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Updated: June 12, 2025
She has difficulties and worriments, same as you have, but if she can make every trial into a new rung for the ladder on which she is mountin' up to God, there ain't no reason why you should make a gravestone out of yours to bury yourself under; and so I start on with a new courage, an' when we get to the end of the journey, I'll not be the only one who'll have to thank Marthe Everidge for showin' the way."
And yet it was only a few hours since Richard Everidge had climbed lightly up after the spray of brilliant leaves which she had admired, and she had pinned them against the dark background of her riding habit; even now they were before her on the table. She looked at them with a dull sense of pain.
Everidge through the years which followed her graduation. She had been constantly busy and her aunt's hands had been full, for her husband's health had failed utterly and he demanded continual care. Now her long, beautiful ministry was over, for Horace Everidge, serenely selfish to the last, had fallen into the slumber which knows no earthly waking, and Aunt Marthe was free.
Everidge came to meet her as the train steamed into the little station, and Evadne soon found herself seated in a comfortable carriage behind a handsome chestnut mare, bowling along a fragrant country road, catching glimpses at every turn of the verdure-clad hills. She found her new uncle very pleasant.
Papa, I am so glad we were detained at Sleepy Hollow, for at last I have found what I have been looking for an absolutely Christ-like life. Your own little daughter, 'MURIEL. Richard Everidge remained deep in thought for a long time after he had kissed the large, girlish signature; then he drew a sheet of paper towards him, and wrote, in his clear, bold hand:
"I love thee because thou hast first loved me, And purchased my pardon on Calvary's tree; I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow, If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now." "Dear Aunt Marthe," cried Evadne one afternoon, "what is love?" "I will answer you in the words of one who for years has lived the love-life," said Mrs. Everidge.
She began to understand how Richard Everidge, in the pride of his manly beauty, could find it in his heart to envy the woman who day and night kept close company with pain. Sometimes the shadows would lie purple under the brilliant eyes, and the thin fingers be tightly clenched in anguish, but the brave lips gave no sign.
Show me myself, Paul. Pauline hesitated for a moment, then she spoke out bravely. 'I love you all, dearly. You have been so kind! But, Belle, if I had your opportunities, I would make more of my life. 'Do you believe in altitudes? It was Richard Everidge, Aunt Rutha's favourite nephew, who asked the question of Pauline, as they sat on the broad piazza after church waiting for lunch.
Oh, apropos of my erudite friend, Marthe, he has promised to spend August with us, so you will have to look to your culinary laurels, for he is accustomed to dine at Delmonico's." "Professor Trenton coming here in August!" cried Mrs. Everidge in dismay. "Why, Horace, you never told me you had invited him!" "My dear, I am telling you now."
My mother used to affirm that she accomplished the work of two days in one when she arose at three a.m., but then my mother was a most exceptional woman," with which parting thrust Mr. Everidge retired behind the pages of his magazine. Upstairs in her own room Evadne paced the floor with tightly clenched hands. "Oh!" she cried, "what shall I do? I hate him! I hate him! How dare he!
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