"I don't see what we are to do about Evadne!" and Mrs. Hildreth sighed
disconsolately. "She looks like a walking shadow. I should not be
surprised if she had inherited her father's disease, and they say now
that consumption is as contagious as diphtheria."
"Horrors!" cried Isabelle. "Do quarantine her somewhere, Mamma, until
you are quite sure there is no danger. I haven't the faintest
aspirations to martyrdom."
"It is a great care," sighed Mrs. Hildreth. "All of you children have
always been so healthy. I don't believe Doctor Russe will listen to her
going to the seaside, and the mountains are so monotonous! Other
people's children are a great responsibility."
Suddenly Isabelle clapped her hands. "I have it!" she cried. "Send her
up to Aunt Marthe, and then we can tease Papa to let us go to Newport.
Marion is going to spend the summer with Christine Drayton, you know,
and Papa does not intend to leave the city, so we can persuade him that
it is our duty to seize such a golden opportunity of doing things
economically. I am sure I don't know what people must think of us, never
going to any of the fashionable places. For my part I think we owe it to
Papa's position to keep up with the world."
"I believe it might be managed," said Mrs. Hildreth after some
consideration. "It was very clever of you to think of it, Isabelle. You
ought to be a diplomat, my dear," and she smiled approvingly on her
daughter.
* * * * *
The train swept along through the picturesque Vermont scenery and Evadne
looked out of her window with never ending delight.
"I am like a poor, lonely bird," she said to herself, "who flits from
shore to shore, seeking rest and finding none. Another journey in the
dark! I wonder what will be at the end of this one? Well, I'll hope for
the best. Aunt Marthe's letter was kind, and her name sounds as cheery
as Aunt Kate's sounds cold."
Mr. Everidge came to meet her as the train steamed into the little
station, and Evadne soon found herself seated in a comfortable carriage
behind a handsome chestnut mare, bowling along a fragrant country road,
catching glimpses at every turn of the verdure-clad hills.
She found her new uncle very pleasant. There was a silver-tongued
suavity about him in striking contrast to the growing preoccupation of
Judge Hildreth, and a sort of airy self complaisance which took it for
granted that he should be well treated by the world.
"I am very glad you have come, my dear niece," he said, "to relieve the
tedium of our uneventful existence. You must let our Vermont air kiss
the roses into bloom again in your pale cheeks. It has a world-wide
reputation as a tonic. I hope you left our Marlborough relatives in a
pleasant attitude of mind? It is one of the evidences of this
progressive age that you should woo 'tired Nature's sweet restorer' one
night under the roof of my respected brother-in-law, the next under my
own. The ancients, with their primitive modes of laborious transit, were
only half alive. We of to-day, thanks to the melodious tea-kettle and
inventive cerebral tissue of the youthful Watt, live in a perpetual
hand-clasp, so to speak, and, by means of the flashing chain of light
which girdles the globe are kept in touch with the world. It is food for
reflection that the thought which is evolved from the shadowy recesses
of our brain to-day, should be, by the mysterious camera of electricity,
photographed upon the retina of the Australian public to-morrow, and we
need to have the archives of our memory enlarged to hold the voluminous
correspondence of the century.
"Ah, Squire Higgins, good-evening. My niece by marriage, Miss Hildreth
of Barbadoes."
The Squire lifted his hat, there was a little desultory conversation,
then the carriages went on their separate ways, and soon Evadne found
herself at her destination.
She looked eagerly at the pretty house with its _entourage_ of flowers
and lawns, grand old trees and distance-purpled hills, then Aunt Marthe
appeared in the doorway and she saw nothing else.
She was of medium height with a crown of soft, brown hair, and eyes
whose first glance of welcome caught Evadne's heart and held her
captive. There was a wonderful sweetness about the smiling mouth, and
the face, although not classically beautiful, possessed a subtle
spiritual charm more fascinating than mere physical perfection of color
and form. She moved lightly with a buoyant youthfulness strangely at
variance with the stately dignity of Mrs. Hildreth and the studied
repose of Isabelle.
"You dear child!" The soft arms held her close, the sweet lips caught
hers in a kiss, and Evadne felt with a great throb of joy that the
weary bird had found a resting-place at last.
She led her into a cool, tastefully furnished room, drew her down beside
her on the couch and took off her hat and gloves, then she handed her a
fan and went to make her a lemon soda.
Evadne looked round the room with its soft curtains swaying in the
breeze, the cool matting on the floor with a rug or two, the light
bookcases with their wealth of thought, the comfortable wicker rockers,
the bamboo tables holding several half cut magazines, an open
work-basket, a vase with a single rose, while on the low mantel a
cluster of graceful lilies were reflected in the mirror. "Why, this is
home!" she cried and she laid her head against the cushions with a
delightful sense of freedom.
The early supper was soon announced and Evadne found herself in a cozy
dining-room seated near a window which opened into a bewildering vista
of summer beauty. There were flowers beside each plate as well as in the
quaintly carved bowl in the centre of the table. Evadne caught herself
smiling. That had always been a conceit of hers in Barbadoes.
Everything was simple but delicious. The tender, juicy chicken, the
delicate pink ham, the muffins browned to a turn, the Jersey butter
moulded into a sheaf of wheat, and moist brown bread of Aunt Marthe's
own making, the blocks of golden sponge cake, the crisp lettuce, the
fragrant strawberries, the cool jelly frosted with snow. Evadne drank
her tea out of a chocolate tinted cup, fluted like the bell of a flower,
and felt as if she were feasting on the nectar of the gods, while Mr.
Everidge's silvery tones kept up a constant stream of talk and Aunt
Marthe's beautiful hospitality made her feel perfectly at home.
"Tea, my dear Evadne," he said, as he passed her cup to be refilled, "is
an infusion of poison which is slowly but surely destroying the coatings
of the gastronomical organ of the female portion of society. I tremble
to think of the amount of tannin which analysis would show deposited in
the systems of the votaries of the deadly Five o'clock, and the
unhealthy nervous tension of the age is largely traceable to the
excessive consumption of the pernicious liquid. Chocolate, on the
contrary, taken as I always drink it, is simple and nutritive, with no
unpleasant after effects to be apprehended, but this decoction of bitter
herbs, steeped to death in water far past its proper temperature, is
concentrated lye, my dear Evadne, nothing but concentrated lye. By the
way, Marthe, I wish you would give your personal supervision to the
preparation of my hot water in the future. Nothing comparable to hot
water, Evadne, just before retiring. It aids digestion and induces
sleep, and sleep you know is a gift of the gods. The Chinese mode of
punishing criminals has always seemed to me exquisite in its barbarity.
They simply make it impossible for the unhappy wretches to obtain a wink
of sleep, until at length the torture grows unbearable and they find
refuge in the long sleep which no mortal has power to prevent. So, my
dear Marthe, see to it if you please in future that my slumber tonic is
served just on the boil. The worthy Joanna does not understand the
mysteries of the boiling process. Water, after it has passed the
initiatory stage becomes flat, absolutely flat and tasteless. What I had
to drink last night was so repugnant to my palate that I found it
impossible to sink into repose with that calm attitude of mind which is
so essential to perfect slumber.
"See to it also, my dear, that I am not disturbed at such an unearthly
hour again as I was this morning. Tesla, the great electrician, has put
himself on record as intimating that the want of sleep is a potent
factor in the deplorably heavy death rate of the present day. He thinks
sleep and longevity are synonymous, therefore it becomes us to bend
every effort to attain that desirable consummation."
Involuntarily Evadne looked at Mrs. Everidge. Her face was slightly
turned towards the open window and there was a half smile upon her lips,
as if, like Joan of Arc, she was listening to voices of sweeter tone
than those of earth. She came back to the present again on the instant
and met her niece's eyes with a smile, but in the subtle realm of
intuition we learn by lightning flashes, and Evadne needed no further
telling to know that the saddest loneliness which can fall to the lot of
a woman was the fate of her aunt.
Immediately after supper Mrs. Everidge persuaded Evadne to go to her
room. The long journey had been a great strain upon her strength and she
was very tired.
"I wish you a good night, Uncle Horace," she said as she passed him in
the doorway.
"And you a pleasant one," he rejoined with a gallant bow. "'We are such
stuff as dreams are made of--and our little life is rounded with a
sleep.'"
She lay for a long time wakeful, revelling in the strange sense of peace
which seemed to enfold her, while the evening breeze blew through the
room and the twilight threw weird shadows among the dainty draperies.
At length there came a low knock and Mrs. Everidge opened the door.
Evadne stretched out her hands impulsively. "Oh, this beautiful
stillness!" she exclaimed. "In Marlborough there is the clang of the car
gongs and the rumble of cabs and the tramp of feet upon the pavement
until it seems as if the weary world were never to be at rest, but this
house is so quiet I could almost hear a pin drop."
Mrs. Everidge smiled. "You have quick ears, little one. But we are
quieter than usual to-night; Joanna is sitting up with a sick neighbor,
your uncle went to his room early, and I have been reading in mine."
She drew a low chair up beside the bed. "Now we must begin to get
acquainted," she said.
"Dear Aunt Marthe!" cried Evadne, "I feel as if I had known you all my
life."
She gave her a swift caress. "You dear child! Then tell me about your
father."
Evadne looked at her gratefully. No one had ever cared to know about her
father before. Forgetting her weariness in the absorbing interest of her
subject, she talked on and on, and Mrs. Everidge with the wisdom of true
sympathy, made no attempt to check her, knowing full well that the
relief of the tried heart was helping her more than any physical rest
could do.
"And now, oh, Aunt Marthe, life is so desperately lonely!" she said at
last with a sobbing sigh.
Mrs. Everidge leaned over and kissed the trembling lips. "I think
sometimes the earthly fatherhood is taken from us, dear child, that we
may learn to know the beautiful Fatherliness of God. We can never find
true happiness until our restless hearts are folded close in the hush of
his love. Human love--however lovely--does not satisfy us. Nothing
can,--but God!"
"The Fatherliness of God," repeated Evadne. "That sounds lovely, but
people do not think of him so. God is someone very terrible and far
away."
"'And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.' Does that sound as
if he were far away, little one? 'As one whom his mother comforteth, so
will I comfort you.' Why, God is father and mother both to us, dear
child. Can you think of anyone nearer than that?"
Evadne caught her breath in a great gladness. "I believe you are his
angel of consolation," she said in a hushed voice.
"'Even unto them will I give ... a place and a name better than of sons
and daughters,'" quoted Aunt Marthe softly. "That means a location and
an identity. Here, sometimes, it seems as if we had neither the one nor
the other. Christ follows out the same idea in his picture of the
abiding place which is being prepared for you and me. Everything on
earth is so transitory, and the human heart has such a hunger for
something that will last."
"Have you felt this too?" cried Evadne. "I thought I was the only one."
Mrs. Everidge laughed. "The only one in all the world to puzzle over its
problems! Oh, yes, the older we grow, the more we find that the great
majority have the same feelings and perplexities as ourselves, although
some may not understand their thought clearly enough to put it into
words."
"What is your favorite verse in all the Bible?" asked Evadne after a
pause.
Mrs. Everidge laughed again, and Evadne thought she had never heard a
laugh at once so merry and so sweet.
"You send me into a rose garden, dear child, and tell me to select the
choicest bloom out of its wilderness of beauty. How can I when every one
has a different coloring and a fragrance all its own? Two of my special
favorites are in the Revelation,--'To him that overcometh, to him will
I give of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone, and upon
the stone a new name written, which no one knoweth but he that receiveth
it.' 'And they shall see his face, and his name shall be on their
foreheads.'
"That means a possession and a belonging. It is the spiritual symbol
which binds us to our heavenly lover for eternity just as the wedding
ring is a pledge of fidelity for our earth time. It is only as we see it
so, that we get the full beauty of the religion of Jesus. His
church--the inner circle of his chosen 'hidden ones'--is his bride, and
what can be more glorious than to be the bride of the King of kings? The
dear souls who only serve him with fear do not get the sweetness out of
it at all. How can they, when their lives are all duty? 'Perfect love
casteth out fear' and there is no duty about it, for when we love, it is
a joy to serve and give. It hurts the Christ to have us content to be
simply servants when he would lift us up to the higher plane of
friendship, when he has put upon us the high honor of the dearest friend
of all! Earthly brides spend a vast deal of time and thought over their
trousseau, so I think Christ's bride should walk among men with a sweet
aloofness while the spiritual garments are being fashioned in which she
is to dwell with him. The Bible says a great deal about dressing. 'Let
thy garments be always white'--the sunshine color, the joy color--for
bye and bye we are to walk with him in white, you know. Our spiritual
wardrobe must be fitted and worn down here. It is a terrible mistake to
put off donning the wedding robes until we come to the feast. And the
wardrobe is very ample. Christ would have his bride luxuriously
appareled. 'Be clothed with humility.' That is a fine, close-fitting
suit for every day, but over it we are to wear the garment of praise and
the warm, shining robe of charity. Can you fancy anything more beautiful
than a life clothed in such garments as these? And to me the loveliest
of all is charity. The highest praise I ever heard given to a woman was
that 'she had such a tender way of making excuses for everybody.'
"Very fair must be the bride in the eyes of her royal lover, clothed in
the garments which he has selected,--all light and joy and tenderness,
for, the King's daughter is all glorious within."
"Aunt Marthe," said Evadne, after a long silence, in which they had been
tasting the sweetness of it, "I do not need to ask if you know Jesus
Christ?"
The lovely face took on an added beauty. "He is my life," she said.