A HEART BLEEDING IN SECRET.
THERE was an unusually large wedding at the Grimsbys, to which full
half of the village was invited, and Hesper too was there, looking
more beautiful than any one had ever seen her before. She wore moss
rose-buds in her hair and upon her bosom, and her white dress, so
floating and airy, gave her a light, spiritual appearance, which
accorded well with the tender light in her eyes, and the serenity of
her pale countenance. When the youthful pair stood up side by side, for
the performance of the ceremony, Hesper felt the painful consciousness
that as many eyes were turned upon her, as on them. They were probing
the depths of her soul, to see how she bore her disappointment; but
that calm, sweet countenance, betrayed nothing of the deep emotion
within. Neither could the slightest affectation or insincerity be
detected in her manner, when, at the conclusion of the ceremony, she
went forward with others, to tender her congratulations and the kiss of
affection to the newly married pair. The time, however, passed wearily
to her, and feeling that she could not bear the scrutiny of curious
eyes much longer, she retired at an early hour.
Alone in her little chamber once more, the feeling of her desolation
came upon her with over-powering force. Still clothed in her wedding
garments, she sat by the open window, looking out through the branches
of the trees upon the distant landscape which lay so bright and
beautiful beneath the summer moonlight. She held her clasped hands over
her heart with a sensation of pain, and as the unnatural firmness to
which she had nerved herself gave way, the tears flowed freely down her
cheeks. Then she thought of that land of peace, “where they neither
marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in
heaven”--where “there is no more sorrow or crying, but where tears are
wiped from all faces.” Never before had she felt such a yearning to lay
down her earthly garment and leave the crushing cares of earth behind
forever.
“O, that I had wings like a dove, that I might flee away and be at
rest,” she exclaimed, as with tearful eyes she looked up to the
cloudless heavens. “Pitying Father, take thy poor heart-stricken child
to thyself!”
The air of the room seemed close and stifling to her. She longed to
be away upon the hill-tops or in the woods, where she had so often
wandered. Acting from the impulse of the moment, she threw her shawl
around her, and stealing gently down stairs, unbolted the door and
passed out. Neither knowing or caring whither she went, she pursued her
way with hurrying footsteps, till she came to the village grave-yard.
“O,” she murmured, as she threw open the little gate and entered the
enclosure, “ye calm, quiet sleepers, how sincerely do I wish that I
too was resting among you!” Then she stopped suddenly, and pressed her
hands to her forehead.
“How is it,” she added, in a calmer tone, “am I beside myself, that
at midnight I come hither with such wishes upon my lips, because a
selfish sorrow has taken possession of my heart? Have I not parents and
friends, and all the world to live for? and was life given us only to
seek out our individual interests, independent of all beside? O, what a
poor, miserable sinner I am!”
Weeping most sincerely over her own weakness and folly, she passed on
till she came to the little marble tablet beneath which simple Johnny
lay buried. The sighing of the night winds through the willows that
grew near his grave, seemed like the soft whisperings of his angel
voice. She cast herself with her face downward upon the green mound
that covered the child’s resting place, and wept without restraint. How
long she remained thus she could not tell, for her very senses seemed
to pass away, and she lay there in a state of dreamy unconsciousness.
She only knew, that at last, a gentle hand was laid upon her, and some
one called her name. Raising her head, she beheld her mother close
beside her.
“My child! my poor dear child!” said her mother, “let me take you close
into my bosom, as I did when you were an infant, and comfort you with
my love.”
“Mother!” said Hesper, “how came you here?”
“I knew, poor child,” she replied, “that your heart was bleeding in
anguish, and therefore I could not sleep. I heard you when you went
forth, and followed you hither, waiting a little way off, till the
first gush of sorrow had passed, for I know by my own experience, that
at such moments it is better for the soul to be alone with its God.
O Hesper! my child! my child! I would to God I could have borne this
great grief for thee! but it might not be. I know also, that it was
well I could not shield thee from this chastening of His love. Bear up
beneath it bravely and patiently, my child, and in the end you shall
see that He ordereth all things well.”
“Yes, mother,” said Hesper, “take me close into your bosom, and let me
warm myself upon your loving heart, for greater than your daughter’s
sorrow, is a conscious sense of her own selfishness and sin. I thank
God in this hour of trial that you are yet spared to me--that I have
your faithful bosom to shed my tears upon. I have dared once in my
life, mother, to lay plans for my own future--to sketch a bright
picture in my imagination, all radiant with hopes of happiness and
selfish enjoyment, but I will do so no longer. The vision has passed,
and left me sadder but wiser. I thank God for it! and here now, upon
this sacred altar of your heart, do I pledge myself to live henceforth
only for the good of others. Strengthen me, mother, and pray for me,
lest my heart should fail me, for I am too weak to pray for myself.”
They knelt down upon the mound together, and the mother’s petition
went up through the solemn silence, beseeching most earnestly that a
blessing of strength and consolation might fall upon the heart of her
sorrowing child. Those two weak women, kneeling at midnight in that
lonely grave-yard, had angel guardians whose help was greater than that
of man, and the words of prayer that ascended from those trembling
lips, was answered by a blessing of peace, “such as the world can
neither give or take away.”