CLOUDS WITH SILVER LININGS.
TO the surprise of all his watchful friends, an unexpected change
occurred in the Squire. At the grave side, he stood "more than
conqueror," though his hair had become white, and his stately figure
drooped a little. Twice some mortal agony had convulsed his frame,
and he had insisted on knowing its meaning, which with reluctance his
physician told him, but which information he wished concealed from all
others.
He became cheerful and bright; not quite as before his great sorrow,
but with a chastened sweetness that was more equable if less
demonstrative. He carefully attended to the business of the estate,
and urged on the execution of every contemplated improvement, letting
Guy drive him in the pony-carriage, where he admitted that his bodily
strength would no longer carry him.
A few months passed. Everyone seemed dreamy and restless, as if fresh
changes were pending, and no one dared whisper a fear or fancy to
another.
Evelyn was always with her father, and one day as she sat by his side,
he had just time to warn her as tenderly as he could, that he was going
to join his beloved wife, that God had graciously granted his heart's
desire, and soothed away all his sorrow; that she, his and her mother's
Evelyn, must think of them henceforth reunited in the home above,
leaving her to represent them in blessing and caring for all around
her, and fulfilling their wishes as she might feel able and willing, in
any future unfolding that her guardians might lay before her.
Evelyn gazed awe-stricken on her dear father's calm pale face. With his
hand on her head, and a blessing on his lip, and a smile of infinite
content overspreading his countenance, he waited the last pang that
would ever rend his frame, and so passed away. Rapid and fatal disease
of the heart was the message which had come to tell him of soon
rejoining the wife so dearly loved and prized, and Evelyn Hazelwood was
an orphan indeed.
Very simple was the will, yet a marvel of its kind; no great surprise
to some, especially the worthy sexton, who professed to much prescience
of things to come, but a very great one to the parties chiefly
interested.
The old Moat House and estate of the Falcon Range was left to Master
Guy Falconer, subject to certain conditions affecting in some degree
the income of the Squire's only child, and also that of Maude Herbert;
while Evelyn, with an ample fortune from other sources, was confided to
the guardianship of Mrs. Falconer and Mr. Herbert.
When the document was read in the presence of the sorrow-stricken
girl, a glow of pride and pleasure for a moment lighted up her sad
face, and she ventured one glance at the startled, astonished Guy,
in a triumphant thought of the change which had passed over her dear
father's estimate of the "poor lad" of earlier days.
As for Guy Falconer himself, he was utterly confounded and overwhelmed
at this proof of confidence and affection, and for some time
argued against the possibility of accepting such a disposition of
the property. Then he forbade everything like rejoicing, shunned
congratulations, and declared that the Moat House should mourn in
silence and desolation for at least a year. He would spend that time
abroad, and Evelyn decided to accept a home alternately under the roofs
of her two guardians, continuing the retired and useful life among the
people to which her mother had accustomed her.
The year passed away, but the signs of mourning still hung over the old
Moat House, though things within began to resume something of their
former aspect.
Mrs. Falconer was once more presiding, but now on her son's behalf;
and the fairy sprite, so lately almost an idol there, was seldom to be
found in any of her old haunts. She smiled through tears when Guy came
home, told him truly how glad she was that, since the owner there might
no longer be her own honoured father, he should fill his place, and
then fled away to her home at the Vicarage.
Still Guy Falconer would permit no demonstrations among the villagers,
and took to his studies industriously. Things were not going happily,
and all the family felt it, until brave sisterly love came to the
rescue.
"Guy," said Maude one morning, "I want Evelyn to see your picture. May
I bring her yet?"
Guy hesitated.
"It is not finished, and I did not intend to show it to anyone at
present; but you may do as you please, Maude."
And into the favourite sitting-room of the late mistress of the Moat
came the two friends, where the artist stood before his picture. It was
an interior, exquisitely representing that very room, its beauty, its
comfort, its view of gay parterre and undulating distance.
"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Evelyn. "How true! Ah, there is my dear
mother's chair! Only represent her in it, and the picture will be
perfect. Shall I send you her likeness to copy from?"
"I know her sweet face as well as you do, Evelyn, and I have tried to
paint it there, but it did not please me."
Then a sudden thought flashed through his brain, and added secretly,
"Maude is right: try it at once and learn the truth."
"I had no one to represent her suitably," he said. "Neither my mother
nor Maude could sit for the portrait of the lady of the Moat: you are
most like her, Evelyn; will you let me try?"
"Oh yes, do flatter me, if you can, into the fancy that I am like my
mother," said Evelyn, with the tears filling her eyes, and taking the
seat as he placed it for her in the right position.
So Guy worked, and Evelyn sat patiently, and at last dreamily, a long
time, unconscious that Maude was gone.
Suddenly he asked her to come and view his progress, and standing by
his side, she saw a fair likeness of herself sitting in her Mother's
chair.
"Evelyn," said Guy, "that is how I want it to be: you are the only lady
who can take that place; you must be the Mistress of the Moat if I am
to be the Master."
And Evelyn's reply saved him and herself from all further fears, and
doubts, and misunderstandings.
Then he told her how the dear ones who were gone had encouraged him to
ask this grace sometime, if he could hope to win her love, and had left
their blessing to hallow the union, if so it should ever be.
And Evelyn was happy and bright again, and everybody felt that things
were going on more comfortably. Guy had found his right place now, and
with the tenderest love and respect for the memory of those so soon
reunited in heaven, set himself, with the sweet companion they had both
wished to confide to his care, to fill their place, and carry on their
works of improvement and usefulness among the people.
"It's the very properest providence, among all the providences ever I
heard tell of," remarked Mr. Spadeley to his friend Mr. Turnbull. "It's
pretty near just how I'd laid it all out myself, except that I didn't
think but the Squire and his lady might have lived a bit longer, for
we all miss them sorely; but then you see, neighbour Turnbull, if they
had, I mightn't have done for them as I did, and we're sure they've
got something better up above, so it's all for the best, you see." And
the sexton looked extremely resigned to the "providences," in which
he almost thought some, at least, of his own ideas must have been
suggestive.
He was highly flattered by being made chairman of a small village
committee, intending to supplement more important demonstrations on the
day which was to celebrate the union of the houses of the Falconers
and Hazelwoods, and he highly applauded the achievement of the village
schoolmaster in the poetical reception to be sung by all the musical
talent of the Falcon Range when the bride and bridegroom should reach
the entrance to the old Moat House.
And they stood there, Guy and his Evelyn, with their friends, on the
steps beneath the porch, while the whole village swarmed around them
and the Church bells sent their sweet chimes through the foliage of the
grand old trees, and young men and maidens, old men and children joined
to sing:—
"Ring away, joyous bells, ye have tolled long enough,
Life hath smooth places as well as rough;
The Old Moat House, without sin or stain,
Is restored to its banished chief again.
Sorrow and loss good fruit have borne
And earthly honours are meekly worn;
"While the sainted ones in their world of bliss
See their places filled again in this.
Then merrily welcome the noble pair,
The Saxon bride and the Falconer's heir.
May love and peace, without saddening change,
Overshadow the halls of the Falcon Range."
[Illustration: WEDDING BELLS.]
"De good Lord bless dem!" said Phœbe, solemnly, as she read in her
prized English letter of the happy event. "Dey begin at right end ob de
way. Seek first de kingdom, all oder tings come right den, and what de
dear Lord join togedder, no priest, nor debble, nor noting put asunder.
De Lord him pity and forgib great deal, but don't know what him say
about takin' his place, and makin' poor sinners crush dere hearts out
'fore de 'fessor. Keep quiet ole Phœbe, nebber get no good for bein'
in a hurry, If de dear Lord 'ford to wait a good spell 'fore him show
it, Phœbe 'ford to wait too, while dear Missy safe in hebben singin'
hallelujah. Lord 'liber us from tinkin' He don't see no difference
'tween black and white, de priest' absolution and His own blessed
snow-white pardon.
"So now fill up de time dat's hurryin' on wis praises and prayers,
goin' round de world, catchin' up dat blessed ole England and
de ole Moat House ebery day 'fore de 'trone, and leab it to Him to
make crooked tings straight in His own good time. Bery crooked tings
sometimes puzzle de Lord's chillen; but dey walks by faith and waits,
and ole black 'ooman know for sure de Lord's ways equal, and His lub de
same in hebben for broken-hearted wife safe dere, and de pilgrim bride
at the Moat House, happy and willin' for de life road afore her. De
Lord's will be done and His blessing on dem all."