PARTING FROM ENGLISH FRIENDS.
The noble park and green lanes of Parkhurst, with all its elevating
joys, were soon to be exchanged for private lodgings in a crowded
city; and Madeline's spirits sank as she contemplated a return to
London with her beloved parent; for she could no longer blind herself
to the fact that day by day he was fading from her sight.
Standing alone, on the evening before her departure on the verandah,
where she had spent so many happy hours, she was indulging in
mournful reveries; she should probably see this beautiful park, this
happy home, these charming scenes no more.
While musing thus, Lord N---- passed under the verandah.
"May I come up, Miss Hamilton?"
"If you wish, my Lord; I am alone, and would be glad to see you."
The step of the young man was not gay and joyous as on other days,
and Madeline perceived that he wore a serious, saddened countenance.
"You leave us, to-morrow, Miss Hamilton; may I ask a place in your
remembrance?"
"I shall never forget the pleasant hours at Parkhurst, Lord N----, or
the dear friends that I have made in this happy home."
He was silent for one moment, and then with deeper feeling said,
"But may I not ask a particular place in your remembrance, a nearer,
dearer than a passing acquaintance, that will be forgotten in a day?"
"I do number you, my lord, among my most valued friends; and I shall
never forget you personally."
"Ah, Madeline! the memory will not be to you what it will ever be to
me--the one green spot in life, which I shall cherish so fondly."
She bowed her head, and was silent; for painful emotions were
stirring in her heart, and tears were crowding beneath the drooping
eyelids.
"Madeline, we may not meet again; I cannot let you leave us without
asking, is there any hope that I may obtain the rich love of your
noble, fresh young heart?"
She turned a frank look upon the young man, while her eyes swam in
tears, as she replied,
"I cannot deceive you, Lord N----; my deepest respect and warmest
friendship are yours, but my love I cannot give."
"Why, Madeline? does another possess that which I would make any
earthly sacrifice to obtain?"
"That is a delicate question, Lord N----; my hand is free, but my
heart has long been" (and she blushed as she uttered the words)
"interested in another. I never knew until to-day how much, how
deeply. This is a painful confession, but due to you, my lord; for
had it not been so, I could not have been insensible to worth like
yours."
He bowed over the fair young hand extended in friendship, and
replied--
"May you be happy, Madeline! happy in love as pure, as devoted as
mine. I will not say that my heart is broken; that is the language
of a silly, brainless man; nor will I say that my hopes are crushed,
for God our Father rules on earth, as well as in Heaven, and his will
is not what I had hoped. I submit, I trust, with patience, and
by-and-bye, I doubt not, will see the reasons why I have been
disappointed in my first affection."
"He will guide you, I doubt not, my lord, in all the events of life;
and one so benevolent, so useful, so noble as you, cannot be unhappy;
for there is too much in this wicked world for Christians to do, to
spend their lives in vain regrets."
"We are one in Christian hope, Madeline, and that is a comfort; one
in all schemes of good for our fellow-men."
"Will you pray for me, Lord N----? Sore trials are before me, and I
need a Saviour's grace to sustain me in what is surely coming."
"You are before me morning and evening, Madeline; and, though
separated by the wide ocean, I shall remember you whenever I bend the
knee to my Father in Heaven."
"We shall be friends, Lord N----," continued Madeline, as she
extended her hand.
"Yes, Madeline; after a while, true and faithful friends. I shall
rejoice when you are happy, and be sad when you are afflicted."
They were not aware of the passage of time until Lady Alice was heard
calling, "Madeline, where are you? Papa and mamma sent me to look
for you. Come to the drawing-room, we must have some music
to-night," and she ran hastily up to the verandah, and drew away her
young friend, saying--
"Brother, I think you are very selfish; we want Madeline to-night, as
it is her last evening at Parkhurst."
Lord N---- did not answer, and Madeline followed Lady Alice, deeply
pained at the disappointment which she knew would fill all that
family circle.
She took her seat at the harp, but begged to be excused from singing,
for she could scarcely trust her voice to speak.
Lord N---- seated himself at a distant window, shading his eyes with
his hand. Lady Alice stood by her side, and Madeline played in her
most touching style many of her beautiful pieces.
"Some of your sacred music, Miss Hamilton," said the earl, "for that
suits the tone of our feelings," and she played some exquisite
variations from the hymn, "I would not live alway."
Every heart was full; silence reigned among them.
"Now, one hymn of hope, Madeline," said the countess, and all the
group joined in the sweet words--
"How firm a foundation! ye saints of the Lord!"
and, supported by the others, she too poured forth her wondrous notes
in strains of melody, while the rich chords of the harp accompanied
the choir of voices.
They parted sadly that night, and the next morning early, left with
feelings of deepest sorrow the sweet shelter of Parkhurst Manor.
"We shall see you in London, Madeline," said Lady Alice, "for you
will need us, dear."
A great change awaited our young friend; quiet lodgings and the rooms
of an invalid were exchanged for the spacious accommodations and
elegant ease of the home they had left. Aunt Matilda was sadly
discontented, and shrewdly suspected what had taken place at
Parkhurst.
"Madeline, I have a right to know; I am sure that Lord N---- loves
you deeply. Have you rejected him? Are you such a blind, silly
girl?"
"Do not ask me, aunt; surely I have a right to some privacy of
thought and action."
"You cannot deny it; you have rejected one of the first offers in
Great Britain, and you are just a fool, and nothing else, Madeline
Hamilton!"
"Would you have me give my hand without my heart, Aunt Matilda?"
"A fiddlestick for a heart, Madeline, when a coronet was laid at your
feet, to turn away--I know what for; I am so ashamed for you, that I
cannot utter all I think. Now I am sure that you love that
beggar-boy; for nothing else could make you reject such a splendid
match as the son of an English earl."
"Spare me, dear aunt, and let us talk of something else; when dear
papa is so ill we have enough to think about."
She could not forgive her niece, and seldom exchanged any thing but
the merest words necessary for daily duties--cold, constrained, often
harsh. She took the first opportunity to acquaint Mr. Hamilton with
the facts of the case. He was both surprised and grieved, for he had
seen with pleasure the growing attachment of the young nobleman.
"Madeline, how is it that you rejected Lord N----? Few young ladies
would turn away from such an offer. I had hoped that his goodness
and mental worth, not to speak of his lovely family, would have
certainly won your heart."
"Do not let us talk about it, dear papa, I do not love Lord N---- as
I should a husband; he is a dear friend, but nothing more."
"I cannot account for it, Madeline, unless your heart is previously
occupied; if so, should you not tell your father?"
"I am bound to no one, dear papa; just let me wait upon you, and
administer to your comfort, that is all I ask."
"Remember what I have said, Madeline; it would have made me very
happy if you could have accepted this young man, not on account of
his noble birth, or wealth, but just for his modest, manly piety and
worth. But in this matter you must choose for yourself, and God will
bless my daughter."
After a consultation of eminent physicians, the painful alternative
was proposed to Mr. Hamilton. When they had gone, he sent for his
daughter. "Madeline, you remember that I told you in all things we
must trust in God; you have now great occasion for that holy
confidence. I have never told you until now the nature of my
disease. It has been a long and painful process that has brought me
to the crisis; an operation is necessary, my child;" observing
Madeline's pallid face, he continued, "do not be alarmed; all is in
the hands of a wise and gracious God. It may be successful, or I may
sink under the operation; but nothing else can be done, and we must
prepare our minds; it will be speedily over, there will be no very
long suspense. Be the end what it may, I trust that I am prepared;
my hopes are all upon the 'Rock of Ages.'"
"When will it take place, papa?" asked the trembling girl.
"In about ten days," was the answer; "and now, darling, we will talk
no more about it; to-morrow will be Sunday; you must go to church,
Madeline, and have prayers offered for me; Aunt Matilda will stay
with me."
It was a season of sweet and holy refreshment to the young pilgrim,
for she needed the heavenly manna for her weary, anxious spirit.
Passing out of church, what was her surprise to see Roland, the
friend of her youth, standing at the door in company with two
gentlemen; the one elderly, of noble presence, and the other a young
gentleman, of whom she had no remembrance. Roland advanced, extended
his hand, and said--
"How is it that you are here alone, Miss Hamilton?"
"My father is very ill; my aunt is staying with him, and he sent me
to have prayers offered for him. I need them, oh, how much! remember
me, Mr. Bruce."
Madeline was pale and worn, and Roland was touched by the expression
of deep sorrow upon her fair young face. He took the little hand as
in days of yore, and said, in low tones--
"Do you dream, Miss Hamilton, that I can ever forget you at a throne
of grace? You are always remembered there and everywhere."
Roland then hastily introduced his friends, but Uncle Malcolm had
recognized the young lady that he had once met before in a carriage.
A glance at the earnest gaze of Roland, and at the downcast blush of
Madeline, caused a smile to flit across the face of the good man, as
he remembered the days of his youth, and the sweet blushes of Mary
Gordon in the first days of their innocent, unhappy love.
"Where are you staying, Mr. Bruce?" asked the young lady; "I may need
your presence ere long."
Roland gave his address, and they parted.
"Well, Roland Bruce!" said Edmund, "of all the sly fellows that I
have ever met, you exceed--here have I been prating to you of
Madeline Hamilton's beauty, and behold, she is an old acquaintance!"
Roland smiled, as he replied, "Yes, I knew her in America, ever since
she was ten years old; and I am therefore somewhat acquainted with
the young lady."
"And why, then, do you not visit your old friend?"
Roland's countenance fell, and drawing himself proudly up, he
replied, "We will change the subject, if you please, Edmund."
When Madeline returned, she sought her father's room.
"Papa, I met Roland Bruce, to-day, at church; he seemed so concerned
to hear that you were sick."
"What is he doing in London, Madeline?"
"He is in attendance upon a young man whose studies he is directing."
"I should like to see him, Madeline; he is a noble fellow, and has
been a kind friend to my little girl; I do not think that he was very
well treated by your aunt; but as eternity approaches, my daughter,
the distinctions of life melt away. I did not want to dismiss him
from our house--send for him to-morrow, and tell him to bring his
friend, Mr. Graham, with him."
On the morrow, a few lines summoned him to the sick room, but without
Mr. Graham. Shocked at the change in Mr. Hamilton, he took his
withered band, and seating himself by his side, he said, "These are
hours of weakness, dear sir, and need a strong support."
"They are, Roland; I feel flesh and heart failing, but I can say God
is now the strength of my heart--your dear patient sister was the
little messenger that brought the first whispers of the Spirit,
Roland; I never forgot her dying words."
For a minute, the brother was silent; but seizing the pale hand, and
pressing it warmly, he replied,
"Oh! Mr. Hamilton. What joyful news! my little Effie! was she,
indeed, the messenger to you? wonderful are the ways of God!"
"Yes, Roland, and I have always wanted to tell all that those words
have done for me. I felt that her faith was real; from that day, I
have been reading my Bible with earnest prayer, and it has revealed
to me a Saviour, all-sufficient for the darkest hour, all-merciful to
the greatest sinner--will you pray with me, Roland?" and the young
man bowed down by the side of Madeline, at her father's bed-side, and
poured out an earnest, heartfelt prayer.
"There will soon be a painful trial, Roland; will you be with us when
the day arrives?"
"I promise, Mr. Hamilton;" and Roland retired.
He was frequent in his visits to the sick-room, introducing, also,
Uncle Malcolm, whose strong, fervent faith, and Scriptural wisdom,
was an unspeakable blessing to the suffering man.
"To-morrow is the day, Roland; bring your friend;" and Mr. Hamilton
pressed the strong hand of his young friend.
What was Roland's surprise, to see Madeline pale, composed, and
steadfast, by the side of her parent's bed, awaiting the physicians.
"Can you bear this trial, Miss Hamilton?" was Roland's whispered
inquiry.
"I cannot leave my father; who else should sustain him but his own
daughter? I have prayed for strength; it is mine, Roland;" for in
the deep feelings of the moment, she dropped the ceremonious title
which she had used of late.
The surgeons arrived--instruments were prepared; the sufferer calm
and tranquil; Madeline heroic as a loving woman should be; Roland,
full of sympathy for her; Malcolm strong, tranquil, prayerful.
"My daughter, is it not too much?" whispered her father.
"For you, my father? can anything be too much? I can bear all;" and
she kissed the dear face with steadfast lips.
Close by her father's side, with restoratives in her hand, she
remained throughout the whole painful trial; cold, and pale as marble.
Roland stood near her, and Malcolm on the other side, with eyes
closed, and heart uplifted to God in prayer.
"It is all over," said the principal surgeon.
"How?" whispered Madeline, to Roland.
"Safe, Madeline! It has been successful."
The tension had been too much; the strong heart of love gave way to
the woman's weakness; the reaction was too great; and Roland,
perceiving her falling, lifted her tenderly in his arms--the first
time that he had pressed her form so closely since the days of
childhood; imprinting one warm, pure, and tender kiss upon the sweet,
pale face, he laid her quietly upon the couch in the next room. Aunt
Matilda was there in anxious suspense.
"Is it over, Mr. Bruce?" asked the lady.
"All is well, madam, thus far, but Miss Hamilton needs your care;"
and he bathed the face of the unconscious girl with the cologne that
he had brought from the next room.
"I will perform these offices, sir; you are not needed here,"--and
dismissing him haughtily from the room, she proceeded to loosen the
clothes, and apply restoratives. The fainting was deep and long, and
hastily she called a physician from the next room.
Yielding to remedies, in a few more minutes, some gasping words, and
a heaving of the chest, indicated returning consciousness.
The eyes unclosed--"How is my father, sir?"
"Quite composed," was the reply; "he needs perfect quiet; do not see
him just yet; there must be no emotion; when you are entirely
restored, you can attend him."
"When can you pronounce him out of danger?"
"We cannot tell for twelve hours what will be the result."
Madeline lay quiet for another hour, her lips moving constantly in
prayer; at length she arose. "I am better, aunt; give me a glass of
wine; I must return."
"I am afraid, my dear child, that it is too much."
"No, aunt, I cannot stay here--see! I can walk firmly; I am
perfectly restored;" and she passed quietly into the next room.
Stooping over her father, she pressed one long, loving kiss upon his
dear face.
"Do not speak; I shall not leave you, dear papa, again."
Malcolm watched with deep interest the strong love that filled the
heart of Madeline; and coming to her side, he said,
"My dear young lady, is your strength equal to this great demand? I
am ready to stay, and Roland will aid me."
She smiled as she replied,
"But you are not his daughter, his Madeline."
Mr. Hamilton slept apparently in perfect peace. Madeline watched him
with untiring patience and hope. Whenever he stirred, she was
directed to administer, in small doses, the stimulants that were
ordered by the surgeons.
"What is the danger?" inquired Madeline; "he seems so quiet."
"The want of reaction; sinking of the vital powers, my dear young
lady."
"Is there any reaction yet?" asked she, with a trembling voice.
"None whatever," replied the surgeon, as he sat holding the
pulse--"but it may come yet; there is a great difference in
constitution."
Mr. Hamilton was evidently in a state of insensibility, which
Madeline mistook for sleep.
"You had better administer the wine, my dear," was the surgeon's
direction.
"Will it not disturb his sleep, sir?"
"Not at all, my dear child."
And Madeline from time to time offered a tea-spoonful of wine to the
exhausted man, only a part of which he appeared to swallow.
Hours rolled on--Roland saw the quiet agony of the devoted daughter,
as no symptoms for the better appeared.
"Shall I take your place, Madeline, for a few minutes?" whispered
Roland, as he beckoned to Mr. Graham to lead her to an open window;
and while she stood there, leaning upon the shoulder of this good
man, Roland continued watching, and dripping the wine drop by drop.
Mr. Graham whispered--"Luik unto the Rock that is higher than we,
dear Miss Hamilton," for he saw what was approaching. "There is a
friend that sticketh closer than a brother; trust him, my dear young
friend;" and while she leaned so confidingly upon the strong man, he
whispered earnest words of fervent prayer for the dear father
stretched upon that bed of languishing, and for her so soon to be
bereaved, that she was comforted and strengthened. "Take me back to
my father's side, Mr. Graham. I must not leave him."
The twelve hours had passed--no signs of returning consciousness had
yet appeared.
The surgeon beckoned to Malcolm Graham to come into the next room.
"It is all over, sir--there is scarcely any pulse--he may recover
consciousness, but he is passing away. God help the daughter; you
must prepare her."
Madeline had seen the signal. "Let me go, Roland; I must know the
worst;" and hastily she followed Mr. Graham. He was standing by the
side of the mantel-piece, with his head bowed upon his hands, and
strong emotion was shaking his frame. He perceived Madeline. Taking
her by the hand, he led her kindly to the couch--they were alone.
Placing his fatherly arm around her, he said with a caressing voice,
"Lean on me, my child;" and he tenderly smoothed the soft brown hair,
that lay dishevelled around her face.
"God is trying ye, my dear; ye hae lately given yoursel' to him; ye
and yer dear father. He is going to tak' him first; can ye say, 'The
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken awa', blessed be the name o' the
Lord?'"
Her head sank lower, lower; she had fainted--Malcolm laid her down
tenderly as a woman, and knelt by her side, administering
restoratives, chafing the cold hands, and lifting up his heart in
prayer.
She opened her eyes--a sweet, sorrowful smile passed over her face,
as she whispered, "It is a hard trial, but the Lord's will be done;
my father is a Christian, and I can say now, he is thine; take him,
dear Lord, to thyself; but O, Mr. Graham! this human heart! How
lonely will it be! My father was parent, mother, brother, friend!"
"Comfort will come, my dear child, if ye are ane o' the Saviour's
fold; he is afflicted when ye are sad, has borne all yer sorrows,
carried all yer griefs."
"Now, let us return, Mr. Graham," and Madeline took her place again
by her father's side.
A few more silent hours passed--about midnight, there was some motion
visible in the form that lay there so deathly still. Slowly he
unclosed his eyes, and raising his hand, said,
"Where is my daughter, my Madeline?"
"She is here, dear papa," was the quick response.
"Kiss me, darling; I am in the midst of the dark valley, just passing
over, Madeline; but 'his rod and his staff, they comfort me.'"
She stooped over the dear parent; he folded her fondly to his heart;
then held her off; looked at her one minute with unutterable love;
then pressed upon her cheek the cold kisses of lips that were chilled
in death.
"You have been a comfort to me always, Maddy; you will meet me,
darling, in the better world; be true to your dear Saviour, Madeline."
"Do you suffer, dear papa?" was the affectionate, anxious question.
"Not at all; perfect peace! perfect peace! God be praised!" and in
another minute, the spirit of Lewis Hamilton had departed to its rest.
"Tak' her, Roland," said Mr. Graham, as he saw the drooping form of
the afflicted daughter. Tenderly he led her to the adjoining room,
and whispered words of Christian sympathy and love, in her hour of
sore trial. Aunt Matilda had remained in the room with her brother,
until the last moment, and had then sought her own room.
"O, Roland! you know what I have lost," said the poor girl.
"Yes, Madeline, but think of his everlasting gain;" and Roland sat
with Madeline's dear hand clasped in his, as in the days of yore.
* * * * * * *
Lady Alice had heard of the bereavement, and accompanied by her
brother, she sought the house of the mourner, at the earliest period
after the funeral was over. Roland was there, and Lord N---- needed
none to tell him of the deep love that dwelt in the heart of Roland
Bruce for the orphan girl. But there was something in the humble,
deferential manner of the young man, which led Lord N---- to wonder
if he were really an accepted suitor.
And for Roland himself--when the first hours of sorrow had passed,
and all were trying to return to their accustomed pursuits, more than
ever did he feel the vast difference between himself, the poor young
lawyer, just launching upon the theatre of life, and the rich young
heiress of Woodcliff, the idol even in noble circles.
What could Madeline ever be to him, but the sweet child that he had
trained, the young girl that he had watched so carefully, and the
noble woman whom now he reverenced? He was allowed access to the
house, because Aunt Matilda had now no authority over Madeline, and
independent as she always was, she would not allow dictation here;
but only as a friend he came, and Madeline felt that it was so. Once
more she sought the house of God, where she had been accustomed to
worship. Clad in deep mourning, she took her seat among the
worshippers, and listened to the Gospel message, with a full and
trusting heart.
It was a communion season, and as she bowed around the chancel, she
did not perceive, until she was returning to her seat, that Lord
N----, Roland, and Mr. Graham had all knelt at the same table. It
was a very sweet and soothing thought that here they could all hold
blessed communion with their common Saviour; and though Uncle Malcolm
and Roland were of different sects from herself, they were all one in
Christ Jesus, "one faith, one hope, one baptism."
Lady Alice was about to return to Parkhurst; but ere she went, she
came to bid farewell to Madeline, who was soon to return to America.
"I am sorry, dear, that you cannot be my sister, but I shall always
love you; it is a great disappointment to us all, but especially to
my dear Alfred. I have brought you our likenesses, Madeline, with
our hair woven on the back; you can cherish us as friends, dear."
"You do not blame me, Lady Alice, I hope; I esteem your brother more
than any one that I have met in England; and for yourself, dear
friend, I shall love you always, just as if you were my sister--you
will promise to write frequently, will you not? I have something for
you, Alice," and Madeline brought out a lovely miniature, a perfect
likeness of herself.
"Thank you, Madeline; I never saw any thing more beautifully
painted--now, farewell! be sure to write often; but be assured that I
do not blame you; for as I am sure that you must love another, I have
nothing more to say; nothing else could prevent you from loving my
dear brother."
And thus they parted, these two young girls who had learned to love
each other so well.
Lord N---- came also ere he left the city.
"I may call you Madeline, may I not? for I am trying to school myself
to look upon you as a dear friend; I could not let you go without a
farewell, sad though it may be."
"I am glad to see you, my lord, and hope to hear of your welfare
through your dear sister."
"I think that I have seen my rival, Madeline, in the young man that I
have met here; and I do not wonder; that noble brow, on which sits
enthroned the lofty intellect, the only signet of true nobility, and
that manly form, I could not but admire, while I dare not, as a
Christian, envy."
"You are mistaken, Lord N----; Mr. Bruce is but my friend."
"He will be more, Madeline, before many years; and may God bless you
both, I shall ever pray. Farewell! dear Madeline, for I may say that
in parting," and he wrung the fair hand, on which he printed a warm
farewell kiss, and was gone.