"Let us go back again mother,
Oh, take me home to die."
"And so, Isa, my uncle's predictions that your popish teachers would
violate their promise not to meddle with your faith, have proved only too
true," said Calhoun Conly, stepping forward, as Mr. Daly finished his last
quotation from the Scriptures.
In the heat of their discussion, neither the minister nor Isadore had
noticed his entrance, but he had been standing there, an interested
listener, long enough to learn the sad fact of his sister's perversion.
"They only did their duty, and I shall not have them blamed for it," she
said, haughtily.
"They richly deserve blame, and you cannot prevent it from being given
them," he answered firmly, and with flashing eyes. "I have come, by my
mother's request, to take you and Virginia home, inviting Miss Reed to
accompany us."
"I am ready," said Isadore, rising, the others doing likewise.
"But you will stay to tea?" Violet said. "Cal, you are not in too great
haste for that?"
"I'm afraid I am, little cousin," he answered with a smile of
acknowledgment of her hospitality. "I must meet a gentleman on business,
half an hour from now."
Vi expressed her regrets, and ran after the girls, who had already left
the room to prepare for their drive.
They seemed in haste to get away.
"We've had enough of Mr. Daly's prosing about religion," said Virginia.
"I'm sick of it," chimed in Miss Reed, "what difference does it make what
you believe, if you're only sincere and live right?"
"'With the heart man believeth unto righteousness,'" said Violet; "and
'the just shall live by faith.'"
"You're an apt pupil," sneered Virginia.
"It is mamma's doing that my memory is stored with texts," returned the
child, reddening.
Isadore was silent and gloomy, and took leave of her young cousin so
coldly, as to quite sadden her sensitive spirit.
Violet had enjoyed being made much of by Isa, who was a beautiful and
brilliant young lady, and this sudden change in her manner was far from
pleasant. Still the pain it gave her was greatly overbalanced by the
relief of having her perplexities removed, her doubts set at rest.
Standing on the veranda, she watched the carriage as it rolled away down
the avenue, then hailed with delight a horseman who came galloping up,
alighted and giving the bridle to Solon, turned to her with open arms, and
a smile that proclaimed him the bearer of good tidings, before he uttered
a word.
"Grandpa," she cried, springing to his embrace, "Oh, is Lily better?"
"Yes," he said, caressing her, then turning to greet Rosie and the boys,
who had come running at the sound of his voice. "I have had a letter from
your mother, in which she says the dear invalid seems decidedly better."
"Oh, joy! joy!" cried the children, Rosie hugging and kissing her
grandfather, the boys capering about in a transport of gladness.
"And will they come home soon, grandpa?" asked Eddie.
"Nothing is said about that, I presume they will linger at the North till
the weather begins to grow too cool for Lily," Mr. Dinsmore answered,
shaking hands with Mr. Daly, who, hearing his voice on the veranda,
stepped out to inquire for news of the absent ones.
While they talked together, Vi ran away in search of Aunt Chloe.
She found her on the back veranda, enjoying a chat with Aunt Dicey and
Uncle Joe.
"Oh, mammy, good news! good news!" Vi cried, half breathless with haste
and happiness; "grandpa had a letter from mamma, and our darling Lily is
better, much better."
"Bress de Lord!" ejaculated her listeners in chorus.
"Bress his holy name, I hope de chile am gwine to discover her health
agin," added Uncle Joe. "I'se been a prayin' pow'ful strong for her."
"'Spect der is been more'n you at dat business, Uncle Joe;" remarked Aunt
Dicey, "'spect I knows one ole niggah dat didn't fail to disremember de
little darlin' at de throne ob grace."
"De bressed lamb!" murmured Aunt Chloe, dropping a tear on Violet's golden
curls as she clasped her to her breast, "she's de Lord's own, and he'll
take de bes' care of her; in dis world and in de nex'; be sho' ob dat,
honey. Ise mighty glad for her and my dear missus; and for you too Miss
Wi'let. You's been frettin' yo' heart out 'bout Miss Lily."
"I've been very anxious about her, mammy; and something else has been
troubling me too, but it's all right now," Violet answered with a glad
look, then releasing herself, ran back to her grandfather.
She had seen less than usual of him for several weeks past, and wanted an
opportunity to pour out all her heart to him.
He had gone up to Molly's sitting-room, and she followed him thither.
With Rosie on his knee, Harold and Herbert standing on either side, and
Eddie sitting near, he was chatting gayly with his crippled niece, who
was as bright and cheery as any of the group, all of whom were full of
joy over the glad tidings he had brought.
"Grandpa," said Vi, joining them, "it seems a good while since you were
here for more than a short call. Won't you stay now for the rest of the
day?"
"Yes, and I propose that we drive down to the lake, Molly and all, and
have a row. I think it would do you all good. The weather is delightful."
The motion was carried by acclamation, Molly's maid was summoned, Eddie
went down to order the carriage, and the rest scattered to prepare for the
expedition.
It was a lovely October day, the air balmy, the woods gorgeous in their
richly colored autumn robes; gold, scarlet and crimson, russet and green
mingled in gay profusion; the slanting beams of the descending sun fell
athwart the lakelet, like a broad band of shimmering gold, and here and
there lent an added glory to the trees. The boat glided swiftly over the
rippling waters, now in sunshine, now in shadow, and the children hushed
their merry clatter, silenced by the beauty and stillness of the scene.
Tea was waiting when they returned, and on leaving the table the younger
ones bade good-night, and went away with Vi to be put to bed.
She had a story or some pleasant talk for them every night; doing her
best to fill mamma's place.
Vi was glad to find her grandpa alone in the library when she came down
again.
"Come, sit on my knee, as your dear mamma used to do at your age," he
said, "and tell me what you have been doing these past weeks while I have
seen so little of you."
"It is so nice," she said as she took the offered seat, and he passed his
arm about her, "so nice to have a grandpa to pet me; especially when I've
no father or mother at home to do it."
"So we are mutually satisfied," he said. "Now what have you to tell me?
any questions to ask? any doubts or perplexities to be cleared away?"
"Grandpa, has anybody been telling you anything?" she asked.
"No, nothing about you."
"Then I'll just tell you all." And she gave him a history of Isadore's
efforts to pervert her, and their effect upon her; also of the
conversation of that afternoon, in which Mr. Daly had answered the
questions of Isadore, that had most perplexed and troubled her.
Mr. Dinsmore was grieved and distressed by Isa's defection from the
evangelical faith, and indignant at her attempt to lead Vi astray also.
"Are you fully satisfied now on all the points?" he asked.
"There are one or two things I should like to ask you about, grandpa,"
she said. "Isa thinks a convent life so beautiful and holy, so shut out
from the world, with all its cares and wickedness, she says; so quiet and
peaceful, so full of devotion and the self-denial the Lord Jesus taught
when he said, 'If any man will come after me, let him deny himself and
take up his cross and follow me.'
"Do you think leaving one's dear home and father and mother, and brothers
and sisters to be shut up for life with strangers, in a convent, was the
cross he meant, grandpa?"
"No, I am perfectly sure it was not; the Bible teaches us to do our duty
in the place where God puts us; it recognizes the family relationships;
teaches the reciprocal duties of kinsmen, parents and children, husbands
and wives, but has not a word to say to monks or nuns.
"It bids us take up the cross God lays upon us, and not one of our own
invention; nor did one of the holy men and women it tells of live the life
of an anchorite. Nor can peace and freedom from temptation and sin be
found in a convent any more than elsewhere; because we carry our evil
natures with us wherever we go."
"No; peace and happiness are to be found only in being 'followers of God
as dear children,' doing our duty in that station in life where he has
placed us; our motive love to him; leading us to desire above all things
to live to his honor and glory."
Violet sat with downcast eyes, her face full of earnest thought. She was
silent for a moment after Mr. Dinsmore had ceased speaking, then lifting
her head and turning to him with a relieved look, "Thank you, grandpa,"
she said. "I am fully satisfied on that point. Now, there is just one
more. Isa says the divisions among Protestants show that the Bible is not
a book for common people to read for themselves. They cannot understand it
right; if they did they would all believe alike."
Mr. Dinsmore smiled. "Who is to explain it?" he asked.
"Oh, Isa says that is for the priests to do; and they and the people must
accept the decisions of the church."
"Well, my child, it would take too much time to tell you just how
impossible it is to find out what are the authoritative decisions of the
Romish Church on more than one important point;--how one council would
contradict another--one pope affirm what his predecessors had denied, and
vice versa; councils contradict popes, and popes councils.
"As to the duty of studying the Bible for ourselves--we have the master's
own command, 'Search the Scriptures,' which settles the question at once
for all his obedient disciples. And no one who sets himself to the work
humbly and teachably, looking to the Holy Spirit for enlightenment, will
fail to find the path to heaven. 'The way-faring men, though fools shall
not err therein.' Jesus said 'The Comforter which is the Holy Ghost, whom
the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things.'
"And, my child, none of us is responsible for the interpretation that his
neighbor puts upon God's word,--his letter addressed to us all; each of us
must give account of himself to God."
Violet's doubts and perplexities had vanished like morning mist before the
rising sun; her natural gayety of spirits returned, and she became again
as was her wont, the sunshine of the house, full of life and hope, with a
cheery word and sunny smile for every one, from Mr. Daly down to Rosie,
and from Aunt Chloe to the youngest child at the quarter.
She had not been so happy since the departure of her parents.
Eddie, Molly and the younger ones, reflected in some measure her bright
hopefulness, and the renewed ardor with which she pursued her studies, and
for some days all went on prosperously at Ion.
Then came a change.
One evening, Vi, having seen Rosie in bed, and bade Harold and Herbert
good-night also, returned to the schoolroom, where Eddie and their cousin
were busied with their preparations for the morrow's recitations.
She had settled herself before her desk, and was taking out her books,
when the sound of horses' hoofs coming swiftly up the avenue, caused her
to spring up and run to the window.
"It is grandpa," she said. "He seldom comes so late, oh, Eddie!" and she
dropped into a chair, her heart beating wildly.
"Don't be alarmed," Eddie said, rising and coming toward her, his own
voice trembling with apprehension, "it may be good news again."
"Oh, do you think so? Can it be?" she asked.
"Surely, Vi, uncle would come as fast as possible if he had good news to
bring," said Molly. "Perhaps it is that they are coming home; it is
getting so late in the fall now, that I'm expecting every day to hear
that."
"Let's go down to grandpa," said Vi, rising, while a faint color stole
into her cheek, which had grown very pale at the thought that the little
pet sister might be dead or dying. "No, no," as a step was heard on the
stairs, "he is coming to us."
The door opened, and Mr. Dinsmore entered. One look into his
grief-stricken face, and Violet threw herself into his arms, and wept upon
his breast.
He soothed her with silent caresses; his heart almost too full for speech;
but at length, "It is not the worst," he said in low, moved tones, "she
lives, but has had a relapse, and they are bringing her home."
"Home to die!" echoed Violet's heart, and she clung about her
grandfather's neck, weeping almost convulsively.
Tears coursed down Molly's cheeks also, and Eddie, hardly less overcome
than his sister, asked tremulously, "How soon may we expect them,
grandpa?"
"In about two days, I think; and my dear children, we must school
ourselves to meet Lily with calmness and composure, lest we injure, by
exciting and agitating her. We must be prepared to find her more feeble
than when she went away, and much exhausted by the fatigue of the
journey."
Worse than when she went away! and even then the doctors gave no hope! It
was almost as if they already saw her lying lifeless before them.
They wept themselves to sleep that night, and in the morning it was as
though death had already entered the house; a solemn stillness reigned in
all its rooms, and the quiet tread, the sad, subdued tones, the oft
falling tear, attested the warmth of affection in which the dear, dying
child was held.
A parlor car was speeding southward; its occupants, a noble looking man, a
lovely matron, a blooming, beautiful girl of seventeen, a rosy babe in his
nurse's arms, and a pale, fragile, golden-haired, blue-eyed child of
seven, lying now on a couch with her head in her mother's lap, now resting
in her father's arms for a little.
She seemed the central figure of the group, all eyes turning ever and
anon, upon her in tenderest solicitude, every ear attentive to her
slightest plaint, every hand ready to minister to her wants.
She was very quiet, very patient, answering their anxious, questioning
words and looks with many a sweet, affectionate smile or whisper of
grateful appreciation of their ministry of love.
Sometimes she would beg to be lifted up for a moment that she might see
the rising or setting sun, or gaze upon the autumnal glories of the woods,
and as they drew near their journey's end she would ask, "Are we almost
there, papa? shall I soon see my own sweet home, and dear brothers and
sisters?"
At last the answer was, "Yes, my darling; in a few moments we shall leave
the car for our own easy carriage, and one short stage will take us home
to Ion."
Mr. Dinsmore, his son, and Arthur Conly met them at the station, and told
how longingly their dear ones at home were looking for them.
The sun had set, and shadows began to creep over the landscape as the
carriage stopped before the door and Lily was lifted out, borne into the
house and gently laid upon her own little bed.
She was nearly fainting with fatigue and weakness, and dearly as the
others were loved, father and mother had no eyes for any but her, no word
of greeting, as the one bore her past, the other hastily followed, with
the doctor and grandfather, to her room.
But Elsie and Vi were quickly locked in each other's arms, mingling their
tears together, while Rosie and the boys gathered round, awaiting their
turn.
"Oh!" sobbed Rosie, "mamma didn't speak to me; she didn't look at me; she
doesn't love me any more; nor my papa either."
"Yes, they do, little pet," Elsie said, leaving Violet to embrace the
little sister; "and sister Elsie loves you dearly, dearly. Harold and
Herbert too; as well as our big oldest brother," smiling up at Eddie
through her tears, as he stood by her side.
He bent down to kiss her sweet lips.
"Lily?" he said in a choking voice.
With a great effort Elsie controlled her emotion, and answered low and
tremulously, "She is almost done with pain. She is very happy--no doubt,
no fear, only gladness that soon she will be
'Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on his gentle breast'"
Eddie turned away with a broken sob. Vi uttered a low cry of anguish; and
Rosie and the boys broke into a wail of sorrow.
Till that moment they had not given up hope that the dear one might even
yet be restored.
In the sick-room the golden head lay on a snow white pillow, the blue eyes
were closed, and the breath came pantingly from the pale, parted lips.
"Cousin Arthur" had his finger on the slender wrist, counting its
pulsations, while father and grandfather stood looking on in anxious
solicitude, and the mother bent over her fading flower, asking in tender
whispered accents, "are you in pain, my darling?"
"No, mamma, only so tired; so tired!"
Only the mother's quick ear, placed close to the pale lips, could catch
the low-breathed words.
The doctor administered a cordial, then a little nourishment was given,
and the child fell asleep.
The mother sat watching her, lost to all else in the world. Arthur came to
her side with a whispered word about her own need of rest and refreshment
after her fatiguing journey.
"How long?" she asked in the same low tone, glancing first at the white
face on the pillow, then at him.
"Some days, I hope; and she is likely now to sleep for hours. Let me take
your place."
Elsie bent over the child, listening for a moment to her breathing, then
accepting his offer, followed her husband and father from the room.
Rosie, waiting and watching in the hall without, sprang to her mother's
embrace with a low, joyful cry, "Mamma, mamma! oh, you've been gone so
long, so long! I thought you'd never come back."
"Mamma is very glad to be with you again," Elsie said, holding her close
for a moment, then resigning her to her father, she sought the others,
all near at hand, and waiting eagerly for a sight of her loved face, a
word from her gentle lips.
They were all longing for one of the old confidential talks, Violet,
perhaps, more than the others; but it could not be now, the mother could
scarcely allow herself time for a little rest, ere she must return to her
station by the side of the sick bed.
But Molly was not forgotten or neglected. Elsie went to her with kind
inquiries, loving cheering words and a message from Dick, whom she had
seen a few days before.
Molly sat thinking it over gratefully, after her cousin had left the room.
"How kind and thoughtful for others she is! how sweet and gentle, how
patient and resigned. I will try to be more like her. How truly she obeys
the command 'Be pitiful, be courteous.'
"But why should one so lovely, so devoted a Christian, be visited with so
sore a trial? I can see why my trials were sent. I was so proud and
worldly; and they were necessary to show me my need of Jesus; but she has
loved and leaned upon him since she was a little child."