AN APPARITION
Mr. Ludolph had hoped to hear on his return that Dennis was dead. That
would end all difficulties. Mr. Schwartz did not know;--he was not at
last accounts. Ernst was summoned. With a bright, hopeful face he
stated that his mother had just received a letter saying Dennis was
a little better. He was much surprised at his employer's heavy frown.
"He will live," mused Mr. Ludolph; "and now shall I permit him to
return to my employ, or discharge him?"
His brow contracted in lines of thought that suggested shrewdness,
cunning, nothing manly, and warily he judged.
"If I do not take him, he will go to Mr. French with certainty. He had
better return, for then both he and Christine will be more thoroughly
under my surveillance.
"Curses on Christine's waywardness! There may be no resisting her, and
my best chance will be in managing him. This I could not do if he were
in the store of my rival;" and so for unconscious Dennis this
important question was decided.
At last, as we have said, his delirium ceased, and the quiet light of
reason came into his eyes. He looked at his mother and smiled, but was
too weak even to reach out his hand.
The doctor, coming in soon after, declared danger past, and that all
depended now on good nursing. Little fear of his wanting that!
"Ah, mine Gott be praised! mine Gott be praised!" exclaimed Mr. Bruder,
who had to leave the room to prevent an explosion of his grateful,
happy feelings that might have proved too rude a tempest for Dennis
in his weak state. He was next seen striding across the fields to a
neighboring grove, ejaculating as he went. When he returned his eyes
shone with a great peace and joy, and he had evidently been with Him
who had cast out the demon from his heart.
Day after day Dennis rallied. Unlike poor Christine, he had beneath
him the two strongest levers, love and prayer, and steadily they lifted
him up to health and strength and comparative peace. At last he was
able to sit up and walk about feebly, and Mr. Bruder returned rejoicing
to his family. As he wrung Dennis's hand at parting, he said, in rather
a hoarse voice: "If any von tell me Gott is not goot and heareth not
prayer, den I tell him he von grand heathen. Oh! but we vill velcome
you soon. Ve vill haf de grandest supper, de grandest songs, de
grandest--" but just here Mr. Bruder thought it prudent to pull his
big fur cap over his eyes, and make a rush for the stage.
As if by tacit understanding, Christine's name had not been mentioned
during Dennis's recovery. But one evening, after the little girls had
been put to bed, and the lamp shaded, he sat in the dimly lighted room,
looking fixedly for a long time at the glowing embers. His mother was
moving quietly about, putting away the tea-things, clearing up after
the children's play; but as she worked she furtively watched him. At
last coming to his side she pushed back the hair that seemed so dark
in contrast with the thin, white face and said, gently, "You are
thinking of Miss Ludolph, Dennis."
He had some blood yet, for that was not the glow of the fire that
suffused his cheek; but he only answered, quietly, "Yes, mother."
"Do you think you can forget her?"
"I don't know."
"Prayer is a mighty thing, my son."
"But perhaps it is not God's will that I should ever win her," said
Dennis, despondently.
"Then surely it is not yours, my child."
"No, mother," said Dennis, with bowed head and low tone, "but yet I
am human and weak."
"You would still wish that it were His will?"
"Yes; I could not help it."
"But you would submit?"
"Yes, with His help I would," firmly.
"That is sufficient, my boy; I have such confidence in God that I know
this matter will result in a way to secure you the greatest happiness
in the end."
But after a little time he sighed, wearily, "Yet how hard it is to
wait till the great plan is worked out!"
Solemnly she quoted-"God will render to every man according to his
deeds. To them who by patient continuance in well-doing seek for glory
and honor and immortality, eternal life."
Braced by the stirring words of inspiration, strengthened by his
mother's faith, he looked up after a moment and said, earnestly, "At
any rate I will try to be a _man in your sense of the word_, and that is
saying a great deal."
She beamed at him through her spectacles over her knitting-needles;
and he thought, as he gazed fondly at her, that in spite of her quaint,
old-fashioned garb, and homely occupation, she appeared more truly a
saint than any painted on cathedral windows.
He soon noticed that his mother had grown feeble, and he determined
to take her with him on his return, believing that, by his care, and
the wise use of tonics, he could restore her to her wonted strength.
His increased salary now justified the step.
Early in November his physician said he might return to business if
he would be prudent. He gladly availed himself of the permission, for
he longed to be employed again.
The clerks all welcomed him warmly, for his good-nature had disarmed
jealousy at his rapid rise. But in the greeting of Mr. Ludolph he
missed something of the cordiality he expected.
"Perhaps she has told him," thought he; and at once his own manner
became tinged with a certain coldness and dignity. He determined that
both father and daughter should think of him only with respect.
At the Bruders' the millennium came with Dennis. Metaphorically the
fatted calf was killed; their plain little room was trimmed with
evergreens, and when he entered he was greeted by such a jubilant,
triumphant chorus of welcomes as almost took away his breath. What
little he had left was suddenly squeezed out of him; for Mrs. Bruden,
dropping her frying-pan and dish-cloth, rushed upon him, exclaiming,
"Ah! mine fren! mine fren! De goot Gott be praised;" and she gave him
an embrace that made his bones ache.
Mr. Bruder stalked about the room repeating with explosive energy,
like minute-guns, "Praise Gott! Praise Gott!" Ernst, his great eyes
dimmed with happy tears, clung to Dennis's hand, as if he would make
sure, by sense of touch as well as sight, that he had regained his
beloved teacher. The little Bruders were equally jubilant, though from
rather mixed motives. Dennis's arrival was very well, but they could
not keep their round eyes long off the preparations for such a supper
as never before had blessed their brief career.
"Truly," thought Dennis, as he looked around upon the happy family,
and contrasted its appearance with that which it had presented when
he first saw it, "my small investment of kindness and effort in this
case has returned large interest. I think it pays to do good."
The evening was one of almost unmingled happiness, even to his sore,
disappointed heart, and passed into memory as among the sunniest places
of his life.
He found a pleasant little cottage over on the West side, part of which
he rented for his mother and sisters.
With Mr. Ludolph's permission he went after them, and installed them
in it. Thus he had what he had needed all along--a home, a resting-place
for body and soul, under the watchful eye of love.
About this time Dr. Arten met him, stared a moment, then clapped him
on the back in his hearty way, saying, "Well, well, young man! you
have cause to be thankful, and not to the doctors, either."
"I think I am," said Dennis, smiling.
Suddenly the doctor looked grave, and asked in a stern voice, "Are you
a heathen, or a good Christian?"
"I hope not the former," replied Dennis, a little startled.
"Then don't go and commit suicide again. Don't you know flesh and blood
can only stand so much? When an intelligent young fellow like you goes
beyond that, he is committing suicide. Bless your soul, my ambitious
friend, the ten commandments ain't all the law of God. His laws are
also written all over this long body of yours, and you came near paying
a pretty penalty for breaking them. You won't get off the second time."
"You are right, doctor; I now see that I acted very wrongly."
"'Bring forth fruits meet for repentance.' I am rich enough to give
sound advice," said the brusque old physician, passing on.
"Stop a moment, doctor," cried Dennis, "I want you to see my mother."
"What is the matter with her? She been breaking the commandments, too?"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Dennis. "She is not a bit of a heathen."
"I am not so sure about that. I know many eminent saints in the church
who will eat lobster salad for supper, and then send for the doctor
and minister before morning. There is a precious twaddle about
'mysterious Providence.' Providence isn't half so mysterious as people
make out. The doctor is expected to look serious and sympathetic, and
call their law-breaking and its penalty by some outlandish Latin name
that no one can understand. I give 'em the square truth, and tell 'em
they've been breaking the commandments."
Dennis could not forbear smiling at the doctor's rough handling of
humbug, even in one of its most respectable guises. Then, remembering
his mother, he added, gravely: "I am truly anxious about my mother,
she has grown so feeble. I want, and yet dread, the truth."
The bantering manner of the good old doctor changed at once, and he
said, kindly, "I'll come, my boy, within a few days, though I am nearly
run off my feet."
He went off, muttering, "Why don't the people send for some of the
youngsters that sit kicking up their heels in their offices all day?"
Dennis soon fell into the routine of work and rapidly grew stronger.
But his face had acquired a gravity, a something in expression that
only experience gives, which made him appear older by ten years. All
trace of the boy had gone, and his countenance was now that of the
man, and of one who had suffered.
As soon as he recovered sufficient strength to act with decision, he
indignantly tried to banish Christine's image from his memory. But he
found this impossible. Though at times his eyes would flash, in view
of her treatment, they would soon grow gentle and tender, and he found
himself excusing and extenuating, by the most special pleadings, that
which he had justly condemned.
One evening his mother startled him out of a long revery, in which he
had almost vindicated Christine, by saying, "A very pleasant smile has
been gradually dawning on your face, my son."
"Mother," replied he, hesitatingly, "perhaps I have judged Miss Ludolph
harshly."
"Your love, not your reason, has evidently been pleading for her."
"Well, mother, I suppose you are right."
"So I suppose the Divine love pleads for the weak and sinful," said
Mrs. Fleet, dreamily.
"That is a very pleasant thought, mother, for sometimes it seems that
my love could make black white."
"That the Divine love has done, but at infinite cost to itself."
"Oh that my love at any cost to itself could lead her into the new
life of the believer!" said Dennis, in a low, earnest tone.
"Your love is like the Divine in being unselfish, but remember the
vital differences and take heed. God _can_ change the nature of the
imperfect creature that He loves. You cannot. His love is infinite
in its strength and patience. You are human. The proud, selfish,
unbelieving Miss Ludolph (pardon mother's plain words) could not make
you happy. To the degree that you were loyal to God, you would be
unhappy, and I should surely dread such a union. The whole tone of
your moral character would have to be greatly lowered to permit even
peace."
"But, mother," said Dennis, almost impatiently, "in view of my
unconquerable love, it is nearly the same as if I were married to her
now."
"No, my son, I think not. I know your pretty theory on this subject,
but it seems more pretty than true. Marriage makes a vital difference.
It is the closest union that we can voluntarily form on earth, and is
the emblem of the spiritual oneness of the believer's soul with Christ.
We may be led through circumstances, as you have been, to love one
with whom we should not form such a union. Indeed, in the true and
mystic meaning of the rite, you could not marry Christine Ludolph. The
Bible declares that man and wife shall be one. Unless she changes,
unless you change (and that God forbid), this could not be. You would
be divided, separated in the deepest essentials of your life here, and
in every respect hereafter. Again, while God loves every sinful man
and woman, He does not take them to His heart till they cry out to Him
for strength to abandon the destroying evil He hates. There are
no unchanged, unrenewed hearts in heaven."
"Oh, mother, how inexorable is your logic!" said Dennis, breathing
heavily.
"Truth in the end is ever more merciful than falsehood," she answered,
gently.
After a little, he said, with a heavy sigh, "Mother, you are right,
and I am very weak and foolish."
She looked at him with unutterable tenderness. She could not crush out
all hope, and so whispered, as before: "Prayer is mighty, my child.
It is not wrong for you to love. It is your duty, as well as privilege,
to pray for her. Trust your Heavenly Father, do His will, and He will
solve this question in the very best way."
Dennis turned to his mother in sudden and passionate earnestness, and
said: "Your prayers are mighty, mother, I truly believe. Oh, pray
for her--for my sake as well as hers. Looking from the human side, I am
hopeless. It is only God's almighty power that can make us, as you
say, truly one. I fear that now she is only a heartless, fashionable
girl. Yet, if she is only this, I do not see how I came to love her
as I do. But my trust now is in your prayers to God."
"And in your own also: the great Father loves you, too, my son. If He
chooses that the dross in her character should be burned away, and
your two lives fused, there are in His providence just the fiery trials,
just the circumstances that will bring it about." (Was she unconsciously
uttering a prophecy?) "The crucible of affliction, the test of some
great emergency, will often develop a seemingly weak and frivolous
girl into noble life, where there is real gold of latent worth to be
acted on."
"Christine Ludolph is anything but weak and frivolous," said he. "Her
character is strong, and I think most decided in its present bent. But
as you say, if the Divine Alchemist wills it, He can change even the
dross to gold, and turn unbelief to faith."
Hope, Christine! There is light coming, though as yet you cannot see
it. There are angels of mercy flying toward you, though you cannot
hear the rustle of their wings. The dark curtain of death and despair
can never shut down upon a life linked to heaven by such true, strong
prayer. And yet the logical results of wrong-doing will work themselves
out, sin must be punished and faith sorely tried.
Dennis heard incidentally that Christine was absent on a visit to New
York, but he knew nothing of the time of her return.
He now bent himself steadily and resolutely to the mastering of his
business, and under Mr. Bruder's direction resumed his art studies,
though now in such moderation as Dr. Arten would commend.
He also entered on an artistic effort that would tax his powers and
genius to the very utmost, of which more anon.
By the time Christine returned, he was quite himself again, though
much paler and thinner than when he first entered the store.
After Christine had been at home nearly a week, her father, to rouse
her out of her listlessness, said one morning: "We have recently
received quite a remarkable painting from Europe. You will find it in
the upper show-room, and had better come down to-day to see it, for
it may be sold soon. I think you would like to copy one or two figures
in it."
The lassitude from her New York dissipation was passing away, and her
active nature beginning to assert itself again. She started up and
said, "Wait five minutes and I will get sketching materials and go
down with you."
By reason of her interdict, made at West Point, so earnestly, and
indeed fiercely, and confirmed by her manner, her father had never
mentioned the name of Dennis Fleet. The very fact that no one had
spoken of him since that dreadful day when tidings came in on every
side that he could not live was confirmation in her mind that he was
dead.
She dreaded going to the store, especially for the first time, for
everything would irresistibly remind her of him whom she could not
think of now without a pang. But as the ordeal must come, why, the
sooner it was over the better. So a few moments later her hand was on
her father's arm, and they were on their way to the Art Building as
in happier days.
Mr. Ludolph went to his office, and Christine, looking neither to the
right nor to the left, ascended to the upper show-room, and at once
sought to engage every faculty in making the sketch her father had
suggested. Since Dennis was not, as she believed, either on the earth
or elsewhere, she tried to take up life again as it had been before
he came, and to act as if he had never been.
Hopeless task! In that familiar place, where they had begun the
rearrangement of the store, everything spoke of him. She saw his glowing
cheeks; again his dark, eager eyes followed her every movement and
interpreted her wishes even before she could speak. Some of the pictures
on the walls his hands had handled, and in her strong fancy his lithe
form seemed moving the ladder to take them down again, while she, with
heart and mind at rest, looked with growing curiosity and interest on
her humble helper.
What changes had occurred within a short half-year! She shuddered at
the thought that one who was then so instinct with life and happiness
could now be dust and nothingness, and she the cause.
Association and conscience were again too powerful. She was becoming
nervous and full of a strange unrest, so she concluded to finish her
sketch at another time. As she was gathering up her materials she heard
some one enter the room.
She was in such a morbid, unstrung state that the least thing startled
her. But imagine if you can her wonder and terror as she saw Dennis
Fleet--the dead and buried, as she fully believed--enter, carrying a
picture as of old, and looking as of old, save that he was paler and
thinner. Was it an apparition? or, as she had read, had she dwelt so
long on this trouble that her mind and imagination were becoming
disordered and able to place their wild creations before her as
realities?
Her sketching materials fell clattering to the floor, and after one
sharp exclamation of alarm she stood as if transfixed, with parted
lips and dilated eyes, panting like a frightened bird.
If a sculptor had wished to portray the form and attitude of one
startled by the supernatural, never could he have found a more fitting
model than Christine at this moment.
As she had been seated a little on one side Dennis had not seen her
at first; but, on recognizing her so unexpectedly, he was scarcely
less startled than she, and the valuable picture he was carrying nearly
met sudden destruction. But he had no such reason as Christine for the
continuance of his surprise, and, at once recovering himself, he set
the picture against the wall.
This made the illusion still more strange and terrible to Christine.
There was the dead before her, doing just as she had been
imagining--just what he had done at her bidding months before.
Dennis was greatly puzzled by her look of alarm and distress. Then he
thought that perhaps she feared he would break out in bitter and angry
invectives again, and he advanced toward her to assure her of the
contrary.
Slowly and instinctively she retreated and put up her hands with a
deprecatory gesture.
"She cannot endure the sight of me," thought he, but at once he said,
with dignified courtesy: "Miss Ludolph, you have nothing to fear from
me, that you should regard me in that manner. You need not shrink as
if from contagion. We can treat each other as courteous strangers, at
least."
"I--I--I--thought you were dead!" she gasped, in a loud whisper.
Dennis's cheek grew paler than it had been in all his sickness, and
then as suddenly became dark with anger. His eyes were terrible in
their indignation as he advanced a few paces almost fiercely. She
trembled violently and shrunk further away.
"You thought I was dead?" he asked, sternly.
"Ye-e-s," in the same unnatural whisper.
"What!" he exclaimed, in short and bitter emphasis, "do you mean to
say that you never cared even to ask whether I lived or died in my
long, weary illness?--that you were so supremely indifferent to my
fate that you could not articulate one sentence of inquiry? Surely
this is the very sublimity of heartlessness; this is to be callous
beyond one's power of imagination. It seems to me that I would feel
as much interest as that in any human being I had once known. If even
a dog had licked my hand in good-will, and afterward I had seen it,
wounded or sick, creep off into covert, the next time I passed that
way I would step aside to see whether the poor creature had lived or
died. But after all the wealth of affection that I lavished upon you,
after toiling and almost dying in my vain effort to touch your marble
heart, you have not even the humanity to ask if I am above ground!"
The illusion had now passed from Christine's mind, and with it her
alarm. The true state of the case was rapidly dawning upon her, and
she was about to speak eagerly; but in his strong indignation he
continued, impetuously: "You thought I was dead! The wish probably was
father to the thought. My presumption deserved no better fate. But
permit me to tell you, though all unbidden, I did not die. With God's
blessing I expect to live to a good old age, and intend that but few
years shall pass before my name is as well known and honored as the
ancient one of Ludolph;" and he turned on his heel and strode from the
room.