WHEN the offer of Mr. Walker's cottage was made known in the family,
there was a passive acquiescence in the change on the part of all
but Aunt Grace. Her pride was aroused.
"It's very kind in Mr. Willet," she said--"very kind, but scarcely
delicate under the circumstances."
"Why not delicate?" inquired Mr. Markland.
"Did they think we were going into that little pigeon-box, just
under the shadow of Woodbine Lodge. If we have to come down so low,
it will not be in this neighbourhood. There's too much pride in the
Markland blood for that!"
"We have but little to do with pride now," said Mrs. Markland.
Her husband sighed. The remark of his sister had quickened his
blood.
"It is the best we can do!" he remarked, sadly.
"Not by any means," said Grace. "There are other neighbourhoods than
this, and other houses to be obtained. Let us go from here; not
remain the observed of all curious observers--objects of remark and
pity!"
Her brother arose while she was speaking, and commenced walking the
room in a disturbed manner. The words of Grace had aroused his
slumbering pride.
"Rather let us do what is best under the circumstances," said Mrs.
Markland, in her quiet way. "People will have their own thoughts,
but these should never turn us from a right course."
"The sight of Woodbine Lodge will rebuke me daily," said Mr.
Markland.
"You cannot be happy in this neighbourhood." Grace spoke in her
emphatic way. "It is impossible!"
"I fear that it is even so," replied her brother.
"Then," said Mrs. Markland, in a firm voice, "we will go hence. I
place nothing against the happiness of my husband. If the sight of
our old home is to trouble him daily, we will put mountains between,
if necessary."
Markland turned toward his wife. She had never looked more beautiful
in his eye.
"Is self-negation to be all on her part?" The thought, flashing
through his mind, changed the current of his feelings, and gave him
truer perceptions.
"No, Agnes," he said, while a faint smile played around his lips,
"we will not put mountains between us and this neighbourhood. Pride
is a poor counsellor, and they who take heed to her words, sow the
seeds of repentance. In reverse of fortune, we stand not alone.
Thousands have walked this rugged road before us; and shall we
falter, and look weakly back?"
"Not so, Edward!" returned his wife, with enthusiasm; "we will
neither falter nor look back. Our good and evil are often made by
contrasts. We shall not find the way rugged, unless we compare it
too closely with other ways our feet have trodden, and sigh vainly
over the past, instead of accepting the good that is awarded us in
the present. Let us first make the 'rough paths of peevish nature
even,' and the way will be smooth to our feet."
"You will never be happy in this neighbourhood, Edward," said his
sister, sharply; for she saw that the pride her words had awakened
was dying out.
"If he is not happy here, change of place will work no difference."
Mrs. Markland spoke earnestly.
"Why not?" was the quick interrogation of Grace.
"Because happiness is rarely, if ever, produced by a change of
external relations. We must have within us the elements of
happiness; and then the heart's sunshine will lie across our
threshold, whether it be of palace or cottage."
"Truer words were never spoken," said Mr. Markland, "and I feel
their better meaning. No, Agnes, we will not go out from this
pleasant neighbourhood, nor from among those we have proved to be
friends. If Woodbine Lodge ever looks upon me rebukingly, I will try
to acknowledge the justice of the rebuke. I will accept Mr. Willet's
kind offer to-morrow. But what have you to say, Fanny?" Mr. Markland
now turned to his daughter, who had not ventured a word on the
subject, though she had listened with apparent interest to the
conference. "Shall we take Mr. Walker's cottage?"
"Your judgment must decide that, father," was answered.
"But have you no choice in the case, Fanny? We can remove into the
city, or go into some other neighbourhood."
"I will be as happy here as anywhere. Do as seems best, father."
A silence, made in a measure oppressive by Fanny's apparent
indifference to all change, followed. Before other words were spoke,
Aunt Grace withdrew in a manner that showed a mind disturbed. The
conference in regard to the cottage was again resumed, and ended in
the cheerful conclusion that it would afford them the pleasantest
home, in their changed circumstances, of any that it was possible
for them to procure.