly had laid her cares she knew where, and that they would be looked after. The pleasant people, whose festivities she shared, were all kind to her; she had not been forgotten in the gifts which were flying about; and altogether the day was a white one. It only ended too soon. At four o'clock Dolly prepared to go home. Christina protested that she was not wanted there.

"I am wanted more than you think. I must give mother a piece of my Christmas Day."

"Well, you're all coming to us at Sorrento, remember; and that will be charming. We will go everywhere together. And Sandie;--you will be with us, Sandie? in the spring, at the villa? Oh, you must!"

"If I possibly can," he said gravely.

"And Sandie will take you home now, as you must go. I see he is ready."

Dolly would have objected, but she could not alter this arrangement; and Mr. Shubrick walked home with her. It was a very matter-of-fact walk, however. There was as nearly as possible no conversation between the two. Nevertheless, the walk had its fascination for Dolly. The stately, straight, manly figure beside her, inspired her with an admiration which had a little awe mixed with it; to walk with him, even in silence, was an undoubted pleasure; and when he took leave of her at the door of her lodgings and turned away, Dolly felt, and not till then, that her holiday was over.

She went up the stairs slowly. Her short holiday was over. Now work again. Well! Dolly remembered the conclusion of last night's thoughts in the moonlight; took up her burden on her shoulders, and carried it up stairs with her.

She found her mother alone.

"Dearest mother, how do you do?" she said, kissing her; "and how has the day been? I have stayed away pretty late, but I could hardly help it; and I have had a very nice time."

"I don't like holidays," was Mrs. Copley's answer. "They're the wearisomest days I know; especially when every one else is out and enjoying himself. This Christmas has been a year long, seems to me. Who did you see?"

"Just themselves, and Christina's friend, Mr. Shubrick."

"What's he like?"

"He's very fine, mother, I think. Christina ought to be a happy woman."

"He hasn't got anything, as I understand?" said Mrs. Copley. "I don't think Mrs. Thayer is at all delighted with the match. I know I shouldn't be."

"Mrs. Thayer does not see things with my eyes, probably; and you don't see them at all, mother, dear, not knowing Mr. Shubrick. Look at my presents; see this lovely cameo ring; Christina gave it to me Christmas Eve; and this brooch is from Mrs. Thayer; and Mr. Thayer gave me this dear little bronze lamp."

"What do you want with such a thing as that? you can't use it."

"Oh, for the antique beauty, mother; and the lovely shape. It's real bronze, and Mr. Thayer says the workmanship is very fine."

"But he has nothing, has he?" said Mrs. Copley, weighing the bronze lamp in her hand disapprovingly.

"Who? He has another just like it. Do you mean Mr. Thayer?"

"Pshaw, child, no! I mean the other man, Christina's intended. He has nothing, has he?"

"I do not know what you call 'nothing.' He has a very fine figure, an excellent face, sense and firmness and gentleness; and a manner that's fascinating. I never saw anybody with a finer manner. I think he has a good deal."

"Mr. St. Leger has all that, Dolly, and money to boot."

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