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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Yes. People always number things as they come to them, don't they? Our first is somebody's else last, I suppose, always." "What a little spirit that is!" said Christopher Kirkbright to Miss Euphrasia, dropping back to help his sister down a rocky plunge. "A little spirit waked up by touch of misfortune," said Miss Euphrasia.
And it turns nothing but the farmers' grists, till it gets to Tillington." Desire was a very little disappointed at this utilitarianism. She had been so glad and satisfied with the reading of its type; the type of its far-back impulse. "If there had been mills here, we should not have seen that," she said; forgetting to explain what. But Christopher Kirkbright knew.
"A river of clear water of life, coming down out of the throne," said Miss Euphrasia. "What a sign it is!" Mr. Kirkbright walked along the margin of the ledge, farther and farther down. He tried with his stick some stones that lay across the current at a narrow point where beneath the opposite cliff it bent and turned away, losing itself from their sight as they stood here.
"Then I think perhaps I came here with an errand straight to you, though I had no knowledge of it in coming," said Miss Kirkbright. "That looks like the Lord's leading," said Rachel Froke. "There is always some sign to believe by." Miss Euphrasia took out Sylvie's letter, as the best way of telling the story, and put it into Rachel Froke's hand.
Sylvie was glad to go on about Desire, about the wedding, about Hill-hope, and the plans for living there. "I think it will be almost like heaven," she said. "It will be home and happiness; all that people look forward to for themselves. And yet, right alongside, there will be the work and the help. It will open right out into it, as heaven does into earth. Mr. Kirkbright is a grand man." "Yes.
Kirkbright beforehand to get her mother's foot-warmer filled with hot water at the station, and he had just returned with it. She was busily arranging it under Mrs. Argenter's feet again, and wrapping the rug about her, kneeling beside her chair to do so, when some one entered the drawing-room car in which the party was, and came up behind her.
There was a new love in the world, and the world would have to arrange itself around it. Around it and the Will that it was to be wedded to do. They stood together, hands in hands. Christopher Kirkbright leaned over and laid his lips against her forehead. He whispered her name, set in other syllables that were only for him to say to her. I shall not say them over on this page to you.
What made it so different that Christopher Kirkbright should discover and acknowledge such a sympathy between them, from her meeting it, as she had long done, in Miss Euphrasia? She would not let it be different; she would not be such a fool. It was twilight, and her little lace veil was down.
"A City of Refuge'" Kirkbright repeated the words gravely, earnestly; like those of some message of an angel of the Lord, that sounded with self-attested authority in his ears. After a pause, in which his thought followed out the word of suggestion into a swift dream of possible fulfillment, he said to his companion,
She was so utterly and wholly in the vision, that she left her present self standing there on the rock with Christopher Kirkbright, and never even thought of a reason why to blush before him. "I don't know why we shouldn't. In fact, we could not help it. It would be all gospel, wouldn't it? I know, at least, what I should mean the whole thing to preach." Saying this, he fell silent all at once.
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