This year in the seminary was far more profitable to Fidelia than the
former year had been. The work which she had done so faithfully at home
told now. She was not pressed or hurried by overwork in preparing for
her classes, and had time to take the good of other things besides
study.
Under the Christian influence lovingly and judiciously exercised over
them, not even the careless or unimpressionable among the pupils could
remain altogether untouched by some sense of their responsibility to the
Lord Jesus, or to the claims which He had on them to be workers together
with Him in the world which He came to save. Fidelia, with softened
heart and awakened conscience, was now open to that influence, and
yielded to it as she had not done before. There was no neglect or
misappropriation of the "quiet half-hour" morning and evening now, nor
of any other of the many means of grace provided for the benefit of all.
The scope and sense of all the teaching, as to duty, of the noble woman
through whose labours and self-denials the seminary was founded had
been--"Ye are not your own: ye are bought with a price; therefore
glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's."
"No man liveth to himself." One of her last utterances to the pupils
whom she loved and for whom she laboured was this: "There is nothing in
the universe that I fear, but that I shall not know all my duty, or
shall fail to do it." She was dead, but her works and words still lived
and spoke through those who had come after her, and through them there
came richly to Fidelia the blessing which above all other blessings she
desired for herself--the wish and the power to consecrate her life to
the work which is the highest of all. So she came back to her home in a
different state of heart and mind this time--she herself did not know
how different till she was among old familiar friends and circumstances
again, looking over the past and on to the future with other hopes and
aspirations than those which had made her discontented about the time of
her last coming home.
It did not seem quite like home to her in Halsey any more. But she told
herself she would wait patiently and do faithfully the work which came
to her hand, till some opening should come to her of higher work in a
larger field as a teacher, and then she would strive to be such a
teacher as Eunice might have been in her youth, had not other work
fallen to her hand.
By-and-by something happened. A letter came to her from Dr Justin
Everett which surprised her. It was not the first time that he had
written to her. After the death of her sister he had written a letter
of sympathy which she had answered briefly. She had not answered other
letters which had followed, but this one must be answered. It was a
long letter, telling her something of his youth and of his engagement to
her sister, and of the disappointment and pain which their necessary
separation had caused to them both.
He said he had returned to Halsey two years ago, hoping to carry Eunice
back with him as his wife; but in her state of health they had both seen
this to be impossible. Then he went on to say how unconsciously at
first his heart had turned to the sister of the woman he had loved so
dearly in his youth, and how Eunice had not refused to sanction his
love, though she had utterly forbidden him to speak then or for some
time to come. "Has the time come now when I may speak? And will you
not listen to me?" That was the sum of what followed, though many words
were used in saying it; and it must be owned that Fidelia was moved by
them--for a time. If he had come himself it would have been a much more
troublesome matter. But her dream had passed, and so had the pain it
had caused her, though it took a little time to make her sure that it
was so. After reading her letter over again, she wrapped a shawl about
her, and went up the hill till she came to the turn of the road where
she had seen Dr Justin standing soothing his startled mare. She could
think of it all quietly enough now, and her calmness might have helped
her to the knowledge of what her answer ought to be. But she allowed
herself to ponder over it. It was a pleasant life that was set before
her. She might have a charming home, intellectual society, a chance to
improve herself, a chance also to do good to others. There would be the
happy mean--neither poverty nor riches, and a home of her own; and for a
time she was not aware how the possibility of taking all this into
consideration, and of weighing it all quietly, proved that she did not
care for Justin Everett as she ought to do before she answered him,
"Yes." There was the further question, though she scarcely dared to
pursue it. Was the man who could thus transfer his affections really
worthy of her trust? She shrank back when she thought of the past, as
if she were wronging her sister's memory.
"You are not worrying about anything, are you, Fidelia?" said Mrs Stone
at last.
"Worrying? No; I hope not. I don't think so. Why do you ask?"
"Was the big letter that Calvin brought you the other day from Dr
Justin Everett?"
"Yes, it was," answered Fidelia, with a touch of vexation in her voice.
"I wouldn't have asked only--"
"Oh, there is no harm done!" said Fidelia, laughing. "I hope not," said
Mrs Stone gravely. "I have been expecting it ever since you came here.
You mustn't think I want to meddle, dear. I want just to tell you
something that Eunice said to me. Oh, yes! She knew it might come some
time. But she would not say a word about it. She said that the Lord
would guide you right in this and in all other things. And so He will,
if you ask Him."
Mrs Stone gathered up her work, and rose to leave the room.
"Tell me about it, Aunt Ruby," said Fidelia gently.
There was not much to tell. For herself, Mrs Stone had not a word to
say. Even when Fidelia asked her advice, she replied quietly--
"It seems to me you ought to have known what answer to send to that
letter as soon as ever you read it." And then she went away, leaving
Fidelia to ponder her words. She came back to add another word,
however.
"Let your answer, whether it be Yes or No, be final. Don't let there be
any half-and-half doings--any waiting to find out what your real
feelings are. You ought to know this minute all you need to know. Say
it once for all."
That very day another letter came, not so long as the other, but it
brought help to Fidelia, in a way unexpected. This letter was from
"Ella Wainright." Fidelia knew that Miss Kent had married; but she did
not know that she had married a widower with children. The letter told
her this, and it told her also that the two little girls who had fallen
into her hands more than filled them. They had been spoiled all their
lives by two loving grandmothers and several aunts, all of whom had the
best intentions with regard to the motherless children.
"As for me," wrote Mrs Wainright, "I am to them the cruel or
indifferent stepmother of the story-books, and I should not have a
chance with them, even if I had any faculty with children, which I have
not. They are bright girls of nine and twelve. I might leave them in
school while I go to Europe with my husband, but that would not be good
for them nor right for me, and it would only be postponing, perhaps
increasing, the trouble. I know you mean to teach, and I have heard
from your friend Nelly Austin that you covet hard work; and here it is,
ready to your hand. You may name your salary. You will earn it,
whatever it is. We shall be in Europe two years at least, perhaps
longer. You will have a chance to see much that every one wishes to
see, and you can improve yourself in your music, and learn a language or
two; and you can help me to do the same. Do not decide against me till
you come over to Eastwood to see me." And so on.
Fidelia came into the room where Mrs Stone was sitting with her letter
in her hand.
"Aunt Ruby, listen, and tell me what I had better do." Then she read
the letter.
Mrs Stone listened, but she did not need to advise. She saw that,
though she was not aware of it herself, Fidelia had almost made up her
mind to go.
"I think I would go over to Eastwood and see Mrs Wainright, and talk it
over with her." And she would have liked to add--"You may as well write
your letter to Dr Justin before you go," but she did not. "It is all
right, I guess; and I, for one, am glad of it."
Fidelia went to Eastwood. If she had been inclined to hesitate over her
decision, she could hardly have done so. Mrs Wainright took possession
of her at once.
"If it is a chance to do good that you desire, it is the very place for
you, for the children need you sorely." And Miss Abby Chase, who had
seen the children, said the same. Mrs Austin wished her to go because
of Mrs Wainright, who was not strong, and who did not seem to have a
chance with the children; and Nellie enlarged upon the delights of
travel, and the opportunities for self-improvement which she would
enjoy. There was, besides, little time for hesitation. Within ten days
they were to sail. So Fidelia went home and wrote her letter to Dr
Justin, and set her house in order, and was ready to depart.
"Halsey will always be your home while you own this place, and so you
must keep it," said Mrs Stone. "I don't know a more forlorn feeling
than for such a home-bird as you have always been than to find herself
without a nest. We talked it all over, Eunice and I. I'd as lief live
in your house as in my own, and I will pay you rent. It's paid already
in a way. Eunice had a little change of investment to make, under Dr
Everett's advice, about the time I came here, and I put something with
what she had in your name--just about enough to make the interest pay
rent for your house and land. I'll keep up the place as well as I know
how; the rent may be put with the rest while you don't want, and it will
be handy when you do. I thought it would be better to fix it so than to
put you in my will, because of Ezra's folks. No; there is nothing to be
said. Eunice knew all about it; and you can just think of me as keeping
house for you till you come home."
Fidelia did not say much, but she said just the right thing in the right
way when the time came. It was the night before she left.
"Aunt Ruby, let us go down to the graveyard now. We can go by the old
road, where we shall not likely to meet any one, and come home by
moonlight."
So together they stood beside the grave of Eunice, and spoke lovingly
and thankfully of her, and prayed in silence for each other. And there
was no bitterness in Fidelia's tears, though they came in a flood as she
turned away. For it was well with Eunice, and she knew they would meet
again. She turned back when she had gone a little way toward the gate,
and, kneeling once more, kissed the dear name carved on the stone, and
prayed with all her heart that by God's grace she might be kept
unspotted from the world, till the time came when she should meet her
sister again.
And so Fidelia left her home--sad, but hopeful.
One untoward event happened before she set sail. She had to meet Dr
Justin face-to-face, and give him his answer. She was not many minutes
in his company, but they were full of pain to her.
Strangely enough, she caught her first glimpse of him from a window, as
she had done that day in Eastwood from Miss Abby's room; and, more
strangely still, he was walking as he had been walking that day, by Miss
Avery's side, looking down upon her, while she, with smiles and pretty
eager gestures, looked up at him. For a minute Fidelia was not sure of
the nature of the feelings which the sight awoke within her; but she was
quite sure of one thing--she did not intend to break her engagement to
go with her friend and schoolmate, Mary Holbrook, to Cambridge, to see
at least the outside of the poet's house before she went away. She
listened till she heard them enter the house; and, when she knew them to
be safe in the parlour, she went softly downstairs and out into the
street; and, though she felt a little ashamed of herself for running
away, she laughed heartily as she hastened on. She enjoyed every minute
of the day, she told Mrs Wainright when--rather late in the evening--
she came home. She had seen, not only the outside of the poet's house,
but also, through the kindness of a friend of Miss Holbrook, the inside
of it, and Mr Longfellow himself as well; and the day was a day to be
remembered for many reasons.
She saw Dr Justin in the morning, however, though she hoped she need
not. There was not time for many words between them; but Fidelia's
words were spoken with sufficient decision. Dr Justin had not received
her letter. He had heard from his niece Susie that her friend was going
away, and he hastened to see her before her departure. He asked for
nothing that would make it necessary for her to break her engagement
with Mrs Wainright. He only asked her promise to return at the end of
the year, and give him her answer then. But she refused to make the
promise, or even to correspond with him while she was away.
"I have spoken too soon; I will wait and come again," said he.
"You will not be wise to wait or to come again," said Fidelia gravely.
He came to the steamer with other friends of the Wainrights to see the
last of them. Miss Avery was there among the rest; and, as Fidelia
watched them moving away together, she said to herself, that the chances
were few that Dr Justin would either wait or return to her again.
And so it proved. Before the first year of her absence was quite over
there came to Mrs Wainright a letter from her cousin, telling her of
her engagement to Dr Justin Everett, and trusting that they might meet
them in Europe before many months.
"And so _that_ is well over," said Fidelia.
Fidelia's desire for real work by which she might do some good in the
world was granted during the next three years, and besides her work she
had both pleasure and profit; and little more than this can be told of
the time she spent away from her home, on the other side of the sea.
Her pupils respected her always, and by-and-by they loved her dearly;
and her influence over them was altogether good and happy to body, mind,
and spirit. And as much as that can be said as regarded her influence
over their mother also. During a long and tedious illness, which came
upon Mrs Wainright in Switzerland, Fidelia nursed and comforted her as
she could not have done had there not been mutual respect as well as
love between them; and to both mother and daughters her influence and
example was a source of blessing which did not cease when the time came
that they were called to separate.
This time came when they returned to America, for on going home to
Halsey Fidelia found Mrs Stone--not ill, but ailing; and she made up
her mind that it was her duty to remain with her old friend during the
winter. Her pupils were to be sent to school, and needed her no longer.
Their mother needed her very much, or she thought she did, and
entreated her to return. But, even if Fidelia had not thought it her
duty to remain with Mrs Stone, she would have hesitated about
returning, for she had not been long in Halsey before she made a
discovery which surprised her, and which made her ashamed.
After the first joy of welcome from old friends, and the first glad
renewal of old associations well over, she could not but own to herself
that she did not find life in Halsey altogether to her mind. This was
not her discovery. She had hardly expected to find it so. She had had
some such thought before she left it. Her surprise was, to find that
she missed--even greatly missed--the pleasant things which she had
become accustomed to during the last three years--the new books, the
music, the sight and touch of rare and beautiful things; all the
luxuries and the ease-giving which wealth dispensed judiciously,
sometimes lavishly, had secured to her friend's household, and to her
with the rest. She missed the movement and the change made by the
coming and going of the many friends of the household--not merely the
ordinary friends and neighbours, but people of whom the world had
heard--men and women whom it was good to see and know.
The life had suited her. It was not surprising that she should regret
many things which she had enjoyed while with the Wainrights. Was it
wrong to regret them? She might enjoy them all again in somewhat
different circumstances. Would it be right and wise for her to return
at the entreaty of her friend?
"I must settle the question once for all," she said to herself. And she
did settle it; and with it she settled another question which went
farther and deeper. "Ye are not your own; ye are bought with a price:
therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are
God's." Would a chance to lead an easy, pleasant, even useful life in
the house of her friend cover for her all the ground which this command
covered? She did not need a long time to consider the answer. The past
she did not regret. It was well that she had gone with Mrs Wainright.
She knew that she had helped the mother and the children to a better
knowledge of each other, and she trusted also that she had done
something towards encouraging in them a desire for a higher knowledge--
the knowledge which God alone can give. She was glad in looking back;
but could she look forward and see that she had any special work for
these young people which their mother might not do better than she did?
And might she not be taking out of the mother's hands work the doing of
which would be for her good as well as for theirs?
And then as to herself. Was "an easy time," with only light duties--
which could hardly be called work in any right sense, amid the luxury
which she had learned to like so well that now she missed it--was this
what she ought to accept for herself as the best and highest? Did she
owe no more than this to Him Who had bought her with a price? She was,
in a sense, quite alone, and at her own disposal, free from all ties of
relationship or friendship, such as might interfere with any work to
which she gave herself. She could teach. That had been her plan
always, and her sister's plan for her, because teaching undertaken and
pursued in a right spirit might be made a part of the highest work of
all. This Eunice had coveted for her; she had coveted it for herself.
Yes; the faithful doing of such work might be made work for the Master.
Had she lost her desire to have a part in this work? she asked herself.
Had her easy life among the pleasant things of the last few years done
her this evil? She had many thoughts about it, and, after a time, she
had some talk with Mrs Stone about it also.
"No; I don't think you are spoiled. Your life could not have been a
very easy one. Anyway, it hasn't spoiled you. You had good work to do
over there and you did it pretty well, I expect, or they wouldn't want
you back again. In one way it has helped you. Yes, I think you could
now do good work in a better way for the advantages you have had, and
you are bound to do it. If you don't, your privileges may become a
snare to you, and you may get to be satisfied with a kind of work lower
than the highest you are capable of. `No man liveth to himself,' you
must remember."
"And the highest work I seem to be capable of, is to teach."
"There is no higher work, if it is done in the right spirit. And it is
the work you have prepared yourself for. If you are better fitted for
other work, you'll have a chance to try it. It seems to be your work in
the meantime. You may marry."
Fidelia shook her head.
"I am not sure about other work. I know I can teach."
And so for the next few years she did teach. In one of those large
seminaries which the Christian beneficence of many wise men of moderate
means, with the help of a few rich men, has established for the higher
education of the young women of the country, Fidelia found her work.
She was one of many who there worked willingly and well, in a field
where good and willing work rarely fails to give a full return.
It would take a long chapter to give even a glimpse of her experiences
during those years. She was not without her troubles and anxieties, but
on the whole they were happy years. For to be successful in good work
which one loves, and which one can do well, comes as near to true
happiness as most people ever come in this world. Day by day, as time
went on, she was permitted to see the springing up of some "plant of
grace" from the seed which she had sown; and she had good cause to hope
that there were more to follow, for such plants do not die out, but
increase, and bear fruit abundantly as the years go by. Once in a
while, but not often, she paused amid her work, to ask herself whether
she would be quite content in it all her life long. It was a question
which did not need an answer, as she was quite satisfied with the
present; and the future, she believed, would be guided and guarded by
the Hand of love which had led her during the past.