A DARK CLOUD.
"Perhaps in Life's great tapestry, the darkest scenes are where
The golden threads of Faith glance forth most radiant and fair."
THE sweet, fresh spring-time had come again. Violets were peeping
modestly out in the woods, and opening buds were swelling on every
tree, speaking to every thoughtful heart of resurrection life, bringing
back to the mind of Priscilla Warner, as she walked across the common
and through the little wood near the Grove, the last spring-tide, when
her loved mother had been called to the home above.
Very pretty the young girl looked as she walked on that April day,
bent on an errand of kindness to a neighbouring cottage. For, despite
the sad memories that filled her heart, Priscilla's face wore a look
of peace that had never been there even in her childhood's days. Ever
since the October day when, through little Claude's accident, Prissy's
eyes had been opened to see her own selfishness and sin, she had been a
changed girl.
Not all at once had the victory been gained; again and again self rose
up and became conqueror. The habits of years are not so easily overcome
as some would have us believe. But the girl knew from that day where to
seek strength to conquer. She knew that the indwelling power of Christ
alone could do the work in and for her, and that in him she would be
more than conqueror.
And the change told on all her actions. Ere Claude had fully recovered,
he learned to look with pleasure for the visits of his sister, who
willingly then laid aside her own pursuits to amuse him. And poor
Miss Vernon, who had her own burden in life to carry, soon felt the
difference in Priscilla's mode of acting toward her. And so, although,
as we have said, the old spirit of ambition and self-seeking did from
time to time assert itself, Priscilla was advancing heavenward step by
step, kept by the power of God.
She was crossing the common on the day we write of, to carry some
strengthening jelly to a sick child, stooping every now and then to
pluck some opening spring flower to put into her father's study, so
that when he raised his eyes from his books they would have something
fresh and sweet to rest on. She had just spied some of the early golden
celandine, and was going to transfer it into her basket, when she saw
André M'Ivor coming towards her, and she went forward to shake hands
with him. These two were old friends now; and André's mother and sister
had become the motherless girl's most cherished friends.
"How are they all at the cottage to-day?" was her greeting. "I hope
Mrs. M'Ivor feels stronger, and that Gabrielle's cold has left her?"
"My mother and Gabrielle are better, thank you; but—" and the lad
hesitated ere he spoke further.
And his dark eye fell as he glanced at the peaceful face of the young
girl; for well he knew the words he had to say would cloud that peace
and bring a shadow over her heart. But they must, nevertheless, be
spoken.
"Miss Warner," he said, "I was on my way to the Grove to speak to you
on a subject that I fear will give you pain."
Priscilla started, "What is it?" she said. "Anything wrong with Austin?"
"No, not with him."
"Then it's Lewis?" she queried. "What of him?"
"Yes; it is of Lewis I came to speak. Miss Warner, something must be
done, or your brother's whole life will be wrecked. Austin has done all
he can; but he is a younger brother, and has no authority over him. Dr.
Warner must be told. It is, believe me, mistaken kindness to conceal
from him that Lewis spends his evenings with the most good-for-nothing
set of fellows in the school; and latterly they have succeeded in
enticing him to join them in associating with a set of gamblers, and I
have learned for certain that your brother is losing money every night
at billiards and cards."
Priscilla started. "Mr. M'Ivor," she said, "that is impossible. Where
could Lewis get money to lose?"
"Ah, that I cannot say; but 'tis even so. And the rumour of it has
reached the ears of the headmaster, and if steps are not taken
immediately, he will make the whole matter known himself to your
father."
"No, no, Mr. M'Ivor, that must not be. What can we do? Oh, if only my
father could be saved this pain! He dotes on Lewis, and the knowledge
of his wrong-doing will break his heart."
"Believe me, Miss Warner," said the lad in an earnest voice, "I would
do what I could to save Dr. Warner and yourself a moment's pain, but I
fear it is too late. I have spoken often to Lewis, and entreated him to
give up his idle associates and spend his evenings as Austin does at
home; but—"
Priscilla almost groaned. Too well she knew whose blame it was that
Lewis had ever begun to go out in the evenings. Truly her sin had found
her out; and she was learning, as so many have had to do, that the
deadly effects of our past sins, even though we have repented of them
and been forgiven, will crop up and bring forth fruit in others to our
grievous sorrow. Oh, for Harry's counsel and help now!
Again she turned to her companion with the question, "What can be done?"
"I hardly know," was the reply. "I shall consult my father; but,
meanwhile, is there no one to whom you could confide the story who
might influence Lewis? I believe that if he would promise to begin a
new course of life, Dr. Ashby, for his father's sake, would hush up the
matter and give him a chance."
Priscilla thought a moment, then said, "I shall go to the vicar and ask
his advice; he is a kind friend, and likes the boys."
"That will be well, Miss Warner; and in the meantime I will do what I
can."
"Many thanks," said Priscilla, and turned off, taking the road which
led to the vicarage.
A cloud had indeed fallen on her; the bright spring morning had lost
its brightness for her, and her conscience was bitterly reproaching her.
The vicarage stood in the midst of rich meadow-ground, and in summer
was over-canopied by leafy trees. In front was a carefully-kept
flower-garden, and at the back a well-stocked orchard sloped down to
the river. From the garden, the vicar saw the girl approaching, and
went to the gate to bid her welcome. He had a warm heart to Harry's
friends, the young people at the Grove.
"Thrice welcome," he said, "Miss Priscilla. How is Dr. Warner? Nothing
wrong, is there?" he added, as he remarked the shade on the girl's face.
Then Priscilla told her tale, owned her own fault, confessed how far
short she had fallen of her duties regarding her brothers, and told
also of Harry's warning as he bade her farewell.
The old man listened attentively as she poured out the tale,
interrupting her now and then by exclamations of sympathy or
disapproval.
"And your father knows nothing of all this, Priscilla? Does he not sit
with you in the evenings?"
"My father! Oh no, Mr. Lascelles. He is buried in his books the whole
evening. You know he is engaged writing on mathematical subjects just
now."
"Ah I true, true. I forget. Still, surely—ah! Well; one must not blame
a father to his child. And Lewis? Why, he is the pride of his father's
heart. I know your mother did fear he was a boy who would be easily led
astray. And I fear—yes, yes—I too have done wrong. I should have looked
after the boys a bit, knowing how absorbed your father was in his
studies. Gambling too! Who would have thought of it? I wish Harry had
been at home. I have no way, no influence with boys; but of course I'll
see Lewis and talk to him. I will try this very afternoon to catch him
as he comes out of school. I am so grieved. And, my dear, you also have
been wrong, decidedly wrong. Still—" (and as he spoke he laid his hand
kindly on the girl's shoulder) "you were young to have such a charge.
But now let us go indoors, and we'll tell our heavenly Father all the
trouble."
And he did; and the girl rose from her knees comforted, and saying
good-bye to her friend, took her way once more to the cottage whither
she had been bound, and after speaking a few kind words to the sick
child and others there, went home longing for the hour of Austin's
return, when she might take counsel with him.
As she neared home she met her father with a letter in his hand.
"Priscilla," he said, "I have just met young M'Ivor, and asked him
to tell Austin I wished him after school to take the train and go to
Garnet Hall to deliver a letter to my friend Mr. Harris, which I wish
him to get this evening, as it is on a matter of importance. They are
sure to detain Austin for the night, so you will understand his not
coming home. Are you well, my daughter?" he added; for the girl had
suddenly turned pale.
Austin away from home at the very time she needed him so much!
It was a trial; but she mastered herself, and said, "I am quite well,
father; why do you ask?"
Her colour had returned, and as the professor looked again at her, he
thought he had been mistaken, and said, "I see I was wrong. I thought
you looked pale and tired; but no doubt it was my eyes. I often think
they deceive me now-a-days. Ah, me! What would I do if my sight failed
me? You won't expect Austin to dinner, at all events."
And he walked off, leaving Priscilla with a very heavy heart.
Just then little Claude, strong and healthy now, ran up to her, saying,
"O sister, do let me see what beauties of flowers you have got in your
basket."
And the child was not thrust away with an impatient "Don't be
troublesome, Claude," as he would once have been, but stooping to him,
Priscilla let him take a peep at the sweet, fresh spring flowers; then
taking his hand, walked with him to the house.
As they were ascending the front steps, she caught sight of Lewis
coming up the avenue. But he suddenly turned off, leaped over a low
wall into a field which bordered the river, and was soon out of sight.