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“But how am I to know that it is my work?” asked Cecil again.

“Cecil!” said Miss Arbuthnot, more in sorrow than in anger, “do I hear one of my girls talking like this? This work is offered to you, and you doubt whether it is meant for you. Your father, considering you a reasonable being, leaves the decision to you, and you will not decide.”

“But I had so much rather he had told me outright either to go or to stay,” pleaded Cecil. “I can’t bear deciding for myself.”

“Timidity again, Cecil. So far as I can make you out, you are convinced that you ought to go, but you want to stay.”

“I do really want to do what is right, Miss Arbuthnot, but it feels so dreadful to be going so far away from every one.”

“‘I only know I cannot drift

Beyond His love and care,’”

quoted Miss Arbuthnot, reverently.

“Oh! Miss Arbuthnot, you all want to drive me to Baghdad,” cried Cecil, with tears in her eyes.

“Is not that very thing the leading you are looking for?” asked Miss Arbuthnot.

“I think it must be,” said Cecil, slowly. “Say no more, Miss Arbuthnot—I will go.”