to teach, and whose parents pay me
for my labor--not with those who, besides, can do well without me."

"I cannot, sir--not for long at least."

"What! not with Malcolm to supply my place?"

Clementina blushed, but only like a white rose. She did not turn her
head aside; she did not lower their lids to veil the light she felt
mount into her eyes; she looked him gently in the face as before, and
her aspect of entreaty did not change. "Ah! do not be unkind, master,"
she said.

"Unkind!" he repeated. "You know I am not. I have more kindness in my
heart than any lips can tell. You do not know, you could not yet
imagine, the half of what I hope of and for and from you."

"I _am_ going to see Malcolm," she said with a little sigh. "That is, I
am going to visit Lady Lossie at her place in Scotland--your own old
home, where so many must love you. _Can't_ you come? I shall be
traveling alone, quite alone, except my servants."

A shadow came over the schoolmaster's face: "You do not _think_, my
lady, or you would not press me. It pains me that you do not see at once
it would be dishonest to go without timely notice to my pupils, and to
the public too. But, beyond that quite, I never do anything of myself. I
go not where I wish, but where I seem to be called or sent. I never even
wish much, except when I pray to Him in whom are hid all the treasures
of wisdom and knowledge. After what He wants to give me I am wishing all
day long. I used to build many castles, not without a beauty of their
own--that was when I had less understanding--now I leave them to God to
build for me: He does it better, and they last longer. See now, this
very hour, when I needed help, could I have contrived a more lovely
annihilation of the monotony that threatened to invade my weary spirit
than this inroad of light in the person of my Lady Clementina? Nor will
He allow me to get overwearied with vain efforts. I do not think He will
keep me here long, for I find I cannot do much for these children. They
are but some of His many pagans--not yet quite ready to receive
Christianity, I think--not like children with some of the old seeds of
the truth buried in them, that want to be turned up nearer to the light.
This ministration I take to be more for my good than theirs--a little
trial of faith and patience for me--a stony corner of the lovely valley
of humiliation to cross. True, I _might_ be happier where I could hear
the larks, but I do not know that a