"In Wales?"

"In Wales I have found it, and elsewhere; in the south of England; but
always by the sea; in places where I have seen a great many other
beautiful things."

"By the sea, Mr. Rhys? Why I have been there, and I did not see
anything but the waves and the sand and the rocks."

"You did not know where to look."

"Where did you look?"

"Under the rocks;--and in them."

"_In_ the rocks, sir?"

"In their clefts and hollows and caves. In caves which I could only
reach in a boat, or by going in at low tide; then I saw things more
beautiful than a fairy palace, Julia."

"What sort of things?"

"Animals--and plants."

"Beautiful animals?"

"Very beautiful."

"Well I wish you would take me with you, Mr. Rhys. I would not mind
wetting my feet. I will be a Hard fern--not a Lady fern. Eleanor shall
be the lady. O Mr. Rhys, won't you hate to leave England?"

"There are plenty of beautiful things where I am going, Julia--if I get
well."

"But the people are so bad!"

"That is why I want to go to them."

"But what can you do to them?"

"I can tell them of the Lord Jesus, Julia. They have never heard of
him; that is why they are so evil."

"Maybe they won't believe you, Mr. Rhys."

"Maybe they will. But the Lord has commanded me to go, all the same."

"How, Mr. Rhys?"

He answered in the beautiful words of Paul--"How shall they believe on
him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a
preacher?" There was a sorrowful depth in his tones, speaking to
himself rather than to his little listener.

"Mr. Rhys, they are such dreadfully bad people, they might kill you,
and eat you."

"Yes."

"Are you not afraid?"

"No."

There is strangely much sometimes expressed, one can hardly say how, in
the tone of a single word. So it was with this word, even to the ears
of Eleanor in the next room. It was round and sweet, untrembling, with
something like a vibration of joy in its low utterance. It was but a
word, said in answer to a child's idle question; it pierced like a
barbed arrow through all the involutions of another heart, down into
the core. It was an accent of strength and quiet and fearless security,
though spoken by lips that were very uncertain of their tenure of life.
It gave the chord that Eleanor wanted sounded in her own soul; where
now there was no harmony at all, but sometimes a jarring clang, and
sometimes an echo of fear.

"But Mr. Rhys, aren't they very _dreadfu