Stockton Herald, South Durham and Cleveland Advertiser. — 1889-04-13 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

CHAPTER XIII. AN INTERCESSOR.  My guardian, I have no right to mune here and turn them out of their home : before I came they lived in peace with you." Child, it is no work of yours. Netts, Burbank has wrought her own fate, just as turely is Charles Stuart wrought his"  "You will not relent 2" " Never ; no, never." • " What will become of Claudine ?"  " She will stay here with you and Mrs Willis, the widow of an old and valued friend of my father, who died recently, leaving her With no male protector. She will arrive this evening, and to-morrow morning I will turn Netts Burbank and her mother out of the house."  She looked into his keen, cold eyes, and knew that it was not in his natcre to change a decision once made. "Why do you look so troubled, Mora ?" For a moment she stood before him mute. "I am waiting for an answer, child." "Sir—" " Why do you hesitate? Am I Satan, tith blue flames, to devour you, that yon tEust seem so terror-stricken?" Fearlesoly and sadly she looked up into his stern face. "No, sir; to me you have been kinder even than God, and I grieve to pain you." "What do you mewl, Mora r he asked, almost sharply. "Sir when they leave I go, too." Fiercely, as if stung by an adder, he swung 1 round and searched the orphan's face keenly. "More :" was the one word that seemed wrung from him. Steadily she returned his gaze. "Yes, sir; the day you drive them out of the house I certainly shall leave th:s elegant Lome where you have been so unselfishly kind to me."  A shadow of pain, keen and swift as an arrow, darted across his face, and his voice quivered perceptibly as he asked— " Mora, do you love your guardian?" " Yes, sir; better than all things on earth." "And you will leave him ?" "Yes, sir, if those people are driven away." " Child, Netts Burbank murdered your little sister Lillian 1" Tenderly gad grew her large, mournful eyes, and ber whole face twitched with sharp agony as she replied— "l know it, sir." "And yet you plead for her ?" "Yee, sir; her sins must not corrupt me." Dr. Kingsley stood for a moment in silence. Never before had he seen such grandeur of character. "What would you have me do, Mora ?" "You are rich, a millionaire, are you not ?" "Yes.'  " Give them a home, then, wherever they desire, but do not, oh I sir, do not turn them from these doors with nowhere to go. Ah I sir, you have never suffered the keen pangs of poverty." 'They shall have a home, because you ask tt ; but, child, do not think want of bread brings the sharpest pangs. No, no; there is a misery, sometimes gilded, as sharp as a sviprd, that cuts through to the soul." His face was infinitely sad, and she, watching it, knew that this proud, stem man had suffered as few mortals ever suffer. " Sir, after all, misery, too, has its virtues; strong natures, that bear its burdens without a word, it develops a grandeur, a sublimity, that nothing else can bring forth." Dr. Kingsley walked the whole length of his music-room; he paused where she stood, leaning against a marble statue, and looked intently into her face. " Mora," he es,ld, " all strong natures Gaffer." " True, sir. God in His wisdom throws sorrow where it can be of use by making the strong stronger." "Child, you have suffered?" Her teeth closed with a snap, and her whole countenance hardened. " Yee, sir, I have suffered, and still suffer; my life-work shall be to track the man who wrecked my happiness." "Then, Mora, if, according to your theory, snisery is sent by God for a wise purpose, that sf making the strong stronger, why seek for religious°. on the instrument that brings strength? If misery be predestined by God, Be must have an instrument to bring it sbout." 'I did net say it wee predestined by God • but He sees and knows, and thwiegb Hien tbd darkest, deep* gelation bre sent whets tile)