udied it,
I should think, as much or more than any man living. Now, sir, just
look at your own dear child, Miss Clara,--why, it makes my heart sore
every time I look at her; she ain't got the right healthy look in her
face; her mind has got more to bear than ever her Maker meant it to
have; and there's no reason, surely, why she shouldn't be as cheerful as
a lark and as bright as the flowers in May."

"Most true! Most true!" said the vicar sorrowfully. "I only wish Mrs
Maltby and my daughter could see things in this light; but when I
express my fears and misgivings on this subject, they tell me that I
must not take a gloomy view of things, nor alarm myself needlessly. But
perhaps, dear friend, you may be able to put in a word, I know your
plain, homely good sense and observation will have weight with both
mother and daughter."

"I'll make bold to say a word or two to them on the subject," replied
Thomas Bradly, "when next I get an opportunity."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A SHADOW ON THE HEARTH.

Thomas Bradly was pre-eminently a _bright_ Christian. A quaint old
author says that "a gloomy Christian does not do credit to Christ's
housekeeping." There was no gloom about Bradly's religion: it shone in
his heart, in his life, on his face, and in his home; it attracted the
troubled and sin-burdened; it was the concealed envy of many who scoffed
at and reviled him. And yet there was not unclouded sunshine even in
_his_ happy home: a shadow, and a dark one, rested on his hearth.

It has been said that he had an unmarried sister who lived with him, and
that she was an invalid. Jane Bradly was a year younger than her
brother Thomas, but sickness and sorrow made her look older than she
really was. She was sweet and gentle-looking, with that peculiar air of
refinement which suffering often stamps on the features of those who are
being spiritualised by fiery trial and are ripening for glory. And
there was something, too, that was very strange about her case. She was
not confined to her bed, and was able to leave the house in order to
attend the services at the church, which she did most regularly. Yet
she very rarely left the house on any other occasion, and never visited
a neighbour; and if any of her brother's friends came in, she would
leave her chair by the fire and retire into another room.

When the family first came to Crossbourne, a good deal of curiosity was
felt and expressed about her, and many attempts were