thur feared
they might be. Her brother's astonishment at her fears for Harry, had
done much to re-assure her with regard to him; for surely, if there were
danger for Harry, Arthur would see it; and she began to be indignant
with herself for having spoken at all.

"Arthur will think I am foolish. He will think that I have lost
confidence in Harry, which is not true. I wish I were more hopeful. I
wish I did not take fright at the very first shadow. Janet aye said
that the first gloom of the cloud, troubled me more than the falling of
the shower should do. Such folly to suppose that anything could happen
to our Harry! I won't think about it. And even if Harry has to go
away, I will believe with Arthur, that will be for the best. He will be
near Norman, at any rate, and that will be a great deal. Norman will be
glad. And I will not fear changes. Why should I? They cannot come to
us unsent. I will trust in God."

But quite apart from the thought of Harry's temptation or prospects,
there was in Graeme's heart a sense of pain. She was not quite
satisfied in looking back over these pleasant years. She feared she had
been beginning to settle down content with their pleasant life,
forgetting higher things. Except the thought about Harry, which had
come and gone, and come again a good many times within the last few
months, there had scarcely been a trouble in their life daring these two
years and more. She had almost forgotten how it would seem, to waken
each morning to the knowledge that painful, self-denying duties lay
before her. Even household care, Nelly's skill and will had put far
from her.

And now as she thought about all of this, it came into her mind how her
father and Janet had always spoken of life as a warfare--a struggle, and
the Bible so spoke of it, too. She thought of Janet's long years of
self-denial, her toils, her disappointments; and how she had always
accepted her lot as no uncommon one, but as appointed to her by God.
She thought of her father--how, even in the most tranquil times of his
life--the time she could remember best, the peaceful years in
Merleville, he had given himself no rest, but watched for souls as one
who must give account. Yes, life was a warfare. Not always with
outward foes. The struggle need not be one that a looker-on could
measure or see, but the warfare must be maintained--the struggle must
only cease with life. It had been so with her father, she knew; and