"CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME."
"Beseech your Majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her."--_Shakespeare._
"Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love."--_Shakespeare._
Faith's nervous trepidation returned in full force when they came in
sight of the Evergreens. She cast a piteous glance at the bay-window
and then at Dr. Stewart, which secretly moved him to inward laughter,
though not a muscle of his face betrayed amusement.
"There are no white slaves in England, leave Miss Charity to me," he
said again, and the masculine assurance of his voice gave her a
delicious sense of security.
The quiet way, too, in which he relieved her of her cloak in the
hall, and bade her lay aside her hat, brought with it a strange new
feeling of protection and care. There had been on his part no
protestations, no vehement declaration of affection; but for a
matter-of-fact, middle-aged wooer, rather new to his duties, Dr.
Stewart was doing remarkably well.
Miss Charity was alone when they entered. The other sisters were in
the habit of indulging in an afternoon nap, which they enjoyed in
strict seclusion; but Miss Charity's bright eyes never closed till
night, and not always then. The poor lady could have published many
a volume of midnight meditations, when she and pain held their dreary
converse together during those ten long years of suffering.
She looked up rather sharply over her knitting-needles as the two
made their appearance. She was still put out at Faith's unusual
manifestation of self-will, and an afternoon's lonely cogitations had
not sweetened her acerbity.
"So you have come back at last, Faith," she remarked ironically; "I
hope you have enjoyed your wet walk. I wish you would cure Faith,
Dr. Stewart, of her absurd restlessness and love of wandering; she
goes out in all weathers, and that is such a ridiculous thing in a
woman of her age," finished Charity, who, in certain moods, was given
to remind her sister that she would never see thirty-five again.
But the taunt was lost for the first time on Faith, for had she not
received this afternoon a fresh lease of youth?
"What does it matter about age, we have had a beautiful walk,"
returned Faith, laughing a little nervously as she hung over the back
of her sister's sofa so that her face was hidden. The conjunction,
so sweet to newly-engaged people, had slipped out by mistake. Miss
Charity looked up testily.
"Who do you mean by we? I wish you would speak plainly. Has the
doctor joined you in your hunt after dripping hedges. If one does
not learn common sense when one has turned thirty-five last March I
don't suppose it will ever be learned," grumbled the invalid, who,
with all her sharpness, had not an idea of the real state of the case.
Dr. Stewart's eyes began to twinkle wickedly; he was enjoying the
fun. Miss Charity's humors always amused him. He generally let her
fret and fume to her heart's content without attempting to contradict
her, but a glance at Faith's nervous face determined him to give her
a "clincher," as he called it.
"Yes; I met Faith, and we had a walk together," he commenced blandly,
but Miss Charity began to bridle.
"You met my sister, Dr. Stewart. I suppose you did not mean--to say
what you did," she was about to finish, but the doctor interrupted
her cheerfully.
"Well, I call her Faith because we are old friends, and because we
have settled our little matters between ourselves this afternoon.
When two people have decided to become man and wife there is no
further need for formality, eh, Miss Charity."
"Man and wife!" responded Miss Charity with a faint shriek, and then
she covered her face with her hands.
"Yes; have we startled you?" he continued more gravely, for her
surprise and agitation were very great. "Faith was unprepared for my
speaking, or she would have given you a hint. It seems we have cared
for each other, in a sort of a way, for the last ten or eleven years;
there's constancy for you! Why I have been all over the world, and
have yet come back to my old sweetheart."
"Where are you, Faith? Why do you let Dr. Stewart do all the
talking?" demanded Miss Charity, uncovering her pale face, but
speaking in her old irritable manner. "If you have accepted him, and
you are going to be what he said," shivering slightly, for the words
brought back a dreary past and void of her own, "there is nothing for
me or any one to say. You're not a girl," with an hysterical laugh;
"I suppose you know your own mind."
"Oh, Cara!" cried poor Faith, with tears in her eyes, "I don't know
how I can be so selfish as to wish to leave you, but it is all true
that he says. It was coming back to nurse you that put a stop to
everything ten years ago; and now he has come back, and it seems as
though we were meant for each other, and--and--" here she broke into
nervous sobbing.
"Pooh, pooh," returned the doctor, but his eyes glistened a little in
sympathy; "Juniper Lodge is only next door, you are not going to be
separated. Come, Miss Charity, you are a kind soul, and have courage
enough for ten Faiths, say something comforting to your sister, to
give her a good heart over this."
Dr. Stewart knew how to treat Miss Charity. Underneath the sharpness
and irritability there was the true metal of a good womanly nature,
and a courage few women could boast. Years ago she had fought out
her own battle, and had laid herself down on her bed of pain with a
breaking heart but unmurmuring lips. Had she ever forgotten poor
George since the day she had given him up? had she ever believed the
stories they had brought her of his unworthiness?
The small world of Hepshaw only saw in Miss Charity a little
bright-eyed woman, with a caustic tongue and a temper soured by
disappointment and suffering; but no one but Faith, and perhaps Dr.
Stewart, knew what the martyred body and nerves bore day and night.
"I feel sometimes like St. Lawrence on his gridiron; I wish it were a
bed of roses to me too," she said once grimly to her sister; but not
even to her did she speak of the slow agonies that consumed her.
What would be the use, she thought; pain is sent to be borne, not to
be talked about.
Neither to Faith did she speak of the strange thoughts and dreams
that haunted her nights. Sometimes, half lulled by opiates, it would
seem to her as though the walls and roof of her chamber were thrown
down; through the room rushed the cold winds of heaven; above her was
the dark midnight sky seamed with glittering stars. How they wavered
and shone! Voices sounded through them sometimes. Grey and white
shadows moved hither and thither, silent, but with grave, speaking
eyes pitying and full of love. "Poor Charity!" they seemed to say,
"still fastened to the cross and waiting for the angel of peace and
rest. Will he be long?" And the echo seemed to be caught up and
passed on shuddering: "will he be long?"
Ah, yes; those were her parents! and poor George, how plainly she
could see him! He had died a drunkard's death they had told her,
with a sorry attempt at comfort. He had ridden after a night's
debauch, and his seat and hand had been unsteady; but she had shaken
her head incredulously. What mattered how he died? he was at rest,
she knew that, she was sure of it; he could not have sinned as they
said he had--her poor George, on whom she had brought such misery!
And now, because her cup was not yet full, this farther sacrifice was
demanded of her. She must give up Faith, the patient nurse and
companion of all these years of suffering. True, she was often cross
and irritable, but could any one be to her what Faith was? could any
one replace that soft voice and gentle hand that had lulled and made
bearable many an hour when the pain threatened to be intolerable?
would any other bear her harsh humors with such patience and loving
resignation? The thought of this new deprivation paled the poor
invalid's cheek and swelled in her throat as Dr. Stewart uttered his
persuasive protest.
"Oh, Cara! I shall never have the heart to leave you when it comes
to the point," cried Faith, clinging to her with fresh tears. What
did it matter that they were middle-aged women, and that Cara's hair,
at least, was streaked with grey, and that Dr. Stewart was regarding
them with eyes that alternately twinkled and glistened. Had they not
their feelings? was not Cara her own sister? "Oh, Cara! I never
shall be able to leave you!"
"Nonsense," returned Miss Charity, pushing her away, but with tears
in her eyes too. "Get up, Faith, do; what will Dr. Stewart think of
us? Of course you must have him if you want him; and a good husband
at your age is not to be despised, let me tell you that."
"But what will you do without me? and Hope reads so badly," sighed
her sister.
Miss Charity winced a little over the idea, but she returned bravely,
"Oh, I shall get along somehow; Hope is not so bad if you put cotton
wool in one ear; and she always knows what she is reading," with an
accent of reproach to denote Faith's wandering attention. "There,
there, it is all right," patting her shoulder kindly. "Juniper Lodge
is not a hundred miles off, and I dare say Dr. Stewart will often
spare you to us; and all I have to say to him is, that a good sister
will make a good wife, and that he will soon find out for himself;"
and with that Miss Charity composed herself to her knitting again,
and shortly after that Dr. Stewart took his leave.
"Must you go yet? I hoped you would have waited and seen Hope and
Prudence," faltered Faith timidly, as she followed her lover into the
little hall and watched him invest himself in his shaggy great coat;
but Dr. Stewart only smiled and shook his head.
"Not to-night; give my kind regards to them. To-morrow afternoon if
it holds up we will have another walk together and discuss future
arrangements. You will want this evening to get your thoughts in
order, eh, Faith?" with a look of such thorough understanding and
good-humor that her color rose.
"Miss Charity is enough for one afternoon, I could not quite stand
the other cardinal virtues," he said to himself as he sat down
contentedly to his solitary tea.
Jean, excellent woman, knowing his ways, had lighted the fire and
brought down his slippers to warm. "I am not so badly off as a
bachelor that I need be in such a hurry to change my state," he went
on, stretching out his feet to the blaze; "but how is a man to enjoy
comfort and the pleasure of a good conscience knowing that a human
creature is dying by inches next door? and though that's rather
strong, I do believe she gets thinner every day, with all that worry
and reading nonsense. When she is my wife no one can interfere with
her, and I can keep Miss Charity within bounds. Poor soul! one is
bound to pity her too. I felt quite soft-hearted myself when Faith
was kneeling there looking so pitiful. Well, she is a dear woman,
and I don't repent of what I have done; for, in spite of Jean's
excellent management, one feels a trifle dull sometimes now the old
mother's gone and Edie is married. By-the-bye, I must write and tell
Edie about this, she will be so delighted."
Faith returned a little soberly to the parlor when Dr. Stewart had
taken his departure. She would gladly have slipped away to her own
room to dream over this wonderful thing that had happened, but she
knew that would have been an offence in her sisters' eyes. There
were Hope and Prudence to be enlightened, and a gauntlet of sisterly
criticism to be run. Dr. Stewart was such a favorite with them all,
that she knew that in whatever light they might regard her acceptance
of his offer that it would not be unfavorable.
Miss Charity broke the ice herself in her usual trenchant fashion.
"A fine bit of news I've got for you two while you have been
napping," she began, knitting in an excited manner. "Here's Faith,
who is old enough to know better, has gone and made a match of it
with Dr. Stewart."
"What!" ejaculated Miss Hope, and then she broke into one of her loud
hearty laughs that always jarred on the invalid's nerves. "Well
done, Faith; so you don't mean to be an old maid like the rest of us.
Well, three in a family is enough to my mind, and plenty, and you
never had quite the proper cut. So it is mistress of Juniper Lodge
you mean to be! Well, well, this is a rare piece of news to be sure;
nothing has happened in the family worth mentioning since Charity
took up with poor George."
"Well, there will be one mouth less to feed," put in Prudence in her
usual strong fashion; "and with the present exorbitant price of meat
that's something for which to be thankful."
But though the speech was not sympathetic Miss Prudence's lean brown
hand trembled a little as she unlocked the tea-caddy and measured out
the scanty modicum of tea. Poor Miss Prudence! there was still a
warm woman's heart beating under the harsh, unloving exterior, though
it seldom found utterance. Her one object in life had been to eke
out a narrow income, and bring down her own and her sisters' wants to
the limits of penury. A small saving constituted her chief joy; the
low standard had dwarfed her moral stature; petty cares had narrowed
and contracted her; the mote in her eye hindered the incoming of
heart sunshine, and made her life a hard, unlovely thing.
For it is a sad truth and a painful one to many of us, that in a
great measure we form our own lives. The wide blanks, the vacuum
that nature abhors, are all self-created. Outside the void, the
chaos, the central abyss of self, there wait all manner of patient
duties, joys, griefs, possible sufferings, a world of human beings to
be loved, to replenish emptiness and the waste of spent passion.
Miss Prudence was one of those unhappy beings who read the meanings
of life by the light of a farthing dip. Within her secret sanctuary
the small god Economy dwelt as a favored deity. She would sweep her
house like the woman in the parable for the smallest possible missing
coin, and go to bed in despair for the loss of it; but she left her
own inner chambers miserably unclean and full of dust and cobwebs.
And yet, as in many other persons, Miss Prudence's faults were only
caricatures of virtues. She was miserly, but it was for her sisters'
sakes more than for her own. To keep the little house bright and
respectable she toiled from morning till night; but I do not know
that any of them loved her better for it. It was Prue's vocation,
her one taste. If she could only have read to Miss Charity, and
taken her share in the nursing, Faith would have been more grateful
to her.
She fretted, as was natural, over that little speech of Miss
Prudence's, for she was faint with excessive happiness, and thirsted
for a pure draught of sisterly sympathy.
"Is that all you have to say to me, Prue?" she demanded in an injured
tone.
"What have I got to say," returned poor Miss Prudence, looking greyer
and grimmer, "except that it is a fine thing to be Dr. Stewart's wife
and the mistress of Juniper Lodge, and not be obliged to count your
pence till your eyes ache with trying to make out that five are equal
to six? That's what I've been doing all my life, Faith, and no
thanks to me either; and it does not always agree with one."
"There, there, take your tea, Faith," interrupted Miss Charity,
testily; "we've wasted more than an hour already over this business
of yours, and we shall get through very little reading to-night."
"Nonsense, Charity; let Faith have her talk out," observed Hope, in
her good-humored way. "We don't have weddings every day in the
family, and it is hard if we don't make much of them when they come.
Well, and is the day fixed, Faith?"
"No, indeed! What are you thinking about?" returned Faith, quite
terrified at the idea.
She sat at the tea-table a little sad and confused as Miss Hope plied
her with good-natured jokes and questions. Why did not Cara want her
to talk? why was Prudence so snapping and hard? and why could they
not all leave her alone with her thoughts?
"I think I will read now," she said, taking up the book and sinking
with a sigh into her usual seat.
As the soft harmonious voice made itself heard Miss Charity's eyes
filled with tears and her forehead contracted as though with pain.
"And she must lose this her one consolation," she thought. Faith's
reading was to her as David's harp to the sick soul of Saul--it drove
away the evil spirit of despondency. "It is giving the widow's
mite--all I have," thought Miss Charity, with a little thrill of
pathos.
As for Faith, she went through her allotted task with an outward
semblance of patience and much inward rebellion, reading
mechanically, without perceiving the drift of the sense. "And he
meant this all the time," she said to herself. "Oh, how little I
deserve him and my happiness."
Faith's evening, on the whole, had been disappointing, but before
many hours were over she found that things were not to be arranged to
her liking. The moment it came to a clashing of wills she soon
discovered that Dr. Stewart's was to be paramount.
Faith had certain old-fashioned views on the subject of courtship and
matrimony. The one must not be too brief or the other too sudden in
her opinion. Dr. Stewart's views were in direct opposition.
"When a man gets on to middle age, and has knocked about the world as
much as I have done," he said to her the following afternoon as they
again plodded through the miry roads, only now a pale uncertain
sunshine followed them, "he finds courtship just a trifle difficult.
I am a plain man, and speak my mind plainly, Faith. We've known each
other, or at least thought about each other, these ten years. We are
neither of us young, and we are not likely to get younger; so if
you're ready I'm more than willing, and we will just say the middle
of November, and talk no more about it."
"But, Angus, that is only just six weeks!" faltered his _fiancée_.
"Yes, and that's a fortnight too much," he returned bluntly. "Shall
we make it the end of October then?" at which alarming alternative
Faith had only just strength to gasp out a faint negative, and
subside into startled silence. After all, was not this exchanging
one sort of tyranny for another?
She made known the news of her engagement to her friends at
Church-Stile House in a shame-faced manner that was quite new to her.
Cathy fairly danced round her with delight, and even Langley's wan
face brightened with sympathy.
"Dear Faith, I am so glad," she whispered. "Such constancy deserves
its reward."
"A wedding at Hepshaw, and one of the cardinal virtues, of all
people!" crowed Cathy. "What will the sisterhood do without you? in
such a household, loss of Faith must be terrible," finished the girl
solemnly.
"It is dreadful for Cara. I lay awake half the night thinking what
she would do without me. It does not matter so much for Hope and
Prudence; they will miss me, of course, but then they have each
other; but Cara!"
"Oh, Miss Charity will do well enough!" returned Cathy in her
off-hand manner. "You must not think of any one but Dr. Stewart now."
"Of course I think of him; he--Angus--is so good; oh, you don't know
how good he is to me. But all the same, six weeks, and he will not
hear of waiting any longer; and now he has talked Cara round to his
opinion, and she says the sooner the fuss is over the better!"
finished Miss Faith, in a tone between crying and laughing.
Poor bewildered Faith! she had taken refuge with her kind friends at
Church-Stile House to seek the sympathy that was not forthcoming at
home. Langley's womanly intuition soon guessed the real state of the
case--that Faith was half afraid and half proud of her lover's
rough-and-ready wooing, and needed quiet and soothing. She dismissed
Cathy and her overpowering liveliness as soon as possible, took off
Faith's bonnet, put her in the easy-chair in her favorite corner, and
petted and made much of her all the evening. Before many hours were
over Faith had made her little confession, feeling sure that Langley
would understand her. It was not that she was not happy, but she was
just a little bit disappointed. Angus was very kind, just what he
ought to be; but he seemed to take everything as understood, and that
there was no need to say nice things to her. Why he had been far
more lover-like ten years ago, when he had never said a word to her.
"But all that he and Cara think almost is to have it over quickly and
without fuss. One ought not to call sacred things by that name,"
concluded Faith, with tears in her eyes.
"Dear Faith, men are so different to us!" returned her friend gently.
"I quite understand how you feel; but then Dr. Stewart thinks he has
given you an all-sufficient proof of his affection beyond any need of
words. You are not going to marry a demonstrative man, you must
remember that; but I don't doubt for one moment that he means to make
you a happy woman."
"Things never come quite in the way one wants," replied Faith with a
little sigh; but she felt more than half comforted by Langley's
sympathy and wise common-sense? When Dr. Stewart came in to fetch
her by-and-bye she had regained her old serenity of manner.
As for Dr. Stewart, after a few minutes' quiet observation of him
Langley was quite satisfied to trust her friend's happiness in his
keeping. There was a watchful tenderness in his bearing towards her,
a quiet unobtrusiveness of attention, that spoke for itself without
need of words. Faith would soon find out for herself that she was
warmly loved and cherished, though it might not occur to him to tell
her so.
He gave Langley a hint too of his reasons for hurrying on the
preparations for the wedding.
"She is almost worn out now, and the sooner some one takes care of
her the better," he said, in his straight-forward, sensible way, when
Faith had gone up-stairs to put on her bonnet. "She has been taking
care of people the best part of her life, and now she wants rest and
a little comfort. Miss Charity is a good woman, but she is awfully
trying at times; but she will have to ask my leave before she
tyrannizes over my wife."
"You have got a treasure, Dr. Stewart; you don't know how much we all
think of Faith, and how dearly we love her. Garth says she is the
best woman he knows."
"I always knew she was a good creature," returned Dr. Stewart in a
provokingly matter-of-fact tone; but the gleam in his eyes
contradicted it, and Langley understood him, and was satisfied.
The six weeks' courtship was soon over, but not until Faith was
nearly harassed to death by the multiplicity of her labors. The
slender resources of the sisters could only furnish a very modest
outfit for the bride. The wedding silk of delicate fawn was
Langley's gift, and the rich black silk and handsome seal-skin
jacket, that were the glories of the whole, were anonymous presents
directed to Faith Palmer in an unknown hand.
Faith believed that she was indebted for them to her lover's
generosity, until he assured her very seriously that such an idea had
never entered his head.
"No, no, Faith; I am not a poor man now, but I am not as rich as
Croesus," he returned, shaking his head over the rich roll of silk.
"Why that must have cost seven-and-sixpence a yard if it cost a
penny, and the seal-skin is worth eighteen or twenty guineas!"
exclaimed Miss Prudence, eyeing Faith with profound astonishment not
unmixed with respect. The future Mrs. Stewart was evidently a very
different person to the oft-snubbed younger sister.
"How I do long to know who sent them!" sighed Faith, bending over the
parcels with a flushed face, which recalled the Faith of old to Dr.
Stewart's eyes.
Queenie, who happened to be at the Evergreens, laughed over the
fervency of the wish.
"What does it matter? the donor does not want to be thanked
evidently. If I were you I should rather enjoy the mystery.
People's thanks always seem like payment to me, they are delivered so
punctually and with such effort."
"All the same, I should like to know who has taken such kind interest
in me," returned Miss Faith, with a puzzled expression as she
fingered the sealskin.
This anonymous wedding-gift was the only little bit of romance about
the whole business. Faith sat and sewed with her sisters day after
day, listening to long lectures on economy from Prudence, or read her
allotted task to Charity. She did not dare to omit this duty even
the day before the wedding. Dr. Stewart came in towards evening and
found her pale and half hysterical over Carlyle's 'French Revolution.'
"I think we need one too," he muttered, as he removed the book from
her hand. "No more reading to-night, Miss Charity. What do you say
to a game of chess with me?" and Faith gave him a grateful glance and
darted from the room.
It was a simple, unpretending wedding. Faith looked very demure and
sweet in her fawn-colored silk and pretty white bonnet. Dr. Stewart
paid her the first compliment she had received from him.
"We shall have the old Faith back by-and-bye," he said to her. "I
mean to give you a week of sea breezes, and then we will settle down
into regular Darby and Joan ways, shall we, my wife?"
And Faith blushed and said, "Yes."
And it could not be denied that Mrs. Stewart was a far happier woman
than Faith Palmer had been. Langley and Cathy were amused at the
brisk, matronly airs that soon replaced the soft melancholy that had
been Faith's habitual manner. Angus was evidently perfection in his
wife's eyes; his opinions were the soundest, his views never to be
controverted, or his word questioned.
"Are you happy, Faith?" Langley asked her very tenderly when they
first met after her marriage.
"I am the happiest woman in the world; and Angus is everything that
he can be," returned the mistress of Juniper Lodge. "Do you know, he
won't hear of our neglecting Cara. I read to her every day for an
hour, and he often goes in and plays a game of chess with her; and he
has taught Hope besique and cribbage, and they play them together.
Ah, you don't know how dear and thoughtful he is for them as well as
for me!" finished Faith, with a look of infinite contentment.