she could do to keep back the tears that started to her eyes, as the
sad realization that she had no longer a home came back to her. Edwin,
however, had happily exhausted his stock of conversation for the
present, and Lucy did not try to renew it.
After driving, as it seemed to her, an interminably long way, they
stopped opposite a tall stone house, one of a row all just alike, and
looking very monotonous and sombre to Lucy's eyes, accustomed to the
variety of the Ashleigh houses.
Light gleamed already through the hall-door, which was speedily
opened; and the next moment Stella, looking as pretty as ever, rushed
down the wide staircase, and met her cousin with an affectionate
embrace.
"Mamma, here's Lucy," she said as she led the way up the staircase. At
its head stood a lady, who reminded Lucy strongly of the pictures of
her dear mother, except that there was the difference of expression
between a worldly and an unworldly character. Mrs. Brooke never had
had--perhaps now never could have--the pure spiritual beauty which had
been Mrs. Raymond's chief charm; but she was a graceful,
stylish-looking woman, rather languid and unenergetic in appearance,
as she was in character. Her kiss was affectionate, as she told Lucy
that she was very glad to see her, and that she reminded her a little
of her poor mother; "though you're much more like your papa," she
added.
"And here are Ada and Sophy, just in time," exclaimed Stella, as two
young ladies, very fashionably attired in walking dress, ascended the
stairs and were duly introduced. Ada, who was the smaller of the two,
resembled her mother and Stella, with all their softness and winning
grace of manner. Sophy was a tall, handsome girl, with a somewhat
haughty air, and her greeting was colder and more dignified. She
suggested that Stella should take her cousin at once to her room,
saying she should think Lucy would wish to rest for awhile before
dinner,--a proposal to which she was only too glad to accede, feeling
somewhat uncomfortable in the heavy travelling attire, which was such
a contrast to her cousins' elegant dresses.
Stella led the way to a room much larger and more handsomely furnished
than Lucy's old one at home, though it all looked so strange and
unfamiliar, that she wondered whether it would ever seem home to her.
Stella showed her all its conveniences and arrangements for her
comfort, and then observed, "But you're not to have it all to
yourself;" which Lucy heard with some disappointment, for she had been
always accustomed at home to have a room to herself, and hoped to have
one still.
"Amy's to sleep with you, and I think you'll like her. She's a good
little thing, though she's not a bit pretty; and she's named after
your mamma, you know, who was my Aunt Amy. It sounds odd, doesn't it?
Ada and I sleep together, because we get on best; and Sophy can't be
troubled with a child sleeping with her, especially as Amy is
delicate, and sometimes restless at night. Do you think you'll mind
having her?"
"Oh no!" said Lucy, somewhat relieved. "I always used to think I
should like to have a little sister of my own."
"Here she is, to speak for herself," said Stella, as the door opened,
and a fragile-looking little girl of about seven timidly peeped in.
"Come in, Amy, and be introduced."
The child stole quietly in, encouraged by Lucy's smile, and held out
to her a hand so thin and tiny, that she thought she had never felt
anything like it before. Amy had fair hair and a colourless
complexion; but when the soft grey eyes looked up wistfully at Lucy,
and a sweet smile lighted up the pale face, her cousin thought Stella
hardly justified in calling her "not a bit pretty."
"So you're my little cousin Amy?" said Lucy, kissing her. "And you're
going to sleep with me and be my little sister, are you not?"
Amy nodded. She evidently had not Stella's flow of language.
"Shall I help you to unpack, Lucy?" interposed her loquacious cousin,
"or would you rather lie down and rest awhile?"
Lucy preferred the latter. She wanted to be alone; and as she was very
tired with the fatigue and excitement of the journey and arrival, it
is scarcely to be wondered at that, when she was left alone, she found
relief in a hearty fit of crying. However, she soon remembered she
could do something better than that, so she knelt to thank her
heavenly Father for His protecting care during her journey. She asked,
too, that as she was far away from all dear home friends and familiar
surroundings, she might be helped to love those around her now, and to
do her duty in her new circumstances.
Her heart was much lighter and calmer now, and she was nearly ready to
go down to dinner, when Stella came in to help her, and to insist on
arranging her hair in a new fashion she had lately learned, before
escorting her down to the dining-room. Lucy had dreaded a good deal
her introduction to her uncle, of whom she had not a very pleasant
impression. He was a brisk, shrewd-looking man, a great contrast to
his listless-looking son; and his manner, though patronizing, was not
ungenial, as Lucy had feared it would be, from his harsh opinions,
quoted by Stella, in regard to the poor. All the rest of the family
she had already seen, Edwin being the only son who had survived, and
on that account, probably, a good deal spoilt.
Lucy could not help noticing the very slight mourning worn by the
family, if indeed it could be called mourning at all. But even this
slight mark of respect would hardly have been accorded to Mr.
Raymond's memory, but for Lucy's coming among them in her deep
mourning. "People would notice, and it wouldn't look well," Sophy had
said; and this decided the question, though the girls grumbled a good
deal at the inconvenience of it, especially at a time of the year when
they were usually so gay, and wanted to wear colours. Stella was the
only one who did not object. She had imbibed a strong respect for her
uncle, and wore her black dress with a certain satisfaction, in the
feeling that she was doing honour to his memory.
There was a good deal of lively talk during dinner, almost
unintelligible, however, to Lucy, from her ignorance of the persons
and things talked about. The tone of conversation, however, was as
uncongenial as were the subjects. Edwin had a cynical air, partly
real, partly affected; and the girls' remarks were characterized by
the same sort of flippancy which had often jarred upon her in Stella.
After dinner Edwin disappeared, Mr. Brooke became absorbed in his
newspapers, Sophy was soon engrossed with a novel, and Ada and her
mother employed themselves in some very pretty worsted embroidery.
Lucy, of course, had no work as yet, and Stella resorted to her old
fashion of lounging about doing nothing in particular, except
talking. She expatiated largely, for Lucy's benefit, upon the classes
and masters in the fashionable school to which her cousin was to
accompany her, giving her various scraps of information respecting her
future classmates, with a list of their foibles and peculiarities
amusingly described, but rather wearisome to a stranger. Mrs. Brooke
questioned Lucy about her previous studies, looking doubtful when she
heard of Latin and mathematics, and saying she was afraid "she had
been made a little of a blue." At her aunt's request, she sat down at
the handsome piano, and rather nervously got through a simple air, the
only one she knew by heart. She felt she had not done herself justice,
and Stella said apologetically, "You know she never had any teacher
but Mrs. Steele, and she has no style."
Lucy's cheek flushed at the disparaging remark, but Mrs. Brooke only
said, "I hope you will play better than that, my dear, when you have
had Signor Goldoni for awhile. Do you sing?"
"Only hymns, aunt. We often sing them on Sundays at home."
"Well, if you have anything of a voice, you will soon do better than
that. Any one can sing hymns."
Lucy made no reply, but she privately thought that very few could sing
them like her Aunt Mary. Then, recollecting that Stella had told her
how well Sophy played and sang, she turned rather timidly to her with
the request, "Won't you sing, Cousin Sophy?"
"Do, Sophy," added her mother and Stella, both at once.
But Sophy, reclining in a luxurious easy-chair near the fire, and
absorbed in a sensational novel, was too comfortable to think of
moving.
"I really can't just now," she said rather coldly. "I'm tired, and I'm
just at the most interesting place in this book."
"Sophy never will sing to please any one but herself and--_some_
people," said Stella mischievously. "And then, sometimes, if she takes
the notion, there's no stopping her. Now, if a certain person I know
were here--"
Ada laughed. Sophy just said haughtily, "I'll be much obliged to you,
Stella, not to disturb me;" at which Stella, with mock gravity, put
her finger on her lip.
"Well, I am tired," Mrs. Brooke at last said, rising; "and I am sure
Lucy must be so too. Lucy, I advise you to go to bed at once; and,
Stella, don't stay in your cousin's room talking, and don't wake Amy,
if she is asleep."
It seemed very strange to Lucy that the family circle should break up
for the night without the united acknowledgment of the protecting
kindness which had carried them in safety through the day--without
invoking the same protecting care through the watches of the
night--without the acknowledgment of the sins of the day, and the
prayer for forgiveness, and the petitions for dear absent ones--to
which she had always been accustomed. It was plain that no custom of
the kind existed in Mr. Brooke's family.
Notwithstanding her mother's prohibition, Stella did linger long in
Lucy's room, chattering about one thing after another, Amy's wide-open
eyes watching them from her pillow. "I'm going just in a minute," she
would say, when Lucy reminded her of what her mother had said, and
then she would rush into some new subject. Lucy was tired, and was
longing to have a little quiet time to herself; but Stella, who was
undressing beside her, and would be in bed and asleep as soon as she
should go back to her own room, did not consider that.
"There's Stella chattering away yet," said Ada, as she and Sophy came
up-stairs. "Stella, how naughty of you to stay here so long, keeping
Lucy up!"
"I was just talking about two or three things," said Stella.
"I have no doubt of that," Sophy remarked; "but I'm sure Lucy would
prefer to have the conversation postponed till to-morrow."
Ada was examining the various little possessions of Lucy's, which were
already on the dressing-table. "Well, if she hasn't got her Bible out
already!" she exclaimed. "What a good child it is! Does it read it
every night?"
"I thought every one did," said Lucy simply, though her cheek flushed
at the tone of the remark.
Ada laughed, and Sophy smiled satirically, though she did not speak.
"Well, you are a simple little thing," said Ada. "When you've lived in
town for awhile you'll know better."
"Oh, they're all such good people in Ashleigh! I never knew I did so
many wicked things till I was there," said Stella.
Lucy looked pained, and Sophy interposed. "Well, you've shocked Lucy
enough for one night, and it's high time she and you too were in bed.
So come at once, Stella."
Ada and Stella kissed Lucy affectionately, as they followed Sophy out
of the room, and Lucy was left alone, to think with surprise and
distress of the total want of religious feeling which her cousins'
remarks betrayed. When she had once more thanked God for His goodness,
and implored His supporting help, and had read a few comforting verses
out of her Bible, she did not forget to pray that her cousins, who so
little appreciated its treasures of divine counsel and consolation,
might yet be led to know them for themselves. But the fatigue and
excitement of the day had thoroughly tired her out, and almost as soon
as her head sank on the pillow she was fast asleep, dreaming of the
happy times past, and the dear friends now so far away.
X.
_New Experiences._
"I need Thy presence every passing hour;
Who but Thyself can foil the tempter's power?
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, Lord, abide with me!"
Lucy could hardly understand where she was when she awoke the next
morning. She had scarcely ever been absent from home in her life; and
the strange and unfamiliar aspect of everything around her quite
bewildered her, till little Amy's gentle touch recalled the events of
the preceding day. Her home-sickness returned for a time; but the
strength came for which she prayed, and she was able to go down to
breakfast with a cheerful face.
Sophy and her father were the only ones who appeared at the nominal
breakfast hour. Stella had always been late for breakfast at Ashleigh
in summer, so it was not surprising that in winter she should be one
of the last to appear. But it did not apparently matter much, for the
different members of the family seemed to come to the breakfast table
just as it suited them, and the meal could scarcely be called a social
one. Neither Sophy nor her father talked much, he having his newspaper
open before him. Lucy was too shy as yet to talk without
encouragement, which Sophy did not give; and she felt it a relief when
Stella, with her unfailing loquacity, made her appearance.
"You see it's Saturday morning, so one can have a little more sleep,"
she said, yawning as if she had not had enough yet.
"Then why don't you go to bed sooner at night, my dear, if you want
more sleep?" asked her father.
But Stella quickly turned the conversation to another subject, and
kept up a full stream of talk till Mrs. Brooke and Ada appeared, and
soon afterwards Edwin sauntered in.
"Lucy," said her aunt, as she left the breakfast table, "you must let
me see your dresses this morning; I am sure you'll want some new
things, and you must get them at once."
"Aunt Mary thought I had all I should want for the winter," said Lucy,
colouring, for it was a point on which she was sensitive, not wishing
herself to spend any more on her dress than was absolutely necessary,
and desiring, if possible, not to increase her uncle's expenditure on
her account.
"Well, we shall see," said Mrs. Brooke. "But you know you cannot dress
here exactly as you did at Ashleigh, and I want you to look as well as
your cousins."
Lucy felt rather dismayed at the idea of being expected to wear such
stylish attire; and she could have cried, as one after another of the
articles on which she and Mrs. Steele had bestowed so much pains was
pronounced by Mrs. Brooke and Ada "quite out of date" and "not fit to
be seen."
Mrs. Brooke, apart from her really kind intentions towards her
sister's orphan daughter, was determined that Lucy, who was to be
Stella's constant companion, should not, by shabby or old-fashioned
dress, disgrace the family in the eyes of her critical fashionable
associates; so it was determined, without reference to Lucy, that Ada
and Sophy should take her out forthwith on a shopping excursion, to
provide her with what Mrs. Brooke considered essential for her
creditable appearance as a member of her family.
After her first uncomfortable feeling had worn off, Lucy really
enjoyed her expedition, everything--the busy streets, the crowded
buildings, the rattling carts and carriages; above all, the
gaily-decorated shop windows--having so much of the charm of novelty
for a country girl. The windows of the print-shops and book-stores in
particular she thought so attractive, that she wondered how the
hurrying passers-by could go on their way without even a glance at
their treasures.
The shopping was easily accomplished under Ada's experienced
superintendence, and might have been accomplished much more quickly,
Lucy thought, had it not been that her cousins would spend so much
time in looking over articles which they had no intention of buying,
thereby, she thought, putting the obliging shopmen to an immense deal
of trouble, and sadly wasting their own morning. But neither of her
companions had much sense of the value of time, having no higher aim
in living than that of passing it as pleasantly as possible.
At last the important business was concluded, just in time for them to
get home for lunch. Lucy felt very tired after her unwonted expedition
over the hard city streets, with their bewildering noise and
confusion, and was glad to get away as soon as possible to rest. She
soon fell asleep, and when she awoke she found Amy sitting quietly
beside her, playing with her doll.
"Won't you look at my doll, Cousin Lucy?" she said. "I got her on my
birthday. Her name is Lucy, after _you_."
"After _me_?" said Lucy, surprised. "Did you call her after me before
I came?"
"Yes," replied Amy timidly; "for Stella said you were nice, and I
should love you."
"I hope you will, dear," said Lucy, touched and gratified, and she
kissed her little cousin affectionately, looking pityingly at the
pale, delicate face and fragile form. She had always wished to have a
little sister of her own, and her heart was quite disposed to take the
little girl into a sister's place. She drew her closer, and after
talking a little about the doll, she said:
"Does Amy love the good, kind Saviour, who came to die for her?"
The child looked up with a puzzled expression.
"Jesus, you know," added Lucy, thinking that name might be more
familiar.
"That is Jesus that my hymn is about. Nurse taught me, 'Gentle Jesus,
meek and mild.'"
"Yes. Well, don't you love Him, Amy? He loves you very much."
"Does He love me?" asked Amy. "How do you know?"
"Because He says so."
"But He is up in heaven. Nurse said my little brother is up there with
Him."
It was always "nurse." Amy did not seem to owe much knowledge of that
kind to any one else. Lucy tried to explain as simply as possible
that, although the Saviour is in heaven, He is as really near us as
when He was on earth; and that we have still in the Bible the very
words that He spoke while yet among men.
"Are they in there?" asked Amy, looking at Lucy's Bible.
"Yes, dear. You can't read yet, I suppose?"
"Oh no! The doctor says I mustn't learn for a long while."
"Then I will read to you some of the things that Jesus said. Would you
like that?"
"Oh yes!" said Amy; and Lucy read the account of our Saviour blessing
the little children. She was pleased and surprised at the quiet
attention and deep interest with which Amy listened, and mentally
resolved to try to lead her to know more of that blessed Saviour, of
whom as yet she knew so little. Here was some work provided for her
already, she thought, and the feeling made her happier than she had
been since she left home.
The evening passed away much as the former one had gone, except that
it was varied by the presence of visitors, among whom was a gentleman
who, Stella privately informed her cousin, was an "admirer" of
Sophy's.
"But it's no use, if he knew it, for you know she's engaged already to
Mr. Langton. He's such a handsome, nice fellow, and has a large
plantation in the South, where he lives. I know she's as fond of him
as she can be, though she doesn't like people to think so. Look, now,
how she sings for Mr. Austin! I'm afraid he'll think she likes him."
Sophy was by no means indifferent to any admiration, though she was,
as Stella had said, very much attached to her betrothed; and it did
not quite coincide with Lucy's ideas of love and lovers, founded, it
must be confessed, chiefly on books, to observe the seeming pleasure
and animation with which Sophy received the attentions and compliments
of this young man, whose partiality for her was so plain.
"Surely it's very wrong in her if she deceives him, and let's him go
on liking her," thought Lucy, who, having never before seen an
instance of coquetry, did not know how venial many girls who might
know better consider the sin of trifling with an affection which must,
if encouraged, end in bitter disappointment.
Next day was Sunday, the day always associated in Lucy's mind with the
happiest and holiest feelings of the week. In Mr. Raymond's household,
even the most careless sojourner could see that the day seemed
pervaded by an atmosphere of holy and peaceful rest from the secular
cares and occupations unavoidable on other days. All thoughts about
these were, as far as possible, laid aside. No arbitrary rules were
enforced, but it was plainly Mr. Raymond's earnest desire that the day
should be devoted especially to growing in the knowledge of the Lord,
and should be considered as sacred to Him who had set it apart. And by
providing pleasant and varied occupation suitable for the day, and
cultivating a spirit of Christian cheerfulness, he succeeded in making
his family feel it no hardship to carry out his wishes. Fred and Lucy,
indeed, had learned to love the Lord's day, and to appreciate the
privileges it brings with it. But in Mr. Brooke's family it was
decidedly a dull day,--a day which must be respectably observed, and
therefore not available for ordinary purposes, but a day to be got
through as easily as possible, shortened at both ends by late rising
and unusually early retiring, as well as by naps indulged in during
the day, when even the so-called Sunday reading proved somnolent in
its tendency. The necessary abstinence from ordinary occupations was
partly made up by the freedom with which the conversation was
permitted to run loose in secular matters, amusements, gossip,
criticisms on dress and conduct, most prejudicial to any good
influence that might have been derived from the public exercises of
the day, as well as deteriorating to the whole tone of the mind at any
time. No wonder, then, that divine truth, heard at church, fell on
inattentive ears, and failed to penetrate hearts filled up with the
"lusts of other things!" Through a medium so unyielding, how could the
soft dew of holy, spiritual influence descend upon the heart, to
nourish and fertilize it?
Lucy was down at the usual breakfast-time, but had to wait more than
an hour before any one appeared, except Amy, who sat contentedly on
her knee, and listened to more reading out of Lucy's Testament, and
had even learned two verses of a hymn, before Stella at last appeared.
"How foolish you were to get up so early!" she said, when Amy had told
her how long they had been down. "I think it is so nice to lie as long
as you like, Sunday mornings! I used to think it so hard at Ashleigh
that you _would_ always have breakfast as early as other days!"
"We never saw any reason for being later on Sunday. Indeed, papa
always liked to have us earlier. He said it was the most precious day
of the week, and that, though he could excuse a hard-worked labouring
man for taking an extra sleep on Sunday, we had no such excuse; and to
try to shorten the day was dishonouring to Him who gave it."
"What in the world would he have said of Edwin then," said Stella,
"who often sleeps till it is too late to go to church, and then he
stays at home and sleeps more?"
Lucy could not help smiling; but as Sophy came in just then, she did
not need to make any reply. Amy was eager to repeat to her sister the
hymn she had just been learning, but Sophy did not seem to care about
it, and said to Lucy, "You had better not teach her any more hymns.
The doctor says she should not be allowed to study anything till her
constitution is stronger. Besides, I don't believe in filling
children's heads with things that make them think about death too
soon."
Lucy felt a little vexed and a good deal surprised at what was to her
so new an experience. She had not dreamed that any one could object to
teaching a child those blessed gospel truths which will shed either on
life or on death the truest light. But while she felt a strong
interest in and attraction towards her cousin Sophy, she instinctively
felt that on such subjects she would be quite unapproachable.
Mrs. Brooke surprised Lucy with the unexpected decision that her
deficiencies in dress must keep her at home that day. She felt as if
it was almost wrong to submit,--her dear father would have so much
disapproved of any one's staying away from the house of God for such a
reason. But then she remembered that while under her aunt's charge it
was her duty to yield a deference to her wishes, unless she absolutely
violated her conscience in so doing, and that her father would also
have said, "Ye younger, be subject to the elder," and would have told
her that, though prevented from going up to an earthly sanctuary, she
could worship God at home in the sanctuary of her heart.