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 DR BECKY SMETHURST

A BRIEF HISTORY OF BLACK

HOLES

And why nearly everything you know about them is

wrong
 To you, and your curiosity that brought you here.

Oh, and to Mum, for always bringing me back down to Earth with a
smile.
 Contents

PROLOGUE Standing on the shoulders of giants

1 Why the stars shine
2 Live fast, die young
3 Mountains high enough to keep me from getting to you
4 Why black holes are ‘black’
5 A teaspoon of neutrons helps the star collapse down!
6 Funny, it’s spelled just like ‘escape’
7 Why black holes are not ‘black’
8 When 2 become 1
9 Your friendly neighbourhood black hole
10 Supermassive-size Me
11 Black holes don’t suck
12 The old galaxy can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because
she’s dead
13 You can’t stop tomorrow coming
14 Well, Judy, you did it. She’s finally full
15 Everything that dies, someday comes back
EPILOGUE Here at the end of all things

Footnotes
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
Index
 PROLOGUE

Standing on the shoulders of

giants
A t this very moment, as you sit down and relax to read this book,
you are moving at an incredible speed. Earth is currently
spinning on its axis, moving us through the relentless march of time
from one day to the next. Simultaneously, it is orbiting around the
Sun, moving us through the changing of the seasons.
But that’s not all. The Sun is just one star in the Milky Way, our
galaxy of over 100 billion stars. The Sun is not unique and it is not at
the centre. In fact, it’s fairly average and unremarkable as stars go.
The Solar System is contained in a minor (seeing a pattern here?)
spiral arm of the Milky Way known as the Orion Arm, and the Milky
Way itself is also a fairly generic spiral-shaped island of stars – not
too big, not too small.
So, this means that along with the speed of the Earth spinning,
and the speed of the Earth orbiting the Sun, we are also moving
around the centre of the Milky Way at a speed of 450,000 miles per
hour. And what do we find at that centre? A supermassive black
hole.
Yes – right now, you are orbiting a black hole. A place in space
with so much material squashed in, that is so dense, that not even
light – travelling at the fastest speed there is – has enough energy
to win in a tug-of-war against a black hole’s gravity, once it gets too
close. The idea of black holes has both captivated and frustrated
physicists for decades. Mathematically, we describe them as an
infinitely dense, infinitesimally small point, surrounded by an
unknowing sphere from which we get no light and no information.
No information means no data, no data means no experiments, and
no experiments means no knowledge of what lies ‘inside’ a black
hole.
As a scientist, the aim is always to see the bigger picture. As we
zoom out of our backyard of the Solar System to encompass the
whole of the Milky Way, and then even further afield to see the
billions of other galaxies across the entire Universe, we find that
black holes are always in the gravitational driving seat. The black
hole at the centre of the Milky Way, the one currently responsible for
your motion through space, is about 4 million times heavier than our
Sun; which is why it’s dubbed a supermassive black hole. While that
may sound big, I’ve seen bigger. Once again, the Milky Way’s black
hole is fairly average, relatively speaking. It’s not that massive, that
energetic, or that active either, making it nearly impossible to spot.1
The fact that I can accept those statements as a given, practically
taking them for granted every single day, is remarkable. It was only
at the end of the twentieth century that we finally realised that at
the centre of every galaxy there was a supermassive black hole; a
reminder that while astronomy is one of the oldest practices, carried
out by ancient civilisations the world over, astrophysics – actually
explaining the physics behind what astronomers see – is still a
relatively new science. The advancements in technology throughout
the twentieth and twenty-first centuries have only just begun to
scratch the surface of the mysteries of the Universe.
Recently, I got wonderfully lost in a sprawling second-hand
bookshop2 and came across a book called Modern Astronomy written
in 1901. In the introduction, the author, Herbert Hall Turner, states:

Before 1875 (the date must not be regarded too precisely), there was a
vague feeling that the methods of astronomical work had reached
something like a finality: since that time there is scarcely one of them that
has not been considerably altered.

Herbert was referring to the invention of the photographic plate.

Scientists were no longer sketching what they saw through
telescopes but recording exactly what was seen onto huge metal
plates coated in a chemical that reacted to light. In addition,
telescopes were getting larger, meaning they could collect more light
to see fainter and smaller things. On page forty-five of my copy,
there’s a wonderful diagram showing how telescope diameters had
increased from a measly ten inches in the 1830s to a whopping forty
inches by the end of the nineteenth century. At the time of writing,
the largest telescope currently under construction is the Thirty Metre
Telescope in Hawai‘i, which has a mirror to collect light which is, you
guessed it, thirty metres across – about 1,181 inches in Herbert’s
money, so we’ve come a long way since the 1890s.
What I love about Herbert Hall Turner’s book (and the reason I
just had to buy it) is that it serves as a reminder of how quickly
perspectives can shift in science. There is nothing in the book that I
or my colleagues doing astronomy research today would recognise
as ‘modern’, and I can imagine that in 120 years a future astronomer
reading this book would probably think the same. For example, in
1901 the size of the entire Universe was thought to stretch to only
the most distance stars at the edge of the Milky Way – about
100,000 light years away. We did not know there were other islands
of billions of stars, other galaxies, out there in the vastness of the
expanding Universe.
On page 228 of Modern Astronomy, there’s an image taken with a
photographic plate of what’s labelled the ‘Andromeda nebula’. It is
instantly recognisable as the Andromeda galaxy (or perhaps to most
people as a former Apple Mac desktop background image).
Andromeda is one of the nearest galactic neighbours to the Milky
Way, an island in the Universe containing of over 1 trillion stars. The
image looks nearly identical to one an amateur astronomer might
take from their back garden today. But even with the advancement
of photographic plate technology at the end of the nineteenth
century, which enabled the first images of Andromeda to be
recorded, there wasn’t an immediate leap to understanding what it
actually was. At the time, it was still dubbed a ‘nebula’ – a fuzzy,
dusty, not-star-like thing that was thought to be somewhere in the
Milky Way, the same distance away as most stars. It took until the
1920s for its true nature as an island of stars in its own right,
millions of light years away from the Milky Way, to be known. This
discovery fundamentally shifted our entire perspective on our
position in, and the scale of, the Universe. Overnight, our world view
changed as the Universe’s true size was appreciated for the first
time. Humans were an even tinier drop in an even larger ocean than
we had ever realised before.
The fact that we’ve only really appreciated the true scale of the
Universe for the past 100 years or so is, in my opinion, the best
example of how young of a science astrophysics truly is. The pace of
advancement in the twentieth century has far exceeded even the
wildest dreams of Herbert Hall Turner in 1901. In 1901, the idea of a
black hole had barely crossed anyone’s mind. By the 1920s, black
holes were merely theoretical curiosities, ones that were particularly
infuriating to physicists like Albert Einstein because they broke
equations and seemed unnatural. By the 1960s, black holes had
been accepted, theoretically at least, thanks in part to the work of
British physicists Stephen Hawking and Roger Penrose and New
Zealand mathematician Roy Kerr, who solved Einstein’s general
relativity equations for a spinning black hole. This led, in the early
1970s, to the first tentative proposal that at the centre of the Milky
Way was a black hole. Let’s just put that into context for a minute.
Humans managed to put someone on the Moon before we could
even comprehend that all our lives have been spent inexorably
orbiting around a black hole.
It was only in 2002 that observations confirmed that the only
thing that could possibly be in the centre of the Milky Way was a
supermassive black hole. As someone who has been doing research
on black holes for less than ten years, I often need reminding of that
fact. I think everyone has a tendency to forget the things that, even
up until recently, we didn’t know. Whether that’s what life was like
before smartphones, or that we have only been able to map the
entire human genome this millennium. It’s understanding the history
of science that allows us to better appreciate the knowledge we now
hold dear. A look back into science history is like riding the collective
train of thought of thousands of researchers. It puts into perspective
those theories that we are so used to parroting we forget the fire in
which they were first forged. The evolution of an idea helps us to
understand why certain ideas were discarded and some were
championed.3
It’s a thought I have a lot when people challenge the existence of
dark matter. Dark matter is matter that we know is there because of
its gravitational pull, but we cannot see it because it does not
interact with light. People question how plausible it really is that
we’re unable to see what we think makes up 85 per cent of all the
matter in the Universe. Surely there must be some other thing we’ve
not yet thought of? Now, I would never be so arrogant as to claim
that we have indeed thought of absolutely everything, because the
Universe is constantly keeping us on our toes. But what people
forget is that the idea of dark matter didn’t just pop up fully formed
one day to explain away some curiosity about the Universe. It came
about after over three decades worth of observations and research
pointed to no other plausible conclusion. In fact, scientists dragged
their feet for years, refusing to believe that dark matter was the
answer; but in the end the evidence was just overwhelming. Most
observationally confirmed scientific theories are shouted about from
the rooftops; dark matter, however, must have been the most
begrudgingly agreed upon theory in all of human history. It forced
people to admit we knew far less than we thought we did, a
humbling experience for anybody.
That’s what science is all about: admitting the things we don’t
know. Once we do that, we can make progress, whether for science,
for knowledge, or for society in its entirety. Humanity as a whole
progresses thanks to advancements in knowledge and in technology,
with the two driving each other. A thirst for more knowledge about
the size and contents of the Universe, to see further and fainter
things, drove the advancement of telescopes (from forty inches
across in 1901 to thirty metres across in 2021). Tired of
cumbersome photographic plates, the invention of digital light
detectors was pioneered by astronomers, and now we all carry a
digital camera around in our pockets. That invention saw
improvements to image analysis techniques, which were needed to
understand the more detailed digital observations. Those techniques
then fed into medical imaging, such as MRIs and CT scanners, now
used to diagnose a whole host of ailments. Getting a scan of the
inside of your body would have been unimaginable a mere century
ago.
So, like all scientists, my research on the effects of black holes
stands on the shoulders of the giants who have come before me: the
likes of Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, Sir Roger Penrose,
Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, Dame Jocelyn Bell Burnell, Sir Martin
Rees, Roy Kerr and Andrea Ghez to name but a few. I can build
upon the answers that they worked so hard and so long for, to pose
new questions of my own.
 It has taken over 500 years of scientific endeavours to just scratch
the surface of what black holes are. It’s only by delving into that
history that we can hope to understand this strange and enigmatic
phenomena of our Universe, one we still know so little about. From
the discovery of the smallest, to the largest; the possibility of the
first black hole, to the last; and why they’re even called black holes
in the first place. Our jaunt through science history will take us on a
journey from the centre of the Milky Way to the edges of the visible
Universe, and even consider the question that has intrigued people
for decades: what would we see if we ‘fell’ into a black hole?
To me, it’s incredible that science can even hope to answer
questions like that, while simultaneously surprising us with
something new. Because, while black holes have long been thought
to be the dark hearts of galaxies, it turns out they’re not ‘black’ at
all. Over the years, science has taught us that black holes are in fact
the brightest objects in the entire Universe.
 1

Why the stars shine

T he next time you have a clear night, with no clouds spoiling the
view, stand with your eyes closed for a few minutes by the door
to outside. Before you step out and look up, give your eyes time to
adjust to the darkness. Even young children notice how when you
first turn the bedside light off before sleep, the room plunges into
pitch blackness. But wake in the middle of the night and you can see
shapes and features again in even the lowest of lights.
So if you want to truly be awed by the night sky, let your eyes
take a break from the bright lights of home first. Let your night
vision develop and you won’t be disappointed. Only once your eyes
are primed and ready can you then step outside and change your
perspective on the world. Instead of looking down, or out, look up
and watch thousands of stars burst into view. The longer you stand
in the darkness, the better your night vision will be and the more
stars will pepper the sky with tiny pinpricks of light.
As you gaze skyward, you might spot things you recognise, such
as shapes in the patterns of stars that we call constellations, like
Orion or the Plough.4 Then there’ll be things that aren’t familiar. But
by just gazing at the sky and noting the brightness or perhaps the
position of a star, you join an incredibly long list of humans from
civilisations the world over, both ancient and new, that have done
the very same and found themselves awed by the beauty of the sky.
The stars and planets have long held an important cultural, religious
or practical role in society. From navigation by land or sea, to helping
people keep track of the seasons, leading to the development of the
first calendars.
In the modern world, we have lost that innate connection with the
night sky, with many of us not able to notice how the stars change
with the seasons or pick out visiting comets because of the ever-
present light pollution in cities drowning them all out. If you’re lucky
enough to live somewhere you can see the stars, perhaps you might
notice how the position of the Moon changes from night to night, or
that one particularly bright ‘star’ wanders across the sky as the
months go by. The Greeks also noticed these ‘wandering stars’ and
dubbed them just that: planētai, meaning wanderer (the root of the
modern English word, planet).
 But not all of us can just look up and enjoy the view for what it is.
Some of us want answers; an explanation of the things we see in
the sky. It’s natural human curiosity. The very nature of what stars
are and how they shine were questions that plagued humanity for
centuries. In 1584, Italian philosopher Giordano Bruno was the first
to suggest that the stars themselves might be distant Suns, even
going so far as to suggest that they may also have planets of their
own orbiting them. This was an idea that was incredibly
controversial at the time, and came just forty-one years after the
neat mathematical idea of the Sun, and not the Earth, being the
centre of the Solar System was published by Polish mathematician
and philosopher Nicholas Copernicus. Copernicus was a big fan of
the simplicity and mathematical beauty of circles, and thought that if
you arranged the Solar System with the Sun at the centre and the
planets moving around it on circular paths, that would be the most
mathematically beautiful way of arranging things. He wasn’t serious
about it astronomically, necessarily, he just enjoyed the geometry of
the whole idea.
But after a few more decades, there were those that started to
support the idea astronomically, like Bruno and his fellow Italian
astronomer Galileo Galilei, who would both eventually be punished
for this supposed heresy against Catholic doctrine. It would take the
combined efforts of Tycho Brahe, Johannes Kepler and Isaac Newton
over the next century or so to compile overwhelming evidence in
favour of the Sun being at the centre of the Solar System, and for
the idea to finally be accepted both scientifically and publicly
following the publication of Newton’s Principia in 1687. First, Newton
determined the laws of gravity and the movements of the planets in
their orbits. The same force that keeps us trapped here on the
Earth’s surface is what causes the Moon to orbit the Earth and the
Earth to orbit the Sun. These roughly circular orbits of planets
around the Sun explained why the planets appeared to move
backwards night after night in the sky for parts of the year, a
phenomenon known as retrograde motion. Those planets closer to
the Sun appear to be moving backwards in the sky when they were
on the other side of the Sun (like cars on the opposite side of a
circular racetrack),5 and those planets further out would appear to
move backwards as Earth overtook them as it moved faster in its
orbit.

Mercury in ‘retrograde’ appears to be moving backwards, but it’s just on the other
side of the ‘racetrack’.

While Bruno was ahead of his time, his idea that the Sun was a
star like any other, albeit a lot closer, still didn’t help to reveal how
they shine. However, realising that the Sun was at the centre of the
Solar System and governed by the same forces that we experience
here on Earth removed the Sun’s God-like status, rendering it
something more ordinary in people’s minds. Physicists of the 1700s
started wondering whether the Sun and the stars could be powered
by everyday processes like combustion, going as far as considering
whether burning coal could account for the amount of energy
outputted as light. Spoiler alert: it can’t. If the entire Sun was made
of coal, it would burn through it at its present rate of energy
production in just 5,000 years.6 Given that recorded history went
back further than that – the Great Pyramid of Giza had been built
over 4,000 years earlier – and that the Earth was then thought to be
6,000 years old, this idea was eventually dismissed.
So, if the Sun wasn’t made of coal, then what was it made of?
Figuring out what the Sun was made of became a huge focus of
physicists in the 1800s, but it was a Bavarian glassmaker who made
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 "Nellie," said Christina after tea, when they were all
assembled in the drawing room, "I have lost one of my
children!"

"She does not look very sad," said Arthur, "so I suppose
it is all right."

"How?" asked Nellie, but she guessed it must be little

Charlie.

"It is all very well for you to laugh," said Christina to

Arthur; "but it was a great grief to me, as well as a great
joy."

"Do let us hear about it," said Tom.

"I told you that Mrs. Wood was to go home for

Christmas. Well, a few days ago I received a note from her
husband saying he should come to town to fetch her; for I
had already arranged to see Mrs. Wood on her way through
London.

"I therefore wrote to him, telling him to meet her at my

house, as I should keep her till his arrival. Last Monday was
the day fixed for her return, and about twelve o'clock Mr.
Wood came to Sunnyside to see me.

"It would be impossible to tell you all he said of thanks

to me for my efforts for her; but when he was a little
calmed, I went to fetch Charlie. As you know, the little
fellow is wonderfully improved since he came, but still looks
delicate. His father, however, saw nothing but the
improvement, and his joy was overpowering. To clasp the
pretty, clean, well-cared-for little morsel in his arms again,
was boundless delight.
 "Charlie was a wee bit shy, but in a few minutes put his
little head against his father's breast, and never offered to
leave him again.

"Mr. Wood then asked me to allow him to share the

expense of his wife's stay at the Home where she had
received such benefit; but I knew their business had
suffered much in consequence of her neglect of it, and I
begged him to allow me to defray the whole of it, telling
him it was freely given 'to the Lord.'

"'May He accept it, then,' he answered, 'and lay it up in

heaven for you, for I can never, never repay my debt.'

"While we were sitting, I took the opportunity of saying

something which was on my mind, before his wife should
come.

"'Mr. Wood,' I said earnestly, 'you will forgive me for

asking, but have you banished all intoxicating drinks from
your table and house?'

"'Of course I have,' he answered, surprised.

"'Because,' I said, 'people are so forgetful; and I have

heard of such sad cases of temptation and fall, from
relatives selfishly continuing to take their moderate glass.'

"'You could not think me so cruel,' he said, looking sadly

at me.

"'No, no; I only mentioned it.'

"'And now,' he said, 'tell me, what was your reason for
abstaining, may I ask?'
 "'Certainly,' I answered; 'it was just this. I was reading
in my Bible one day, and this verse seemed to haunt me
after I closed the book:

'"It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink

wine, nor anything whereby thy brother
stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak."

"'I pondered it for a long time before I could make up

my mind. It was to me a piece of dreadful self-denial not to
offer it to my friends as a usual beverage; but when I
remembered that thousands in our country had ruined
homes and broken hearts through its use, I could hesitate
no longer.'

"He grasped my hand. 'But for your self-denial, my life

here and hereafter would have been ruined,' he said.

"As he spoke, for we had been so earnestly talking we

had not heard the bell, Jane opened the door, and Mrs.
Wood was announced.

"She came across the floor looking at me, and

apparently going to speak to me first, but her eyes fell upon
her husband and baby; and forgetting her former intention,
she threw herself upon her knees before them, and,
encircling her child with her arms, buried her face in its lap,
and sobbed out in a broken voice, 'Oh, Harry, forgive,
forgive me!'

"I saw him put his arm round them both with a
smothered, 'My dear, I am only too glad,' and then I slipped
away.
 "When I went back again after half-an-hour, they were
sitting side by side, holding each other's hands, and
looking, oh, so happy! Charlie had fallen asleep in his
father's arms, and his mother had lifted his feet into her
lap, and was holding them in her disengaged hand.

"She looked up in my face with a somewhat mournful

look replacing the joyful one. 'He will not come to me,' she
said; 'he does not know me.'

"Her husband pressed her hand. 'He will know you

soon, dear. Soon there will be no one like "mother" to him!'

"She shook her head slightly. 'I deserve it,' she

whispered; 'but with God's strength, I will never deserve it
again.' Then turning to me she added, 'If it were on my own
strength I was building, it would be a poor affair, Miss
Arbuthnot; but when it is God's strength, that must be
everlasting. Those words of yours have never left me—

'"Able to save to the uttermost."

"'He has saved me—saved me from the punishment of

my sin hereafter, and saved me from the power of it here.
He is, as you said, stronger than Satan.'

"How changed and altered she was in these three or

four months! Her husband gazed upon her as if he could not
unfasten his eyes. Then he bent over and kissed her.

"'You do not smell any spirits now?' she asked with a

little laugh, which ended in a burst of tears.

"Mr. Wood asked me if I could spare Charlie to go back

with them. 'His mother feels as if she could not part with
him again, and yet I hardly like to take him so suddenly—'

"'You shall have him,' I answered generously, hardly

knowing then what it would cost me, to see my little darling
carried out of the house in his father's arms in the
afternoon.

"I cannot tell you, dears, all they said and did, nor
repeat their gratitude. How little had I done, and what an
abundant blessing had my gracious Father given me!

"'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy,' He

says—

"And I found it true."

* * * * * *

If Christina could have chosen, she would have

preferred to meet Walter at Sunnyside, at her own home,
with only her aunt's kindly presence to embarrass her. But
ever unselfish, she had considered what a sad time this
must be to them in the Square, and had yielded to their
wish to join them. She could not feel happy to take Walter
from them just as he arrived, and knew that his heart must
be rather divided if she were at a distance.

As the evening advanced, she sat by little Tom very

silent. He seemed to understand her feeling, and held her
hand without speaking; but once he whispered, "Mamma
would have been so glad of this day, Christina; we can
rejoice in thinking of that."

She pressed his hand, and then said very low, so that
only he heard it, "It is a strange day, Tom, and I do not
know how to rejoice; but I shall feel better perhaps when
once he is here."

"Yes, you will," said the little comforter, reassuringly;

"and all the more that it would please mamma for you to be
really glad."

Dr. Arundel leaned back in his armchair, but was as

cheerful as the rest now, and was talking with Arthur and
Ada, and telling them stories of arrivals which he had
known, and reminding them that nothing was sure in this
world.

Netta and Isabel sat near Nellie with their work, but
they did not do much; for every cab made them look up,
and sometimes go to the window to peep out.

Nellie sat very quiet too. Would Walter ask her this time
if she had any secrets? She hoped not; but perhaps he
would be too taken up to think of her. Then a pang of
jealousy shot across her heart; a pang instantly rebuked
and confessed; but the thought filled her eyes with tears.
Not the thought that she was no longer first with her
beloved brother, but of grief that she could have even
regretted it for a moment.

In her pocket lay a letter from Hope Elliot, received that

morning, which as yet she had not had an opportunity to
show to Christina.

"We cannot think" (the letter said) "what can

have come to Wilmot. He writes to tell us that
he will be down for Christmas; but that he
thinks of going abroad. He will explain his plans
to mamma, he says, and obtain her sanction,
and then he means to be off at once."
 "Have you seen him lately, Nellie? And can
you tell us what wild scheme he has got in his
head? Of course mamma will persuade him out
of it, or I hope so; but it is too tiresome to even
suppose he will throw up his good prospects
here, and go out there on a wild-goose chase."

"Before, however, you have time to answer

this letter, we shall see him for ourselves, and
be able to hear all about it."

Hope then went on to give her another and pleasanter

piece of news.

"I have told you about Jack Morland, the

young canoeist, whom we have got to know.
Well, yesterday, he came to mamma's quite
unexpectedly, and made Maude an offer, which
she has accepted, and the young people are
very happy. Mamma is pleased, for he is a very
nice fellow, and we are all full of excitement."

This letter, with its double news, was lying in Nellie's

pocket. She felt conscious of it all the time, with a dim
impression of a hidden pain. She had told the wedding news
in it at once; but the other must be confirmed before she
would mention it.

There was a sudden "Hush!" from several of them. Yes,

it was a cab at last stopping at the house; then everybody
hurried to the door, and crowded down the stairs while
Walter was being admitted, Miss Arbuthnot even going to
the landing, and Christina and Tom were left alone.

He did not attempt to speak to her, and it was only a

moment of intense bustle of arrival in the hall, before a
quick light step was heard on the stairs, and Walter was
once more with Christina, whom he had so longed to see.

When they could settle down to anything of quiet, after

Arthur and he had helped in the carrying up of his heavy
packages, all felt the blank in their midst.

Walter looked round the room with a sudden realization

of what he had known and expected. His eyes met his
father's, and both understood each other's thoughts.

Then Dr. Arundel spoke to them all, gravely and

lovingly:

"My dears," he said, "we are all on a journey, travelling

homewards. Those we love are only a little way on in front
of us; they have reached home. They would have waited for
us, but our heavenly Father called them, and told them to
pass on first. It can only be a little while before we follow
them; and meanwhile the same Father bids us do our work
cheerfully, contentedly, hopefully, leaving us this promise
always close to us:

"'Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of

the world.'

"We will thank Him for His goodness in bringing Walter

home, and thus cheering our hearts."
 When they rose from their knees, he kissed them all
round, and telling them he should be with them again
presently, went to his study.

That night, when all had retired, Walter sought his

father, who told him the history of those last months.

"It is painful to me to speak of it," he said "but I feel

relieved; my heart feels lighter than it has done since she
left me, for I have not been able to speak much of it all.
Nellie, dear girl, has had enough to bear."

"Yes, she looks very thin and tired; but Christina thinks
she will recover gradually. I must try to cheer her if I can."

"Poor, dear little Nellie," said her father.

CHAPTER XXV.
HASTY.
 BUT Wilmot did not come back. As Nellie had told her
father, it was all over; there would be no change.

Christmas had passed, and New Year's Day dawned,

bringing a second letter from Hope—a surprised, rather
hurt, letter.

"I always thought men extraordinary, Nellie,

but never believed it could come so 'home' to
me as this.

"I told you about Wilmot's wish to go abroad.

When he arrived, to our dismay, he brought all
his belongings with him from London, and he
and mother were closeted together for hours
that night.

"I heard all this from Maude, for I could not

go down to the cottage on Christmas Eve, as I
was to spend the next day there, and I had
little things to do, besides not wishing to leave
dear Mrs. Arundel for so long.

"On Christmas day Wilmot seemed much as

usual, but mamma looked pale and worried;
and in the evening she told us Wilmot had
decided to go to New Zealand, and had made
arrangements for George to be in the same
office and lodgings, and everything that he had
been in, and to begin life in London in his place.

"Mamma did not explain his reasons; simply

said she had given her consent, and she
believed it would be very advantageous for
George.

"I cannot write it all, Nellie, for I am busy,

and besides my eyes ache with crying. Wilmot
begged us not to make a fuss; that he should
send for us in a year or two, and pictured to us
what he should do, and what we should do.

"We did not pass an unhappy evening after

all, though I do not consider Wilmot seemed
quite like himself.

"The next day he came up and asked dear

Mrs. Arundel if I might come home for a few
days to help get his things ready, and she
willingly assented.

"To make a long story short, we worked away

night and day almost, and he is gone.

"He sailed this morning, and that is why my

eyes are swollen with crying.

"Mamma feels it very much; but she makes

no complaint.

"I cannot think what it has been that made

him decide to go; but he always has been
rather fond of travelling, and nothing but his
wish to help mamma with us all, has kept him
in England so long.

"I heard her say to him once, 'My dear boy,

remember God is with you wherever you go.
You can never be where He is not.'
 "'I know, mother,' he answered; 'I do not
forget it. I am thankful to know it. But for that
—'

"He left the sentence unfinished, and it is the

only time I heard him break down in any way.

"You will see, Nellie, that this was a good deal

for mamma to say; but I do believe she is
happier in that way than she was."

Nellie announced the news of Hope's letter at once,

feeling it would be easier to have it over than to be
dreading it all day.

Her father gave a quick glance at her face; but after

that, he took it in a matter-of-fact way, for which she felt
thankful.

Walter's plans, and with them Christina's, were now the

chief thought amongst them.

He had waited for the week to look round upon it all,

and then told his father that he should like to settle down
with them at No. 8 till the next autumn.

"Christina wishes it," he added; "and I quite agree with

her. It will be the best thing, if you will have me."

"Have you?" said Dr. Arundel, looking with one of his

rare smiles into his son's face. "My boy, my heart has been
much lighter since it has got you back."

Walter thoroughly appreciated the tone of these words;

and when afterwards Nellie told him that the week had seen
a wonderful change for the better in their father, he was
truly relieved and thankful to know that his affection and
presence could lighten the gloom which had fallen on the
house since he left it, only a little more than a year ago.

So the winter passed away.

One day in early spring, Nellie came into the nursery

with a letter in her hand.

"Whom is this for, do you think?" she said, holding it up,

and looking across the room to Tom's couch.

"Not for me, is it?" he asked, while a flush of pleasure

came over his face. "I never get letters."

"Yes it is, Tom," said Nellie, advancing and putting it in

his hand.

Netta and Isabel, who were fast getting out of "nursery

children," happened to be there, and came close to see
what it could be.

It was a delicately-folded note, and inside Tom read

aloud, with some dismay:

"The pleasure of Master Tom Arundel's society

is desired at Sunnyside for a fortnight,
accompanied by his sister Ada."

"What does it mean?" asked Tom, looking rather

anxiously at Nellie.

"I should think it means you are to go and stay at

Hampstead."
 "Oh!" said Tom. "But I don't think I can stay anywhere."

"Here is another letter in the same writing," said Nellie,

smiling; "but as Ada is not home yet, we must wait."

Nellie sat down by Tom, and took up her work, while

she listened to his plans and projects; but suddenly, he hid
his face in his hands and burst into tears.

"Tom, dear?" she asked tenderly. "What is it? Do tell

me; what is the matter?"

"She would have told me whether I could go or not,"

sobbed Tom. "Oh, Nellie, I cannot live without her!"

He sobbed violently, and Nellie knelt down by his side

and put her arm under his head, but without her love
seeming to make any impression on his grief.

So patiently had he borne his sorrow, that they had

almost begun to think it was wearing off; but just now a
tender chord had been touched, and it would vibrate.

Sensitive and shrinking, the poor child always depended

on his mother's judgment for all he was to do; and now
suddenly, when the occasion arose, there was no one to
appeal to. It came upon him with a freshness of despair,
and at first, he was too overwhelmed to listen to Nellie's
assurances of its being possible, or to consider his usual
source of comfort.

"Leave me, Nellie," he whispered at last; "I must have

time to think."

When his sister came again to see him, peace reigned

on his pale little face. He looked up into her eyes, and held
out a tiny note. It ran—
 "Dear Christina,—At first I thought I could
not; but now, if you will excuse such a helpless
visitor, I should like to come.

"Your affectionate
little Tom."

"You have found your rest again, darling," said Nellie,

very low, to him.

"Yes, Nellie. I find if ever I run from under the covert of

His wings, I get frightened. But I'm so sorry I grieved you
about mamma; you do all you can, Nellie, all that is
possible for me, and I do love you and thank you; but
sometimes—"

"Yes, dearest Tom; we all feel it so, and then, as you

say, we find our only consolation is under the covert of His
wings—

"'He shall cover thee with His feathers; and

under His wings shalt thou trust.'"

"School's over for three weeks!" exclaimed Ada,

bursting in, and throwing a bag of books on the table.

"What a noise, Ada," said Isabel.

Ada turned round sharply, and told Isabel—"It did not

matter to her."

Isabel said, "It did; we were having a talk, and did not
want to be interrupted."
 "All right," said Ada, "I'll make myself scarce." With
which sharp words, she hastened from the room.

"Isabel, dear!" said Nellie. "I wish you would not vex
Ada."

"Well, Nellie; she is so hasty. I only made the remark

that she did make a noise."

"Quite true," said Nellie; "but the truth is not always

pleasant, and you are younger than she."

Nellie went into their room and sought Ada. "Here is a

letter for you, Ada," she said.

"I wish, Nellie," said Ada in return, "that you would

make those children mind their own business. They are
always keeping me in order."

"You should try not to mind a little remark, dear; it is

difficult to repress everything, isn't it?"

"I should, if I had the management," said Ada.

"Would you?" said Nellie, smiling a little; "but here's

your letter, Ada."

"Who's it from?" asked Ada ungraciously, holding out

her hand, however, for it.

"From Christina."

"I declare!" said Ada, reading and brightening up. "She

has asked me for a fortnight to Sunnyside, and Tom, too.
Can he go, Nellie?"

"I think so, if papa says he can; but it will be a great

charge for you."
 "But then there will be Christina, and she understands
Tom so well."

"She does; but you will have to be very patient with

him, Ada. It will do him a great deal of good, or it might be
harm. He misses mamma more than you think."

"We none of us know what each other feel," said Ada;

"that's the way with people living in the same house."

"But love and sympathy help us to understand, Ada,"

answered Nellie.

CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION.
 FOUR years after the events recorded in the last
chapter, two young ladies were sitting in a sunny room at
Shanklin, looking out on to the sea.

On the knees of the elder of the two lay an infant, and

over it bent a fond, lovely face, not altered but improved by
its motherliness.

By the side of the other, stood a little roundabout of two

years old, gazing up in her face, as she told her a history of
a brightly coloured picture.

Her mother glanced at the group with a sweet, tender

look. "Kind Auntie Nellie," she observed.

"Tind auntie!" responded the little creature, patting

Nellie's hand.

"How she gets on, Christina," said Auntie Nellie, looking

up; "I never heard a child talk so plainly."

"That is because I always speak to her so distinctly."

"I believe it is," answered Nellie, smiling. Then, turning

to a little maiden of about six years old, who stood looking
out of the window, she added:

"Come, Alice, would you not like to see these pictures

too?"

The child turned and came close, putting her arm

affectionately round little Eleanor.

"And so," said Nellie, continuing her story, "God gives

us just what He sees the very best for us. See, that man is
handing his little child a great heavy stone; and that one, in
contrast, is giving his child a nice piece of bread."
 "Yes," said Alice; "but I don't like that other father; he
doesn't look kind."

"No; it is just to teach us the lesson how unkind we

should think it in our father; and God is better than any
earthly father."

"And He's always thinking about being kind," said Alice,

with kindling eyes. "Don't you remember last week, when I
was poorly, and couldn't eat any nice things or fruit for ever
so long, how He sent me—told someone to send me—that
tiny, tiny little text-book?"

"Yes, darling; I thought so when it came."

"So did I," said Alice, nodding, "because He's so kind."

Eleanor looked on wonderingly, only half

comprehending, but still taking in part of the picture into
her little mind, and carrying away with her into the garden,
whither the children now ran, an impression that "God was
kind."

Just outside the verandah—the same old verandah

where Nellie used to sit and dream and pray—Tom, little no
longer, reclined in an invalid chair. His face was altered from
the delicate child's face, but it had the same sweet trustful
expression, though he was now a boy of fourteen.

He had been allowed by his physicians to sit up a little

every day; but his slight form was even thinner than it had
been, and those round him knew that he was slowly but
surely preparing to leave them.

He knew it himself, and talked of it peacefully and

happily, not as a thing to be dreaded, but as a change from
tender love here, to even better beyond.
 His patience, as the years rolled slowly on, increased
rather than diminished, and the absence of fretfulness,
which had once been obtained with great inward struggle,
now was habitual.

He and Nellie were the firmest friends and dearest

companions; and if anything lightened her cares, it was to
have "a talk" with little Tom.

When she was burdened or weary, she would sit silently

by him, leaning her head on his cushion, content to be
quiet; and often if they did not speak a word, comfort would
steal over her. So, peaceful and still, she would remember
the patiently-borne suffering of her young brother—the
hopelessness of his earthly prospects, the hopefulness with
which he regarded his heavenly prospects; and any repining
would be rebuked when she thought of how much more
enjoyment she had after all, than he.

Just now he was lying with closed eyes listening to the

song of the waves, occasionally catching the low talk of the
two sisters.

"Ada gets a handsome girl, doesn't she?" said Nellie.

"Yes; but she thinks nothing about it, but just goes on
her sensible way as nicely as possible."

"I have much to thank her for since dear mamma's

death," responded Nellie. "She has been a dear sister to
me."

"I am sure she has. There was one time that I was
rather afraid, but your love and patience tided over the
difficulty."
 "It was very hard for her to have to yield to me, if there
was a difference of opinion; and yet sometimes you know I
was forced to carry out what I thought right. It was about
the children generally that we had trouble; but, after all,
she acted so beautifully."

"Dear Ada! And now she does so much credit to your

love and care."

"Not mine; I do not feel I can take any credit. I was

always helped over every difficulty. At first I used to think I
could never succeed in managing it all; and then I learnt
gradually that every time I got perplexed, I had nothing to
do but to ask for wisdom. Sometimes I felt as if the wisdom
had hardly been given, as if things had not quite gone right
after all; but I learned gradually to believe in the answer to
my prayer being sent, and the more I trusted, the more I
found I might trust."

Nellie smiled brightly when she got to the end of this

long sentence, and Christina looked with soft appreciating
glance back at her.

At this moment, a sound of merry voices came nearer

and nearer. The gate creaked on its hinges, and a number
of young people came quickly up the path, and entered the
sitting-room.

"We have had such a lovely ramble," exclaimed Ada,

holding in her hand her pet brother, a sturdy little fellow of
six years old.

"I'm not a bit tired," said he, stumping along bravely;

"and Ada says we've been six miles."

"Yes, that we have," answered Arthur, "and I think Cecil

has done well. So your wee birdie is asleep, Christina?"
 "Yes; and I must go and lay her in her cot. Ada, bring
Eleanor with you."

Eleanor climbed up into Auntie Ada's arms, and was

carried off smiling to her nurse; while Nellie went out to
Tom, and asked him if he were ready to come in.

He turned his face up to hers. What a look of affection

was in his eyes! "I like being here, Nellie," he said; "and
now I have this, I can come in when I like, you know."

He referred to his invalid chair, with its large, easy

wheels, which he could move with a touch of his hand.

She smiled in answer, and settling his pillow stood still,

looking down upon him.

"You are in pain to-day I fear, dear?" she said softly.

"Only a little."

"Your back?"

"Yes; but I must expect it, Nellie. Don't look sad,

darling. 'Neither will there be any more pain there.'"

"No, dear. 'The former things will be passed away;' but I

wish—"

"Do not wish anything but what is sent me," he

answered. "It is all love."

Nellie kissed his forehead, and turned away. "All love,"

she repeated to herself, as she went up to her room; "all
love.

'All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth.'"

 As she looked from her window over the sea, and
thought of all these things, she saw Walter come in from his
walk, with Netta and Isabel leaning on him on either side,
full of life and spirits.

"There's Nellie at her window," exclaimed Netta, looking

up. "Nellie, Walter wants you to come down. He's cut his
finger, and Christina is nowhere to be seen."

"I will come," said Nellie, hastening down.

"Is it bad?" she asked, as she rapidly got out rag and
calendula, which she always kept handy.

"Oh dear, no; a mere scratch. But where is Christina?"

"Can't do without her for five minutes?" asked Arthur

saucily from the sofa, where he lay luxuriously enjoying a
delightful book.

"No, not if I can help it; where is she?"

"He will have an answer," said Arthur, going on reading.

"He cannot get one," answered Walter, as he held out

his finger to Nellie's soft touch.

"She is with her little ones," said Nellie, "but will be

back in a minute. Oh, here she is!"

"Papa is coming down to-night, Walter," said Christina.

"I have just had a note from him, so we shall have a happy
Sunday. Oh, dear, have you cut your finger?"

"It is nothing serious; I did it sharpening my knife. And

so you have heard from my father?"
 "Yes; and I have two other letters in which you will be
interested."

"Are we to hear them now?"

"If you like. One is from Mrs. Wood, Charlie's mother,

you know."

"And the other?"

"From home."

"Are all getting on well?"

"Yes. You shall have Mrs. Fenton's letter first."

"Dear Mistress,—You will be glad to hear that

all are well, both at Sunnyside, and at our little
Home. Alfy has been a very good boy, and he
sends his love to you. So do Georgie and Frank.
Alfy's grandfather died the end of last week;
and his grandmother is very sadly. I do not
think she will last long. Miss Arbuthnot returned
from the north safely, yesterday. I hope you,
and master, and the dear little ones are quite
well, and enjoying yourselves. We miss you all
very much.

"With our respects, in which all unite—

"I am, dear Mistress,

"Your obedient
servant,

"Mrs.
 Fenton."

"Good old creature," said Walter, when the letter was

read; "it is a real treat to talk to her. I often go and have a
chat with her in her cottage, Nellie."

"Does she like having the three little boys to live with
her?" asked Arthur.

"Yes, very well," answered Christina; "she is very good

to them, and they go to school, so she does not get quite so
much of them."

"The plan acts very nicely," said Walter; "and no one

knows what blessing she may bring to those little lads, by
her bright faith and cheerful loving service. She said, when
we first told her that we thought of building two more
rooms to her cottage, and getting her to mind these boys,
'Well, sir, I'll think it over, and if I find it is the work my
Father has set me to do, I'll do it.' And she waited a day or
two, and talked to 'her Father' about it, and then came to us
and accepted."

"I do like her," said Ada; "and now, Christina, let us

have your other letter, if we are to hear it."

"My dear Mrs. Arundel,—It is with the

greatest pleasure I take up my pen to send you
these few lines, for I feel you are the dearest
friend to whom I can write. We are getting on
so happily, and I am so well, and our business
is much improved. All owing to you, dear Mrs.
Arundel; and I can never be grateful enough.

"My husband is coming to London in

 September, and he promises to bring me and
Charlie with him, that we may have a sight of
your face, and we are longing for the time to
come.

"We keep the text you gave us on our wall,

and read it over very often. I have found it true
many a time. You remember it, do you not?

"'God is our Refuge and Strength—a very

present help in time of trouble.'

"We have proved Him that, and daily He is my

strength, as He says.

"You will excuse this long letter; but it is so

nice to be allowed to talk to you. I often think
of the home above, where I shall, through
God's forgiving mercy, meet you; for He has
cast all my sins into the depths of the sea.

"With our very kind respects, and my and

Charlie's love—

"Yours most gratefully,

"Clementin
a Wood."

"Poor thing," said Walter.

"She is happy though, now?" asked Ada.

"Yes; but oh, Ada! It must be dreadful to have such a

past to look back upon," said Christina.
 "We have all plenty to regret," answered Ada, sighing.

"Heigho!" said Arthur, "I have only a week more holiday,

I declare, and then I must grind, grind, again."

"Is 'walking the hospitals,' 'grinding'?" asked Cecil.

"I should say so," said Arthur, "just."

"It isn't my idea of it," said Cecil, and the elders

laughed, while Arthur was not sure whether he was being
made fun of; but Cecil looked so stolidly at him after his
remark, that he concluded to let the matter drop.

"We shall all have to 'grind' soon," said Walter.

"So you will," said Dolly; "for besides your business,

you're always going out preaching to children."

"Not always, Dolly, or poor Christina would see nothing

at all of me."

He seated himself by his wife, and began playing with

her knitting ball.

She removed it from his fidgety fingers smilingly, and

said, "Yes, life is busy to us all, isn't it, Nellie?"

"Yes," answered Nellie, "very; but I for one am not quite

so busy as I used to be."

"And I am more busy than I ever was," said Christina.

"Of course with those 'blessed infants,'" said Arthur.

"You know you love them dearly, Arthur," said Netta.

"You do?"
 "I don't pretend to deny it," she answered.

"Oh, well.—When is tea coming, Nellie?"

"In a few minutes. You are hungry, I suppose."

"Don't you think six miles has earned an early tea?"

"I will ring; but you know the water doesn't boil till
five."

She laughed; and when the little maid came, she

suggested that all had come back hungry.

"I'll see 'm; I'll tell misses, 'm. The kettle do nearly boil,
'm."

After tea, most of the young party proposed to go to

meet Dr. Arundel.

Nellie said she was rather tired, and would sit in the
garden instead, and bear Tom company.

Tom, however, felt chilly, and soon wheeled himself into

the sitting-room, which was particularly convenient, as the
French door opened to the garden without a step of any
kind.

He begged Nellie to sit out in the air as long as she felt

inclined, as he should be reading to himself; so she sat on,
thinking them rather a long time gone. When at last she
heard their voices returning, she was surprised to find that
they passed the house, and continued their way along the
walk by the sea.

But the gate swung to, and Dolly's little feet ran lightly
up the path, then through the house and into the garden,
and paused by her side.

"They have taken papa a little walk, Nellie, and I've

come to tell you so, and to say that there's a friend come
down with papa from London, and I was to tell you so."

"A friend? Who, dear?"

"He's coming in; he doesn't want to go for a walk. He's

just outside, Nellie."

She hastened away, having discharged Walter's

message most faithfully; and only waiting to lead their
visitor through the room to the French door, she hurried
back after the others, and left him to make his own
introduction.

He advanced over the soft little lawn to where Nellie

was standing, waiting and wondering.

As he came nearer in the half-light, she failed to

recognize the stranger; but something in the sound of his
step made her heart give a strange leap.

He came closer and held out his hand.

"Do you not remember me, Miss Arundel?"

"Mr. Elliot!" exclaimed Nellie.

"I have come back," he said, still clasping her hand in

both his; "and I want to know if you can forgive me for
going away and leaving you all these years?"

"I have nothing to forgive," answered Nellie, trembling

violently, and sitting down.
 "I am afraid you have. Such hard, bitter thoughts at
first. Such a hurry to go and leave you, and try to forget
you. But after a while I came to better feelings."

Nellie bent her head lower, but knew not what to say.

"But I have come back, Nellie. I may call you Nellie

now, may I not? I have waited a long time, and I have
come to ask again. Can you tell me now whether, as I have
loved you so long, you can love me?"

"I did not mean to be unkind then," she said softly.

"I am sure you did not. Come, Nellie, it has been such a
long weary time; can you not make me happy at last?"

"I will try to," she said, whispering low.

And then Wilmot knew that he had obtained his heart's

desire.

LONDON:

JOHN F. SHAW AND CO., PATERNOSTER ROW.