THE RETURN.
"I am very thankful that I have seen my poor Sophy," said Norah Peele,
as she stood with Persis by the high road, waiting for the coach which
would take them back to the village. "But oh! Miss Meade, even if Sophy
have the comfort of religion, if she have hope in the forgiveness
and loving-kindness of God, what a dreary, dreary look out she has
as regards this life! Why," continued Norah, quite appalled at the
prospect, "she may have forty, fifty, sixty years of blindness in the
workhouse before her, she who was so blithe and so busy. How dreadfully
dull she will be! How heavily time will hang on her hands!"
"I have been thinking of that," replied Persis, while the two walked
briskly up and down to keep themselves warm. "I remember that Mrs. Lane
(I taught her children, you know), took great interest in a London
asylum for the blind. In this asylum they are taught many useful arts
by which they can earn an honest livelihood, notwithstanding their sad
affliction."
"Oh! If we could but get Sophy there!" cried Norah. "She is so quick,
so clever, so neat-fingered, she would learn if any one could!"
"I will go to Mrs. Lane to-morrow," said Persis, "and see if she be
able to help us. I believe that Mr. Lane is a liberal subscriber, and I
can answer for the kindness of his lady."
"How delightful it would be!" exclaimed Norah. "Why, why did you not
cheer poor Sophy with the hope?"
"Because it is a very uncertain one," replied Persis, "and I feared to
cause disappointment. Do you sleep at your mother's cottage to-night,
dear Norah?"
"Oh, no! I never sleep away from Mrs. Martin's; I must be back to-night
without fail."
"But the coach does not go on to your town, you'll have a three miles'
walk in the dark."
"Oh! Uncle has arranged all so nicely. He is to meet us at the turn of
the lane where the coach sets us down, first see you home, it is but a
step, and then walk with me back to my mistress's house. I am afraid of
nothing when he is beside me; he is a sailor you know, and has fought
for the Queen."
"I hope that he will not fail you," said Persis, with a little anxiety
for her youthful companion; "there is no moon, and the nights are so
dark."
"Uncle Ned fail me!" repeated Norah, with indignant surprise. "Why, he
promised to come, and he never breaks his word; I would not doubt him
for a moment!"
"Would that we," thought Persis, "had the same perfect, fearless
confidence in a Heavenly Friend that this dear girl has in an earthly!
Her mind is at rest, for she trusts his promise; she has no fear, for
she is sure that he will not fail her; while we, alas! are too apt to
receive God's promises in a faithless, doubting spirit, as if He who is
the Truth could deceive, or He who is Love could forsake!"
The tramping of horses feet was now heard, and two coach lamps, which
to Norah looked like great red eyes in the darkness, came towards them
along the high road. Persis and Norah were soon in the vehicle, which
landed them at the end of the lane leading down to the wooded little
dell.
"There's Uncle Ned—don't you see him by the light of the lamp? I knew
he would be waiting for us!" cried Norah.
"Glad to hail you back from your cruise Norah," said the sailor, as
the young girl with the help of his hand, sprang lightly down from the
coach. "And hearty thanks to you for your kindness in convoying her,"
he added, holding out his arm to assist Persis Meade to alight.
The home of Persis was not many yards distant; Ned and his niece
escorted her to the porch, where they parted, after Norah had expressed
her grateful thanks to her friend.
"You will come to your mother's now, my girl," said Franks, "and warm
yourself with a good cup of tea before we start on our walk to the
town?"
"I should be so glad," replied Norah, whose feet and hands were numbed
with the cold, and who dearly loved a visit to her own humble home;
"but is not our cottage out of the way?"
"Ay, it lies a good bit to the south," answered Ned, "'twill take us
nigh a mile round."
"Then I don't know—I'm not sure whether I ought to go there," said the
hesitating girl. "Mistress only gave me leave to visit the workhouse,
she bade me be back as soon as possible; and though Mrs. Cobb (she's
the charwoman, you know), can make the tea, and clear away, she cannot
read in the evening, and my lady will be all alone."
"That's right, Norah, think first of duty; always show yourself worthy
of your mistress's trust."
"But if my mother should expect me—"
"You gave her no reason to do so," said Ned, "and three days will bring
round the first Monday in the month, when you always get leave to come
home. So let's sheer off at once, my girl, and try if brisk walking
will not warm you as well as a cup of hot tea."
"I may look out for squalls for this, when next I see Bessy," thought
the sailor; "but no matter, all will have blown over before Norah comes
home on Monday."
Notwithstanding the darkness and the cold, North did not find her walk
tedious as she tripped by her uncle's side. Her heart was very full
of the sorrows of Sophy, and she was glad to speak of her to one who
listened with interest, and who did not break out into abuse of the
miserable girl, as it was more than probable that Bessy and Dan would
have done. It was not in the nature of Franks to spurn the fallen; and
he knew the evil of his nature too well to cast the first stone at
others.
"Oh! Uncle, it made my heart bleed to see Sophy sitting there so
wretched, so hopeless; she who had always been so full of bright
expectations! She used to build such castles in the air when she and I
sat gossipping together. Oh I to think of those days!" sighed Norah.
"Poor Sophy seemed really to hope that she would be a lady at last;
she delighted to fancy what she would do, and how she would dress, and
where she would go, and what grand friends she would have! It was so
amusing to hear her, and she talked of such things till I almost think
that she began to believe that all would really come true. Alas! What
an end to her hopes!"
"A very common end to such hopes," observed Franks; "they are like
the garlands which such young lasses twine for their heads in May;
gay enough in the morning, withered and dying in the evening, flung
away at night. We need something stronger and more lasting, Norah, to
cover the head in the long, hard battle of life. We want 'a hope' that
'maketh not ashamed.' * It is only religion that can give it; it is the
Christian alone that can wear 'for a helmet the hope of salvation.'"
* Rom. v. 5.