Nobody

"I believe we should go out of the world to suit grandmother," remarked

Charity. "She won't think us safe as long as we're in it."

The whole family went to church the next morning. Mr. Dillwyn'sparticular object, however, was not much furthered. He saw Lois, indeed, at the breakfast table; and the sight was everything his fancyhad painted it. He thought of Milton's

"Pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast, and demure" —

only the description did not quite fit; for there was a healthy, sweetfreshness about Lois which gave the idea of more life and activity, mental and bodily, than could consort with a pensive character. Therest fitted pretty well; and the lines ran again and again through Mr.Dillwyn's head. Lois was gone to church long before the rest of thefamily set out; and in church she did not sit with the others; and shedid not come home with them. However, she was at dinner. Butimmediately after dinner Mrs. Barclay with drew again into her ownroom, and Mr. Dillwyn had no choice but to accompany her.

"What now?" he asked. "What do you do the rest of the day?"

"I stay at home and read. Lois goes to Sunday school."

Mr. Dillwyn looked to the windows. The rain Mrs. Barclay threatened hadcome; and had already begun in a sort of fury, in company with a wind, which drove it and beat it, as it seemed, from all points of thecompass at once. The lines of rain-drops went slantwise past thewindows, and then beat violently upon them; the ground was wet in a fewminutes; the sky was dark with its thick watery veils. Wind and rainwere holding revelry.

"She will not go out in this weather," said the gentleman, withconviction which seemed to be agreeable.

"The weather will not hinder her," returned Mrs. Barclay.

"This weather?"

"No. Lois does not mind weather. I have learned to know her by thistime. Where she thinks she ought to go, or what she thinks she ought todo, there no hindrance will stop her. It is good you should learn toknow her too, Philip."

"Pray tell me, – is the question of 'ought' never affected by whatshould be legitimate hindrances?"

"They are never credited with being legitimate," Mrs. Barclay said, with a slight laugh. "The principle is the same as that old soldier'swho said, you know, when ordered upon some difficult duty, 'Sir, if itis possible, it shall be done; and if it is impossible, it must bedone!'"

"That will do for a soldier,", said Dillwyn. "At what o'clock does shego?"

"In about a quarter of an hour I shall expect to hear her feetpattering softly through the hall, and then the door will open and shutwithout noise, and a dark figure will shoot past the windows."

Mr. Dillwyn left the room, and probably made some preparations; forwhen, a few minutes later, a figure all wrapped up in a waterproofcloak did pass softly through the hall, he came out of Mrs. Barclay'sroom and confronted it; and I think his overcoat was on.

"Miss Lois! you cannot be going out in this storm?"

"O yes. The storm is nothing – only something to fight against."

"But it blows quite furiously."

"I don't dislike a wind," said Lois, laying her hand on the lock of thedoor.

"You have no umbrella?"

"Don't need it. I am all protected, don't you see? Mr. Dillwyn, you are not going out?"

"Why not?"

"But you have nothing to call you out?"

"I beg your pardon. The same thing, I venture to presume, that callsyou out, – duty. Only in my case the duty is pleasure."

"You are not going to take care of me?"

"Certainly."

"But there's no need. Not the least in the world."

"From your point of view."

He was so alertly ready, had the door open and his umbrella spread, andstood outside waiting for her, Lois did not know how to get rid of him.She would surely have done it if she could. So she found herself goingup the street with him by her side, and the umbrella warding off thewind and rain from her face. It was vexatious and amusing. From herface! who had faced Sharnpuashuh storms ever since she could remember.It is very odd to be taken care of on a sudden, when you areaccustomed, and perfectly able, to take care of your self. It is alsoagreeable.

"You had better take my arm, Miss Lois," said her companion. "I couldshield you better."

"Well," said Lois, half laughing, "since you are here, I may as welltake the good of it."

And then Mr. Dillwyn had got things as he wanted them.

"I ventured to assume, a little while ago, Miss Lois, that duty wastaking you out into this storm; but I confess my curiosity to know whatduty could have the right to do it. If my curiosity is indiscreet, youcan rebuke it."

"It is not indiscreet," said Lois. "I have a sort of a Bible class, inthe upper part of the village, a quarter of a mile beyond the church."

"I understood it was something of that kind, or I should not haveasked. But in such weather as this, surely they would not expect you?"

"Yes, they would. At any rate, I am bound to show that I expect them."

"Do you expect them, to come out to-day?"

"Not all of them," Lois allowed. "But if there would not be one, still

I must be there."

"Why? – if you will pardon me for asking."

"It is good they should know that I am regular and to be depended on.And, besides, they will be sure to measure the depth of my interest inthe work by my desire to do it. And one can do so little in this worldat one's best, that one is bound to do all one can."

"All one can," Mr. Dillwyn repeated.

"You cannot put it at a lower figure. I was struck with a word in oneof Mrs. Barclay's books – 'the Life and Correspondence of JohnFoster,' – 'Power, to its very last particle, is duty.'"

"But that would be to make life a terrible responsibility."

"Say noble – not terrible!" said Lois.

"I confess it seems to me terrible also. I do not see how you can getrid of the element of terribleness."

"Yes, – if duty is neglected. Not if duty is done."

"Who does his duty, at that rate?"