CHAPTER III.

ESTHER'S STORY. ATE that evening Leila lay on her couch upon the roof; it was soothing to her weary heart to be alone with her grief under those quiet stars. A torpor seemed to have fallen over her, ever since she was borne fainting from her father's death-bed, and it was a mercy that God had sent it to her, otherwise her grief would have been almost maddening, in its deep intensity. Suddenly a soft footstep sounded on the stairs, and Esther approached her mistress, and asked if she wished to retire.

"No," Leila replied, "it is so lovely here in the night wind, that I shall remain awhile;" then, as the starlight fell full on her attendant's face, she continued,

"Esther, what is the matter with you to-night ? Are you ill, or in sorrow ?"

"No new sorrow, lady," she replied with a touch of bitterness in her voice; "only the sight of your anguish brought back my own."

"Tell it to me, Esther. Surely we two, who have lived together for many months, and who belong to the same nation, may well know something of each other's early days."

Esther caught her mistress's hand, and pressed it to her lips. "Nay, dear lady," she replied, "You have enough to bear just now, why should I add to the weight ?"

"You cannot add to it, Esther," said Leila, sadly; so sit down by me here, and let me share your sorrow, and see if I can do anything to lighten it."

Esther's eyes filled with tears, as she answered, "I feel sure I can trust you, lady, you have always been an angel of goodness to me; but now listen; I know I shall grieve you; I am not a Jewess, I have been deceiving you ever since you have known me.

"I was born at Athens, my father was wealthy and noble, and I was his only

child, and was bred up in every luxury and refinement.

"My mother died at my birth, but I adored my father, and never wanted any other companion.

"During the first fifteen years of my life I never had a care nor a sorrow, but then I married, and soon after that my troubles came. Not through my husband, no, Cyril was the dearest and noblest on earth; but though for generations past my family had served the gods faithfully, yet they had no pity, and allowed me to be overwhelmed in misery.

"There was a man living at Athens

whose father and mine had been old friends, and just before my betrothal to Cyril, this odious Cineas asked my father to bestow my hand upon him.

"My dear father, from the love he had always borne to Cineas' parents, would have consented, in spite of my tears and entreaties, which he held to be a child's wayward fancy, had I not confessed to him that my heart was already given to another. A short time afterwards Cyril came forward, we were betrothed, and I thought my cup of joy was well-nigh full.

"After my marriage, Cineas tried to get admission to our house, and be treated as an old friend; but never would I consent to his being on terms even of common intimacy, so did I hate the revengeful, sinister expression of his hard black eyes.

"At length one evening I was out in the fields with my husband, when he stopped to speak to an acquaintance, and I strolled on before. Suddenly a man darted out from a by-path, and confronted me; it was Cineas, and fixing his eyes on mine, he swore in a hoarse whisper that he would be revenged on me yet, for my obstinate rejection of him and my union with another. I was too much alarmed to cry out, and in a moment he was gone, and Cyril was walking by my side.

"For a while the remembrance of the interview haunted me like a dark and mysterious spectre, but soon my mind was

filled with happier thoughts, for to my unspeakable joy I was the mother of two lovely boys; henceforth my husband and children occupied all my attention, and I heeded little what went on in Athens beyond the sacred circle of my happy home.

"For three years I lived a life of such joy, that even now, in the midst of my anguish, it is sweet to look back upon. The only shadow was occasioned by the death of my father, but even that was not so very hard to bear, for was not Cyril at my side to comfort and support me? he was my all in all, and I needed no other. One day, when my children were three years old, Cyril went to a banquet, where were gathered the noblest and wealthiest of the Athenians. I afterwards learnt that when wine was being served, Cineas was seated next to my husband, and watching the opportunity when he was engaged in conversation with another guest, he changed the wine-cup which was before Cyril with his own. That evening, as I sat waiting his return from the banquet, I heard footsteps coming slowly down the street, and looking out, saw several men bearing a litter, from which my husband was soon after lifted insensible, and, I thought, dead.

"The most learned physician in Athens was immediately summoned, but before he could arrive, Cyril's spirit had departed; whither ?-that was the question I asked myself all through that dreary night. I had one drop of comfort; that he had not died unconscious of my presence, for once his eyes opened, and seeing me bending over him, he gathered all his remaining strength, and putting his arm round me, he drew my head down on to his breast; I felt one fervent kiss on my forehead, and then he sank back, and I was left alone in the desolate world. My brave, noble, generous husband had been poisoned by the base revengeful coward, Cineas.

The next three months I passed in a dull torpor, from which even the caresses of my children failed to awaken me; I loved them dearly still, but it was only when, in the little faces, I could trace a gleam of likeness to my husband, that I felt the earnest, passionate love of yore.¡

"But one day, Cineas (whom I then guessed, and now know, to be my husband's murderer), came to me, and pretending sorrow for his former insolence, and sympathy with my forlorn condition, asked me to become his wife. I started to my feet, and gazing at him, said, Through you I was left a widow not three months since, and now do you dare to address me thus ?' He retired abashed, but soon came again, and when I repeated my words, his tone changed, and he vowed, as he had done before, that he would be revenged on me yet. I replied that he had caused me enough pain already,-me, a woman utterly alone in the world,-and I begged he would relieve me of his presence. Just then my little Cyril entered the hall where we were sitting, and running to me, laid his hand in mine. Cineas saw the action, and muttering between his teeth, in a tone that made my blood curdle in my veins, Not quite alone, my good Ione, but perchance you may be, ere long,' he turned on his heel, and I have never seen him since.

"But my sorrows had not yet reached their climax. One night, about a week after my interview with the wicked destroyer of all my happiness, I was awakened by a scream issuing from the apartment adjoining my own, where my two little ones slept with their nurse: it was in her voice, I knew directly, and rising withont a moment's delay, I stole softly to the door.

"The nurse came flying towards me, sobbing, and crying out in her fear, save her, the room was empty.

"Oh! lady, the men, the robbers, they are gone!'

"Gone! where? what men? Oh! Domeira, where are my children ?' I cried, while my heart stood still. But Domeira, with a fresh cry of terror, only rushed to the door. I followed her to the long flight of steps leading to the entrance door, from which I could dimly see two dark figures emerging into the street. I saw it would be utterly useless to try to arrest them, for they were out of sight in second; so I turned to Domeira, and implored her to control her agitation, and tell me all. She had been quietly sleeping for some time,

when she was awakened by a slight noise in the room, and opening her eyes saw two men, whom she instantly took to be robbers; so she remained motionless, thinking that she would thus prevent all violence either to herself or to the children, and that when the men had got what they wanted of gold or jewels, they would depart with no farther outrage.

"But she soon saw it was another thing they sought. Each of the men held a large mantle, and taking up my babes, they covered them completely, turned, and fled from the room. Before they could draw aside the curtain that shaded the doorway, Domeira was on her knees beside them, imploring them, at the risk of her own life, to desist from their cruel purpose, whatever it might be. One of them gave her a blow that stunned her for an instant, and on recovering, she uttered the scream that aroused me.

"Thus far I heard, but no farther: a kind of terrible vision came over me. It seemed as though I was standing on a rock beyond reach of human help, while the fierce stormy ocean waves were rising higher and higher, nearer and nearer, until they seemed about to overwhelm me.

"I cried to the gods for help, but they refused to listen, and through all, the low voice of Cineas came ringing above the surging of the waves, and the moaning of the wind, 'I will be revenged on you yet!' when unconsciousness mercifully came to my relief, and I sank fainting to the ground. Of the events of the next day I have but little remembrance, but Domeira told me that I passed from one swoon into another until my life was despaired of.

"But I was soon thoroughly aroused from my lethargic state by a report brought by an acquaintance of one of the slaves of my household: where he learnt it I never could discover; but he said that my children were sold to be brought up as slaves, and that they had been taken to Jerusalem. "From that time the wish for death that I had before so passionately felt passed from me, and I used every means for the (at least partial) restoration of my health. One aim, one purpose, was ever before me,

to go to Jerusalem, and there try to gain some tidings of my infants.

"That the robbers were emissaries of Cineas I never doubted, but I was unable to prove the crime against him, and only prayed that I might never see his face again.

"In a few days I started on my journey, absolutely unattended, and taking with me all my stores of jewels and gold, to provide me with necessaries on the way. But when a short distance from Jerusalem, I was taken ill, and had to stay so long at a little village, that my few remaining valuables were obliged to be sold, and I arrived in this city utterly without means of support.

"The rest, dear lady, you know how I fainted in the street opposite your father's house, and you commanded your servants to bring me in, and the first sight I saw on opening my eyes was your sweet face bending over me. May Heaven reward you for all your kindness! But you will say, how could I then so deceive you? It was in this way, though I am not the less guilty. While reposing on the couch where you had left me, one of the servants, who seemed kind and sympathizing, asked me about my former history. I told her that I was a Greek, and had come to Jerusalem on business of great importance, but was entirely destitute; and acting on a sudden impulse, I asked her if she thought you would take me to be your servant, your slave, anything, so that I might sometimes be with you and hear your loving voice. But she said it would be impossible for one reason, namely, that I was an idolater, and that your father would never allow such to remain in his house; and then the evil thought sprung up in my heart, and I determined to worship the God of the Hebrews, to call myself by a Hebrew name, and to try to gain a place in your housebold. I asked your servant to keep my secret, which she has faithfully done; and now, oh! dearest lady, if you only knew the anguish I have suffered, you would, I think, forgive me."

She ceased, tears glistening in her eye1. Leila, who during her long story had remained perfectly motionless, now took her

hand, and pressing a kiss on her forehead, said softly, "My poor Ione, (yes, let me call you by your own name,) how bitter your sorrows have been, and you have had no one to comfort you!"

"Yes, lady, to look on your face, to hear your voice, is comfort," she answered, earnestly.

"But oh! how hard it must have been for you, a high-born lady, to take the rank of a servant; I must have seemed so cold, so distant to you."

"Never, never! you have always been tender and gracious; but in your sorrows you are patient and peaceful, I am wild and rebellious. Is it, indeed, your Christian faith that can give you such consolation ?"

"It is indeed," replied Leila; "turn to the Lord Jesus Christ, think of Him as

dying on the cross for you, and rest will soon be yours."

But the Greek woman only shook her head mournfully. "All the gods are alike, and all unpitying, and far away. You are all that is left to me now; life must be over at last, however long it be; and till death comes, my work shall be to serve you faithfully, and try and lessen your cares."

And soon after they parted for the night, and Leila went to rest, pondering on the sad life of this lonely woman, whom she had known but so short a time, and yet who seemed to be growing so dear to her. Leila's trials and patient submission were already bringing a blessing; for was it not the sight of her deep grief that gave Ione courage to unburden her own, thus lightening half its load?

Do we

DENYING CHRIST.-The question, I fear, is not with us, "Lord, is it I?" The question is not, when have we denied our Lord, but when have we not done so? When have we confessed Him? Do we confess Him in our daily life? Do all men know that we are Christ's disciples indeed? Do they judge by our conduct that God is with us of a truth? Do they find out by our uniform life and conversation that we are followers of our crucified Saviour? publicly proclaim His love and enforce His precepts ? Do we confess Him before men? If not, we daily deny Him. Peter denied Him but thrice, but we deny Him more than this every day of our lives. I deny Christ if I hear His Name taken in vain without reproving the swearer. I deny Christ if I do not at all times stand up for His Gospel, or hear it spoken against and am silent. I deny Christ if I see religion neglected without reproof; if I see iniquity practised without correction; if I see ignorance or blindness without giving in

struction in righteousness. How much more do I deny Christ if I myself am the swearer, if I speak against His religion, or cease to practise the precepts of His Gospel! I declare by my whole conduct that I do not know the man. I declare, like Peter, that I do not even understand the language of my accusers, that I consider it a reproach to belong to Christ. Oh! is there not occasion for us to pray to Jesus, "Lord! teach thou me. Tell me plainly of my sin. Cast upon me the same look which brought tears to Peter's eyes. Move me to repentance, to godly repentance, and by Thy blood shed upon the cross, By Thine agony and bloody sweat, by Thy cross and passion, by Thy precious death and burial, by Thy glorious resurrection and ascension, Good Lord, deliver me."" E. F.

a Author of "Plain Preaching to Poor People." (London: W.Wells Gardner, 10, Paternoster-row.)