A NEW PHASE OF FEELING.
THE next morning after the arrival of Mose, as Hesper was at work in
her chamber, there came a light tap at the door.
“Come in,” she said, and Mose entered.
“Hesper,” he said, as he took a seat by her side, “there was one thing
that I did not have an opportunity to speak to you about last night, so
I thought I would come to you this morning. When I was in Canton with
Harry, we often sat down together, and talked about home folks. The
poor fellow’s heart yearned sadly after his friends, and if he didn’t
think it would seem altogether too unmanly to leave such good business
as he is in at present, I don’t believe he would stay there another
day. He often mentioned you, for he said that of all his playmates,
there was not one who seemed nearer or dearer to him than you; and
then, Hesper, you must forgive me, but I couldn’t help telling him what
a patient, true-hearted sister you were: How thoughtful, industrious,
and”--
“Fie, Mose!” said Hesper, blushing deeply--“He must have thought you
wanted to recommend me.”
“Not by any means! for it was altogether unnecessary, as he thought
full enough of you already. I let him read all your letters.”
“Why, Mose! I wouldn’t have thought it! I only wrote them for you, and
they weren’t fit for any one else to see.”
“Harry thought they were, though, for he read them again and again,
and then he asked me if I supposed you would be willing to write such
letters to him. He said he was often very lonely so far away from home,
and sometimes discouraged, but if he could be expecting such pleasant
little messengers from you, it would put new life into his heart and
strength into his hands, and he could be more content to remain there,
so long as duty or necessity demanded. I told him I had no doubt you
would be willing, for you were always glad to do anything that would
make another happy. More than that, Hesper, I will say, that although
Harry is one of the kindest, best hearted fellows in the world, yet he
isn’t what he should be. I love him as I do an own brother, but then
I saw that he was easily led into temptation, and liked a good time a
little too well. Now this would be precisely the reason why some people
would advise you not to write him, but I don’t think so.”
“No, no;” said Hesper. “It’s love, not hatred, that calls back the
erring, and I should be the last one to turn away from Harry in such a
case.”
“He isn’t a bad fellow by any means,” said Mose--“only inclined to be
wild and thoughtless. You can have more influence with him than any
one, Hesper, and therefore I say write to him by all means, for there
is no knowing what dangers your kind and encouraging words may save him
from.”
“I will, most certainly,” replied Hesper, earnestly--“But, then,” she
added with some hesitation, “I don’t know how to begin. I would much
rather he should write to me first.”
“Which he has done,” said Mose, as he drew a small package from his
pocket and tossed it into her lap. “He gave me that, the day I left,
and as he put it into my hand, he said--’Mose speak a good word for me
to your sweet sister, for though I am sometimes wrong in head, yet I’m
true at heart, and shall remain so, if Hesper will consent to be my
guiding star.”
There was a somewhat nervous movement to Hesper’s fingers as she
attempted to untie the string. As the knot did not yield readily, she
clipped it at once with her scissors--tore off the wrapper in haste,
and there was a letter and another likeness of Harry.
“Now,” said Mose, as he rose from his seat, “I will leave you to your
own reflections, but let me suggest, that if you answer that letter,
you must do so soon, for the next mail starts in the course of a few
days.”
Scarcely had Mose left the room, when Hesper commenced reading her
letter, and we shall consider it no betrayal of confidence, if we give
an exact copy.
“MY DEAR LITTLE WIFE:
For so I must ever call you. It seems very awkward, at first, to think
of writing to you, but I feel that I must, for my heart is very full,
and I wish to awaken an answering spirit in return. The sight of your
brother Mose, and the long conversations we have had together about
home, has made me almost wish to be a boy again, and to wander hand
in hand with you over my native hills once more. It is nearly three
years now since we parted, and time must have made some important
changes in us both, but I hope it has not touched the blessed affection
of our childhood. You are in your eighteenth year now, and I in my
twenty-third, therefore we cannot think of each other precisely as we
did. I am no longer the wild, careless boy, who ran races with Bose
along the seashore, or climbed the hickory trees to shake down the
ripened nuts for you. Neither are you now, the little round faced girl
whom I so often dragged to school on my sled, or carried over the brook
in my arms, when it was so swollen as to overflow the stepping-stones.
We loved each other very much then--as much as if we were brother and
sister, but I do not want you to think of me as a brother now. The
morning I parted from you on the wharf, you threw your arms about my
neck, kissing me again and again, as the tears streamed down your rosy
cheeks. I said to you--be my good “little wife” till I come back, and
then you shall be my wife in reality. You only answered, as you clasped
your arms still more closely--’O Harry! Harry! How much I shall miss
you!’
After the boat reached the ship, I took the glass, and looking out, I
saw that same little girl standing upon the cap-log of the wharf, with
her hands shading her eyes, and gazing earnestly towards the ship. Bless
her dear good heart! I said to myself, there is not one who thinks more
of me than she, and I was glad to know that I should be remembered
by one so faithful and true. I have seen some hard experience since
then--have fallen into various temptations and done many wrong things,
for I grew careless and forgetful. But when Mose came, and I read your
letters, so tender, so thoughtful and kind, I longed to be good again,
and to have you write such letters to me, only do not write as if I were
your brother. O no: Hesper. We are what may be called a young man and
woman now, therefore I would have you love me with a different love,
which shall grow broader and deeper as time rolls on, and at length
unite our hearts as one forever. Hesper, if you will be my guiding
star, I shall learn to love all that is high, and noble, and worthy. I
shall have something certain to love and labor for, and something to
remind me of God and holy things in this heathenish land. Perhaps you
think that you are yet too young to turn your mind to such things; but
no, Hesper, you are plenty old enough to know whether you can love your
old companion more than as a brother; old enough too to think of the
new relations and responsibilities which life may bring, and to prepare
for them gradually. You can do me much good if you will, Hesper, for
there is nothing awakens a young man’s better feelings more effectually,
however wayward he may be, than to know that a true hearted, pure minded
woman loves him, prays for him, and is willing to trust her happiness to
him.
In two years more I shall be home again--’Home again!’ How those words
make my heart throb and dim my eyes as I write them! Then, as I clasp
your hand in mine, and look upon your well remembered face once more,
may it not be with the thought that I am never to be parted from you
again? O Hesper! do not take away this great and pleasant hope from me,
but write to me words of strength and encouragement, and both God and
my own heart shall bless you. Write to me soon, for I shall wait most
anxiously to hear from you.
Yours truly,
HARRY.”
Hesper read this letter with a throbbing heart and tearful eyes, and
when she had finished it, she laid her face upon the table and wept
freely.
“Why!” she said at length, as she brushed away her tears, “there was
nothing in that letter to make me weep! How foolish I am!” With an
effort at self-control she arose and walked the floor a few moments,
then, observing the miniature, she took it and looked at it long
and thoughtfully. Her face gradually assumed a serene and beautiful
expression, and at length, seemingly unconscious of what she did, she
pressed the likeness to her lips.
“What is that, Hesper?” said her mother, who had entered unheard, and
stood close behind her.
Hesper turned and blushed, but the next moment she threw her arms
around her mother’s neck, and laid her head on her bosom.
“O mother!” she said, “I am glad you have come, for I am almost
bewildered, and need you to think for me. There is one who is trying to
steal your daughter’s heart from you, and perhaps you have come in just
the right time to prevent it.”
“That, I am sure I shall not do,” replied her mother, “if it only
goes in the right direction, for I have seen enough of my daughter’s
heart, to know that it can contain all her affection for me, and a much
greater love beside.”
Hesper placed a chair for her mother, and then read the letter aloud.
There was a troubled expression to Mrs. Greyson’s face, but she did not
allow her daughter to perceive it.
“And now, what shall I do, mother?” said Hesper, as she concluded.
“Let your own heart answer, dear child.”
“But its words are very uncertain. Advise me, dear mother! advise me!”
she added, entreatingly.
“Hesper,” said her mother, as she placed her hand beneath her
daughter’s chin, and looked her steadily in the eyes, “Do you think you
love Harry more than as a brother.”
“I--I think I could if I tried,” stammered Hesper, with a very honest
look.
“You do love him,” said her mother, “and therefore I say--use your love
and influence as far as possible for his good, and trust God for the
result. I cannot help dreading for you, my dear child, the experience
which such association and relationship bring, but it is all for the
best; for you would always be a child in heart and mind without it.
Go on and take your woman’s lot as it comes, for there is a good God
above, who ordereth all things well.”
“Mother! mother!” said Hesper, in a faltering tone, as she crept close
to the bosom of her sympathising parent, “I am afraid of life and what
lies before me, and wish I could die now. I cannot bear to think of
going away from you and father, to live with one who may be unkind and
neglectful towards me. I will write to Harry and tell him that I love
him very much, but I fear that I can never marry him.”
“That is childish,” said her mother, “and you will know that it is,
when you have had a wider experience. No, my dear child; take the cup
of life just as God mingles it, thanking Him not only for the sweet but
also for the bitter. Joy and sorrow is the common lot of all below,
and those who drink most willing of the draught as it comes, are best
prepared for a higher and holier life above.”