had he neglected to pay the yearly demands 
of the company. It was the two thousand 
dollars that would fall due at her father’s 
death Stile was seeking, for he knew his 
victim had made such provision tor an other¬ 
wise destitute family. 
CHAPTER II. 
Time passed on, Janie had been mother- 
loss a year when the calamity of her life fell 
upon her. She knew her father had secret 
trouble. lie grew moody, unlike the late 
regenerate, gladsome man. She attempted 
stricter economy in their domestic affairs, for 
she felt the trouble was partly of a pecuniary 
nature. 
Poor Janie was smitten suddenly with her 
calamity. She had feared her father was 
privately tasting the dreadful cup; hut she 
was not prepared to see him reeling madly 
in the very heart of a drunken brawl. One 
chill December evening lie did not. come at 
their usual tea-time, yet she knew no patient 
detained him ; his practice had been dwind¬ 
ling. She wrapped herself and went out, 
hurrying along the street in hopes of meeting 
him. Stile’s saloon was in full blaze. Ills 
“ quitting the business” had on sornu pretences 
been delayed. There, through the broad 
window, Janie Storms saw her father, look¬ 
ing like a fiend. She flew to the door, and 
rushed through the crowd of wretches. 
“ Father!” she cried, laying her hands on 
his arm. He looked at her and dropped his 
glass. Its crash seemed to rouse him, but 
only to fury. 
“ Father V” she begged, “ 
and jewels must go, too. She muffled them 
up in a little box, and slipped down stairs. 
Her father sat in stupor, with his face cov¬ 
ered. She flew along the streets. It was 
an errand no one would want to linger about. 
“ How much will you give me for these?” 
she asked the small jeweler, laying her sacri¬ 
fice before him. 
He looked at liar and at them, wondering 
what trouble Herbert Storms had gotten 
into, that he should send his daughter 1o 
peddle keepsakes. 
“They’re very old,” he remarked. 
“ Yes," assented Janie, as if she could 
add, “ and very precious, too.” 
“ That watch was a pretty good one in its 
day,” said the jeweler, shutting one eye, to 
examine it more critically. 
“IIow much will you allow me for it?” 
asked -Janie, eagerly. 
“ But,” he coutiniled with emphasis, “ it’s 
about run out. I couldn’t, possibly, my dear 
girl, give you more than eight dollars.” 
“ It’s worth eighty!” exclaimed Janie. 
“ Might have been, but It isn’t now.” He 
handed the little golden case back. 
“ Give me eight doll am for it,” said Janie. 
Perhaps the man might have tried to beat 
her down further, but her patient and be- 
seeehful eyes unmanned him. He took her 
watch and all the little baubles, and paid her 
twenty dollars. She flitted away as she had 
come, and left him to wonder and surmise. 
Her father still sat. before the fire. She 
went again up to her own little room, and 
began to pack a valise. It was large, and 
would hold all their possessions. She put in 
some books her mother had loved, her father’s 
spare garments and her own — worn but 
neatly mended — and the twenty-four dol¬ 
lars that were their only dependence. 
“We must walk,” decided Janie, sitting 
down wearily. “ I dare not spend a penny 
of this money, excepting for food, or wc 
shall he destitute when we arrive, and a 
burden on Mr. Fraser. God will be with 
us, He is here, new.” bhc looked up full 
of gratitude. 
It is strange how in the very darkest hour, 
a Presence really does smround and inspire 
the Christian, turns calamity into deliver¬ 
ance, carries him on by the pillar of cloud, 
and smites Hie Red Sea in twain before him. 
“ We must start in the morning,” decided 
Janie, secondly. “ 1 cannot trust him in 
that man’s power another day.” 
She went down stabs and put her hands 
tenderly upon her father’s shoulders. 
“ Don’t touch me,” he shuddered, “ I struck 
your mother and 1 struck you — don’t touch 
me.” 
“ Father, dear,‘you would’nt have us leave 
you forever ? Wc low you, father. Pleas© 
lie down uud sleep now. In the morning 
we will go away from this place.” 
lie looked at. her vacantly, but allowed 
himself to obey. Janie could not sleep. 
She was restless as with a fever. She hur¬ 
ried back to her little room again that her 
presence below might not disturb her father; 
but even while compelling herself to sit still, 
she twisted her hands nervously; her ear 
was alive to every sound; she was mad 
to flee from the place of peril. Stealthy 
movements below attracted her attention. 
Slippered feet were certainly creeping about 
Herbert Storms’ room. She as silently 
crept down stab's; her motions were light 
as down, hut the nerves that guided those 
motions were tense as iron. The sitting- 
room door was partly open; she had in 
thoughtfulness left it so. Her father was 
seated before the fire. She saw that he had 
risen, and been searching for something; the 
object of his search was now in his hand. 
He was rubbing a razor on his finger and 
trying its edge. 
“ Father is certainly elemented,” thought 
the girl. “He shaved only this morning, 
and lie knows he cannot perform that part 
of his toilet at night, and without his little 
china mug of hot water that I always bring 
him.” 
At that moment Herbert Storms raised 
his right baud and made a gesture that sick¬ 
ened her soul. He measured the length ot 
the razor from liis left ear to his throat, and 
from bis throat tip to his right car. 
“ O, my God I” felt the voiceless girl. “ O 
my Savior, who hast helped mo always, 
help me. now!” 
Though he should kill her. she must save 
him. She found herself at his side, holding 
that dangerous large hand with lier small 
but now vice-like lingers. In emergencies 
we do not know how we do tilings, or that 
we are doing them. 
Her hair had showered around her; it was 
an inspired, angelic face to which the sui¬ 
cide lifted his eyes. In it he saw terror, 
pity, love, beseeching;-—all blended, and the 
whole lighted, as it were, by a halo. 
"Jane,” faltered the poor man, his mind 
wavering with his voice, “ why won’t you 
let me do it?” 
*■ Precious oue 1” cried Janie, Lordly com¬ 
prehending that her father regarded her as 
the spirit of her mother, “ If you do this we 
shall lie parted forever—we three shall not 
be happy together in the next world. O, 
come away from here, come now. There 
making what preparation he could for their 
breakfast. 
“Step briskly, dear,” he said, resting a 
hand on her after their mutual good morn¬ 
ing, “ I want to go to work early to-day." 
How grand is a man with the light of 
Christian victory and resolution in his eyes. 
Janie progressed further in her work this 
day. She respected her father. 
They were very happy for many days. 
Janus kept the house as tidy as a nest.; she 
planned surprises to make her father cheer¬ 
ful ; she thought of and for him continually. 
Having read somewhere that the thirst of a 
drunkard may be appeased by some milder 
beverage than his accustomed stimulant, she 
tried to keep Jier Cither even from tempta¬ 
tion. lie liked coffee. Every morning at 
ten and every afternoon at three she slipped 
with her little basket into the cooper’s shop, 
and hi a nook apart, mixed cream and sugar, 
and poured over them the rich liquid that 
refreshed without maddening the man wiio 
look it ai her hands. 
One evening her father came home pale 
with joy. 
“ We have a little board to support us for 
the present, haven’t we daughter? I am 
not going out. to labor to-morrow. 1 shall 
begin my practice again. Several friends 
who have seen” — he turned his face aside 
and began to take off his coat; “several 
friends,” he went on, “ have solicited my ser¬ 
vice. They know they can trust me now. 
We shall be prosperous soon, Janie.” 
The girl liung on his arm, looking up, with 
her heart too flill to speak. 
“ Stile was among them.” Janie’s ra¬ 
diant look fell. Stile was the man who 
had peddled ruin to her father. “ It, was no 
more than right, that h« should have been. 
He wishes me to prescribe for his wife, who 
has been so long under Or. Hunter's 
care. I think T understand the case, and 1 
am going to Step over to see her this evening.” 
Poor Janie’s heart, went, down towards 
zero. She feared to see her father have any 
dealings with the man. But he went, aud 
returned, strong and clear-headed as ever. 
His elation was childlike. The season 
proved a sickly one. Sudden changes of 
weather caused fever and many other ail 
ments in the village, so all the physicians 
were kept very busy. It. was beautiful to 
see Herbert Storms at that time. His 
manhood was of a tender, gracious type; 
understand me,—I do not mean effeminate, 
— what in American phraseology is termed 
“ soft ” — but tender and gracious. lie was 
energetic and interested in his profession; 
his very presence seemed now 1o soothe his 
patients, for lhe“ second birth ” had glorified 
what. Nature had in the beginning made so 
attractive. 
As for Janie, during this winter, her hopes 
rose higher and higher. She grew even 
cheerful and merry, comparatively. Her 
charge had kept her from turning back to a 
mother’s grave. Her grief had been, as it 
were, transmuted into gladness. As her 
father’s affairs prospered, she no longer took 
m the plain sewing by which she had been 
accustomed to meet part of their expenses. 
Herbert Storms rented a pretty cottage, 
and they left the old log house. Every one 
regarded him as a rising and miraculously 
delivered man. lie might, have felt vain; 
had not a dreadful panorama been rolled 
so often before his eyes,malting him start and 
groau aloud, " 0, JANIE t ’’ 
Janie Storms had but one misgiving: the 
increased attention with which Stile fol¬ 
lowed her father. She thought, shuddering, 
how like lie was to a shark swimming after 
a ship, sure of ihc dead body therein some¬ 
time. The very cottage tiny had rented was 
Stile’s. Might the time come when he 
would have power and inclination to turn 
them out homeless? She did not distrust the 
sincerity ol her father’s reform, but she did 
distrust, the man who had made such repent¬ 
ance necessary. 
One evening after she had retired, voices 
below disturbed her. She rose, obeying im¬ 
pulse, and slipped down stairs, intending to 
offer her father assistance, if he w T ere pre¬ 
paring for a night ride. But Stile’s hateful 
voice smote her car. 
“O, yes, my wife is doing finely; your 
treatment has worked wonders. 1 only came 
over to ha ve a lit tie confidential chat.” Here 
Janie heard him tip hack hit) chair, and bring 
his hand down on the table. “ Storms, I’m 
going to quit the liquor business. I’m going 
to keep some choice wines aud such things 
in my own cellar; but T shan't sell any more!” 
“Good!” exclaimed Herbert Storms, 
heartily. “ 1 thank God for that !” 
“ So should I,” thought poor Janie, as she 
slipped back to bed, “ if I could only believe 
are peaceful days yet in store for you on 
earth; and after them an eternal rest, if you 
will only resist this awful temptation. The 
time is not long—it cannot be long, till God 
will call you home. Why would you rush 
before Him when daj'S of grace are yet 
afforded you.” 
She removed the instrument, from his re¬ 
laxing hand, and flew up stairs, resolved to 
lead her father at once from that evil house. 
She dropped the shining blade on her own 
table, and dared not touch it, any more. It 
seemed accursed, but her father was saved 
from it.. Months after, Janie Storms heard 
that Stile had committed suicide with a 
razor. But she never knew how he found it 
lying so strangely in her room, and had 
taken it up in fascination and dread, — had 
canned it while his crimes accumulated,— 
had often felt its edge with his finger, no 
GoD-sfrengthened woman being sent, to fly 
between him and its accursedness, had at 
last measured it across his throat,—had sunk 
the glittering steel through his hard flesh, 
and been found the wreck and -ihe dread he 
had nearly made of Herbert Storms. The 
work of his hands was established upon him. 
Janie and her father entered a little wood 
through which a stream flowed. She was 
not conscious of being hungry or faint, 
though she was both. Here they sat down 
on a log, Herbert Storms still bent aflt 
absent, while Janie unrolled some food she 
had thrust into the valise at the last moment. 
Her father ate the bread and meat she put 
in his hand, and when she brought him clear 
water from a hole broken in the stream, he 
took the cup and drank, and gave it back, 
still absently. 
“Thirty-two miles more,” thought the 
girl, as they hurried on. “Why, we can 
walk two miles yet to-night, and, perhaps, 
now that we are used to it, and if we can 
get carried occasionally by wagoners, we 
shall accomplish the other thirty miles to¬ 
morrow'.” She now saw for the first time 
that her little mittenless hands were bit¬ 
ter red. 
“To correspond with my nose, of course,” 
she smiled, wearily trying to cheer herself, 
“ old Winter likes uniformity.” 
Night began to come on. That short 
winter’s day had been at once a moment 
and an eternity to her. She began to under¬ 
stand how a thousand years can be as one 
day, and one day as a thousand years. She 
heard cattle lowing for their evening meal. 
The sun had gone down, and shut a door of 
clouds behind him. It grew colder. She 
did not feel fatigued. She laughed, saying 
to herself, “ I am iron.” She was reminded 
how Elijah -went in the strength of one 
heavenly provision “forty days and forty 
nights unto Horeb, the Mount of God.” 
“And we are going to our Iloreb,” she 
whispered, “in the strength of food that 
never fails.” A strange radiance filled her 
brain. It w T as not sunlight reflected from 
the hills, for, as I said, the aim had gone 
down. “ It is the clear shining of a Pres¬ 
ence,” said the half-unconscious girl. 
Herbert Storms, turning suddenly to 
his child, saw her heroic yet drooping gait. 
He took her little right hand under his arm. 
The darkness grew around them. Some¬ 
times vehicles or persons on horseback 
passed them. A few snow-flakes struggled 
from their close upper prison and came 
down. By-and-by lights became visible in 
the distance. “ It is a village,” pronounced 
Janie; “ we will rest there to-night.” 
Her rest was nearer than that. 
“ I am dizzy, father," she said; “ let us sit 
down on a hank.” Her head fell against his 
arm. The man took her up; he turned her 
face about and strained his eyes over it. He 
groaned with despair, and, holding her 
tightly, ran with great strides toward the 
Village. But he was faint himself, and he 
staggered, stopped, sat down by the road¬ 
side, his face white and aged, holding her 
yet in his arms. It seemed a lifetime before 
he could hear wheels. He thought she 
would die before they approached. He 
waved his band and tried to articulate while 
the carriage was yet undefined. And when 
it was about to shoot past him he gathered 
all his voice and shouted madly for help. 
The comfortable doctor drew in the reins 
and sprang from his gig. 
“ There! ” he commented, recognizing the 
group at once; “ I ’in only surprised that this 
didn’t happen further back. Over twenty 
miles on foot in one day— to drag a delicate 
girl such a distance, the man must he a 
brute!” muttered the doctor, taking Janie 
up as if she belonged to him. 
“Yes, I am a brute! ” acquiesced Herbert 
Storms, who listened keenly while he re¬ 
signed bis load with clinging touch. 
Well, God orders things strangely, I can¬ 
not stop to tell you with minuteness just 
how events happened, — how the doctor 
carried Janie to his house, and ordered his 
housekeeper to get hot blankets and resto¬ 
ratives ready with incredible speed,—how 
long Janie lay In brain fever, induced by 
excitement and exposure and fatigue,—how 
Herbert Storms was filtered, through the 
slow ordeal of nursing his darling, to the 
regenerate Herbert Storms of months 
before; how the doctor neglected his other 
patients for the little thin, glorified face he 
wanted to draw back to earth again,—how he 
learned her whole story, and cried on his 
office table after hearing it,—how little 
weak Janie was persuaded the doctor could 
advise and help her even better than good 
Mr. Fraser, — how long he kept her 
a convalescent, — and how lie finally in¬ 
sisted on taking her lather into partnership 
with himself. 
Nay, this is not the final “ how;” for the 
end should he, how the doctor could never 
forget the rapt devotedness of her expres¬ 
sive face when he had first seen her, a little 
weary pedestrian, so that Janie Storms was 
sought and won and cherished by a man 
whom she knew to be peerless, and whom 
she would probably never have seen had she 
not followed the fiery cloud through her 
Red Sea of trial. 
You say the Promised Land of rest after 
labor is not always so speedily reached, or 
so delightful. But you do know, — you will 
have to admit it sooner or later,— that God 
does always order all things for the well¬ 
being of those who serve Him. 
CHAPTER XII. 
Janie Storms found herself in the Hamp¬ 
stead streets very early on a chill December 
morning, carrying their few possessions and 
trying to walk cheerfully beside her bowed 
father, 
“ This way, father,” she cried, hurrying 
nervously forward in fear that they should 
be seen. 
.] a n i e had never read Dickens, or she might 
have remembered dimly little Nell and her 
grandfather. She did not even know how 
like she appeared to the angel leading Lot 
out of Sodom, so anxious was she to leave 
this modern Sodom behind. 
“ We shall have to walk fast if we don’t 
want to freeze,” she said, with a strange little 
laugh, and shifting the heavy valise to her 
other hand. Herbert Storms noticed this. 
“Give me the bundle, Janie,” lie whis¬ 
pered. And then they went on swiftly and 
silently. 
Their road was a not much frequented 
one. Janie in her sweeping plans had 
chosen it on that account. There were fields 
or woods on either side, till hushed with 
winter morning stillness. The gray in the 
east was finally broken by red streaks. .1 ante 
saw all things mechanically, and recalled 
them afterwards, though her mind and body 
were intensely occupied with the work 
before her. 
They passed some farm houses, as it grew 
later; she heard farmers calling up their 
stock; saw the latter drinking at troughs; 
tind watched how the water trickled from 
their satisfied mouths, and how little the frost 
on their coats troubled them. 8he heard 
poultry cackling; and little children shout¬ 
ing'; and breakfast-bells and breakfast horns 
sent their notes across her half-conscious car. 
“ How many miles have we come, father ?” 
she ventured to ask, at last, when the Hun, 
after poising himself on the tree-tops, had 
begun his flight through the heavens. Her 
fat her had walked with long strides; she had 
run rather than walked. He stopped and 
looked at her in uncertainty. 
“ Poor child, sho is tired. You must sit 
down and rest, Janie — and eat something. 
Not many miles, Janie. It seems as if the 
pit were following me!” 
“No rest yet, father, oh, not yet!” she 
urged with weary eagerness. “ He may want 
to go back, even though to the pit, if wc 
stop,” was her unspoken fear. 
So they still flew along. The sun rose 
higher on his southern track. \Vagons began 
to pass them — farmers hauling fodder, or 
going to town to trade. These good, thrifty 
men would look curiously at the two, and 
call out “ Good morning,” and “which way ?” 
or “ Cold day, sir?” and “ Rough footing it." 
It was long past noon when they met a 
handsome, comfortable looking man in a 
two-wheeled vehicle. IBs blue eyes regarded 
her so compassionately and respectfully that 
she mustered courage to ask him a question? 
“ Will you ploase tell us, sir, how far we 
are from Hampstead ?” 
“ Certainly, Miss. About eighteen miles, 
I should judge.” 
“Thank God!” murmured Janie, “only 
thirty-two more.” 
“May 1 ask—I don’t mean to be imperti¬ 
nent—but may I ask if you have walked 
from Hampstead to-day?” exclaimed the 
gentleman in unfeigned astonishment, look¬ 
ing at the slender girl, who appeared to lead 
the man beside her. 
“ We must go on,” said Janie, lifting her 
beseeching dark eyes—darker and intenser 
than any other eyes the comfortable doctor 
had ever seen. (“ That girl is suffering from 
strong derangement,” he professionally de¬ 
cided.) “ We must go on. Thank you, sir.” 
The doctor cut his horse lightly with the 
lash, and spun away, turning, however, 
every few paces to look at that strange pair, 
melted—wondrously melted, and with a 
sanctified feeling caught from the rapt pres¬ 
ence of that devoted girl. He sighed when 
he turned out of sight of them. 
come away, U 
come!” 
lie snatched his arm Horn her and struck 
her; but. the moment she fell, lie knelt, a 
sober, hopeless man, and lifted her up. 
They went out of the den. Departing, he 
turned on Stile with bitter denunciation. 
“ It was you that made me fit to strike a 
dying angel. It is you that have dragged 
me down with your cursed, ever-ready temp¬ 
tation. You made me the beast J am to¬ 
night, so that I have lifted up my hand 
against, all that stands between me and per¬ 
dition. Your reckoning will cornel” 
The liquor dealer was a cool-blooded man; 
besides he had sd often listened to the frenzy 
of ruined customers that it had ceased to 
rouse in him either wrath or remorse, ne 
therefore only replied, while mixing ingredi¬ 
ents in a glass, — 
“ I shall want my cottage for a new tenant 
next week, Storms, so Til give you warning 
in time. And that reminds me to say you 
may just leave your furniture, books, and 
other things, for arrears.** 
Janie and her father went home,—to the 
place that was no longer their home. She 
sat down by the hopeless man, holding liis 
hand. In proportion us he grew' weak, she 
Was strengthened. She asked God in her 
heart what they should do. 
“ Janie,” said the man, lifting up liis fallen 
head, “ Stile has got the policy!” 
“ Never mind, father,” she answered. 
There was no human counsellor to whom 
she could go in that extremity. With the 
delicacy of her mother, she had shrunk from 
laying family trouble before any friend. 1 Ier 
old beloved pastor bad lately left. Ids charge 
In Hampstead and removed to another town. 
She wondered it she could have shown him 
her trouble, had he been there, and what he 
would have advised her to do. She remem¬ 
bered hearing t he village where be now lived 
spoken of as a place of culture and piety. 
“ There can be no dram shops there,” thought 
Janie. She reproached herself for not hav¬ 
ing influenced her father to lly his tempta¬ 
tion, long before such ruin was brought upon 
him. She knew he was now lost beyond 
redempt ion, unless she could lake him away. 
A man’s second fall is over the brink of the 
pit. He must be saved by a miracle. 
Whatever dear old Mr. Fraser would ad¬ 
vise, there was hut one course before her, 
though that seemed to lead through impos¬ 
sibilities. She must take her father and carry 
him beyond temptation. Where? Why not 
to the village where the good pastor lived, 
as well as to any other place? Her father 
would then have a double guard over him, a 
prop on either side. But that place was fifty 
miles away, and she had no money. Ah, 
what though it were five hundred, if peace 
and salvation awaited at their journey’s end 
for the man by her side V And could she not 
obtain the means V 
But their lodging when they should ar¬ 
rive ? They must not for one hour hang on 
the good pastor’s resources. She rose to 
search among her few treasures for some¬ 
thing that might be turned into money. 
Her wardrobe was simple and scant enough, 
nothing could be gleaned from it. But in a 
small locked drawe r were bidden her moth¬ 
er’s watch, and the pretty jewels that had 
decked her mot her’s girlhood. Besides these 
there were four silver dollars that a dear ( 
sailor uncle, now dead, had hung round Ja¬ 
nie’s neck: the blue ribbon holding them 
'was soiled and worn by marks of baby 
lingers and teeth. IIow glad she was of 
those four dollars now, though, even in deep 
poverty, she had never thought before of 
parting with them. Her mother’s watch 
