"A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain."
Cowley.
"O Wallace, forgive me! Not for worlds would I have hurt you so if--if
I could have helped it." Mildred's voice was full of tears, and she
ended with a sigh that was half a sob.
His head was turned away so that she could not catch so much as a
glimpse of his face.
"It is just what I expected when you went away," he answered huskily;
"but I don't blame you. I've always known I wasn't half good enough for
such a girl as you."
"No, don't say that!" she cried, almost eagerly; "you are good enough
for anybody, Wallace; you are noble and true and brave; and father says
that with your talent and industry you are sure to make your mark in
the world."
"What do I care for that now?" he returned bitterly. "You have been my
inspiration, Mildred; it was for you--to win you and to make you rich
and happy--that I have studied and toiled and planned, and now you are
lost to me!" he groaned.
"O Wallace!" she murmured softly, "I had hoped yours was a higher
ambition--that you had consecrated your time, talents, everything, to
Him who gave them, and whose love is better beyond comparison than any
or all earthly loves."
"You are right," he said, after a moment's silence, and his voice was
low and humble, "it ought to be so; it shall be so henceforward. But--O
Mildred, Mildred, what happiness can there be in life without you!"
"I will be your sister, Wallace; I have a real sisterly affection for
you."
"I ought to be thankful for even that--I shall be some day; but O
Mildred! now it seems like giving me a crumb when I am starving--so
famished that nothing less than a whole loaf will relieve the dreadful
pain. And this other fellow that has won you away from me--will
he--will he be taking you away from us soon?"
"No, Wallace, not soon, perhaps never," she answered in low, quivering
tones.
He turned and faced her with an inquiring look. "I have misunderstood.
I thought you said the--the affection was mutual."
"I will tell you all about it," she said after a moment's embarrassed
silence. "I think I owe you the confidence as some slight amends for
the pain I have unwillingly caused you."
Then in a few words she told him just how matters stood between Charlie
Landreth and herself, withholding only the name of her favored suitor.
When she had finished, silence fell between them for many minutes.
Mildred's eyes were cast down, Wallace's gazing straight before him or
taking note of the inequalities of the road. They were nearing the town
when at last he spoke again.
"I thank you for your confidence, dear Mildred, (you will let me call
you that this once?) You know I shall never abuse it. I am sorry for
your sake that he is not all you could wish. But don't let it make you
unhappy. I couldn't bear that. And I hope and believe it will all come
right in the end."
"Wallace, how good and noble you are!" she cried, looking at him with
eyes brimming with tears. "We will always be friends--good, true
friends, shall we not?" she asked, almost beseechingly, holding out her
hand to him.
He caught it in his and pressed it to his lips with a low, passionate
cry, "O Mildred! and can I never be more than that to you!"
An hour later Mrs. Keith found her eldest daughter in her own room,
crying bitterly.
"My dear child! what is the matter?" she asked in concern.
"O mother, mother, I seem to have been born to make others unhappy!"
sobbed Mildred.
"I have often thought you were born to be the great comfort and
blessing of your mother's life, and have thanked God with my whole
heart for this his good gift to me," the mother responded, with a
loving caress; and a glad smile broke like sunlight through the rain of
tears.
"Mother, what a blessed comforter you are!" sighed Mildred, resting her
wet cheek on her mother's shoulder. "Mother, Wallace loves me and seems
almost heart-broken because I--I cannot return it. And he is such a
dear, noble fellow, too--worthy of a far better wife than I would make!"
"We must try to convince him of that, and make him glad of his
fortunate escape," Mrs. Keith said in her playful tone.
Mildred laughed in spite of herself, but a little hysterically; then
growing grave again: "But, mother, he does really seem heart-broken,
and it is dreadful to me to have caused such suffering to one so
deserving of happiness."
"I do not doubt it, my dear, and I feel for you both; but trouble does
not spring from the ground; all our trials are sent us, for some good
purpose, by that best and dearest of all friends, who knows just what
each one of us needs, and never makes a mistake. I am sorry for you
both, but I do not think either is to blame, and I believe you will
come out of the trial better and happier Christians than you would ever
have been without it.
"Now, dear child, I shall leave you, that you may be able to spend a
few minutes with that best Friend before joining us downstairs. Try to
cast all your care on Him, because he bids you do so, and because it is
for your happiness."
Mildred followed the kind, wise advice; then, having done what she
could to remove the traces of her tears, hastened to join the family at
the tea-table in answer to the bell.
Her mother adroitly contrived to take the attention of the others from
her, and no one noticed that she had been weeping.
The faces and the chat were cheerful and bright, as was almost
invariably the case in that family circle, and the joy of being among
them again after so long an absence soon restored Mildred to her wonted
serenity.
They discussed their plans for study and work for the coming fall and
winter months. The town was still destitute of a competent teacher;
efforts had been made to procure one from the Eastern States, but as
yet without success; therefore Mildred proposed to resume her duties as
governess to her younger brothers and sisters: she could assist Rupert,
too, in some branches, and wished to perfect herself in some, and to
improve her mind by a course of reading.
Then, as always, there was the family sewing, beside various
housekeeping cares of which she desired to relieve her mother.
Zillah listened with a mirthful look to Mildred's long list, and at its
conclusion asked, with a merry laugh, "Is that all, Milly?"
Mildred echoed the laugh, and blushingly acknowledged that it was very
much easier to plan than to execute, and she feared she should fall
very far short of accomplishing all she desired.
"Yes," said her father, "but it is best to aim high, for we are pretty
sure never to do more than we lay out for ourselves, or even so much."
"But if Milly undertakes all the work, father, what are Ada and I to
do?" queried Zillah, in a sprightly tone.
"She'll be glad enough before long to let us help with it," remarked
Ada quietly. "If she'd had breakfast and dinner to get to-day she
couldn't have walked out this morning; and I don't think she could have
taken time to drive out this afternoon if she had been the only one to
help mother with the sewing."
"No, that is quite true," said Mildred, smiling at Ada's serious face,
"and I'm delighted to find what helpful girls you two have become, for
there is abundance of work for us all."
"Enough to leave us no excuse for idleness," added the mother, "but not
so much that any one of us need feel overburdened; for 'many hands make
light work.'"
"Especially when the head manager knows how to bring system to her
aid," concluded Mr. Keith, with an affectionate, appreciative glance at
his wife.
"Yes," she rejoined brightly, "very little can be accomplished without
that, but with it I think we shall do nicely."
The little ones were asking when lessons were to begin.
"To-morrow, if mother approves," answered Mildred.
Her father smiled approval, remarking, "Promptness is one of Mildred's
virtues; one we may all cultivate with profit."
"I quite agree with you, Stuart," Mrs. Keith said, "and yet it is
sometimes best to make haste slowly. Mildred, my child, you have had a
long, wearisome journey, and may lawfully rest for at least this one
week."
"And we all need our new clothes made up," remarked Ada. "Mother, have
Milly make your black silk dress first."
Mildred and Zillah chimed in at once, "Oh yes! certainly mother's dress
must be the very first thing to be attended to."
"I can fit it to-night," said Mildred.
"And I cut off the skirt and run the breadths together," added Zillah.
"Come, come, you are entirely too fast," laughed Mrs. Keith. "I will
not have any one of you trying her eyes with sewing on black at night.
We will all work this evening on the calicoes begun to-day, and Milly
shall fit a calico for me before she tries her hand on the silk. But we
will give this week to sewing and reading. Cyril can read nicely now,
and he and Rupert shall take turns reading aloud to us. Lessons shall
begin next Monday."
Aside from her desire to be as helpful as possible to her dear ones,
Mildred felt that constant employment for head and hands was the best
earthly antidote for her present griefs and anxieties. So she plunged
into study and work, and gave herself little time for thought about
anything else, and her mother, understanding her motive, not only did
not oppose, but encouraged her in that course.
Some new books she had brought in her trunk proved a rare treat to the
entire family, and work, enlivened now by the reading of these and now
by cheerful chat, was decidedly enjoyable.
There were many calls, too, from old friends and acquaintances, and so
the week slipped away very quickly and pleasantly.
Saturday's mail brought Mildred a letter from Charlie Landreth, which
gave her both pain and pleasure.
The ardent love to her that breathed in every line sent a thrill of joy
to her heart; yet it bled for him in his deep grief for the loss of his
sister; grief unassuaged by the consolations of God.
Her prayers for him went up with increased fervor. Earnestly,
importunately, she besought the Lord to comfort him in this great
sorrow, and to make it the means of leading him to a saving knowledge
of Christ Jesus.
Then she sat down and answered his letter with one that through all its
maidenly modesty and reserve breathed a tender sympathy that was as
balm to his wounds, a cordial to his fainting spirit, when at length it
reached him.
Mildred desired to have no secrets from her wise and dearly-loved
mother; both Charlie's letter and her own were carried to her, and
the latter submitted to her approval ere it went on its mission of
consolation.
This communication from him whose love found a response in her own
heart did good service in banishing from her mind, in great measure,
disturbing thought about the other two.
For some weeks they absented themselves from the house, then gradually
resumed their former intimacy with the family, Mildred meeting them,
when compelled by circumstance, without embarrassment, but avoiding a
meeting when she could without seeming to do so purposely.