Of New Zealand she had not even any vague
ideas, for it was nothing but a name to her. She had far clearer views
of heaven, of that other world into which she had seen so many of her
childhood's friends pass away. To lie down upon her bed and die would
have been a familiar journey to her compared with that strange voyage
across boundless seas to a country of which she knew nothing but the
name.
Yet they were going--Mr. Chantrey, with his failing health; Mrs.
Chantrey, a victim to a miserable vice; and Charlie, the young,
inexperienced boy. What a helpless set! She tried to picture them
passing through the discomforts and dangers of a savage life, as she
supposed it to be; Mr. Chantrey ill, poor, friendless, and homeless.
Upon her screen were the announcements of his coming to the living, of
his marriage, the birth of both children, and the death of one. She read
them over word for word, with eyes fast filling and growing dim with
tears. Very soon there would be another column in the newspaper telling
of his resignation and departure--perhaps shortly afterward of his
death.
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