A GOOD WOMAN.
As briefly as possible must now be sketched the story of Emilia's life
during the next eighteen years. To her resolution not to return to
England she remained firm during that period. Two days after Leonard
left her she quitted the town to which he had brought her, and twelve
months afterward she found herself settled in Geneva. It was her good
fortune to meet an elderly lady who required a companion. The name of
this lady was Madame Lambert, and she was attracted by the gentleness
of Emilia's manner. These two ladies happened to be staying at the
same hotel for a few days, and Emilia was enabled to render Madame
Lambert some slight service. Like Emilia, the elder lady was
travelling alone, and one evening Madame Lambert was seized with a
sudden faintness at the _table d'hôte_. Emilia, who was sitting next
to her, assisted her to her room, and remained with her during the
night, sharing her bed by invitation. In her situation Emilia was
compelled to register her name as Mrs. Braham, and Madame Lambert,
questioning her, was told by Emilia that she was a widow. Emilia did
not attempt to justify herself to her conscience; she knew that the
duplicity was necessary for the credit of her unborn child.
"Are you quite alone?" asked Madame Lambert.
"Yes," replied Emilia. "My husband died poor, and left me very little.
My intention is to seek a situation as governess."
"In England?"
"No, here in Switzerland. I shall be happier here. I have no friends
in England, and my knowledge of the English language will perhaps
enable me to obtain a situation more easily here than there."
"You will soon," said Madame Lambert, in a tone of kindly
significance, "be compelled to rest a while. For a little time at
least you will not be able to fill a situation as governess."
Emilia blushed and sighed. "I have thought of that," she said, "with
fear and trembling."
"Because you are poor?" questioned Madame Lambert, speaking still with
the utmost kindness.
"Yes," said Emilia, softly. Frankness was best under the
circumstances.
"My dear," said Madame Lambert, "I am sure you are a lady."
"My father was a gentleman," said Emilia. "He fell into misfortune,
and when he died I was penniless."
"And you married a penniless gentleman. Ah, how imprudent is youth!
But I have been young myself, and have loved and lost. My dear,
neither am I rich, but I have a life income which is sufficient. It
dies with me, I regret to say. I have a reason for telling you this.
Like yourself, I am alone in the world. I was born in Geneva, and when
a course of travel, which my doctor recommended for my health, is
over, shall return there to live. Will you travel with me as my friend
and companion? I can offer you very little in the shape of salary, but
it will be enough to provide you with clothes, and perhaps a little
more. Then you will have a lady with you when your baby is born. What
do you say?"
"What can I say," replied Emilia, in a voice of gratitude that
completed the conquest she had began, "but thank you from my inmost
heart for your kind offer? I can scarcely believe it real."
"It is real, my dear. Heaven is very good, and sends us friends when
we least expect them. I am sure we shall get along very well together.
You accept, then?"
"I accept with gratitude." She raised the hand of the kind lady to her
lips, and her tears bedewed it. "Yes, God is very good to me. I will
prove worthy of your kindness. You shall never repent it."
"If thought otherwise I should not press it upon you, my dear. You
will really be rendering me a greater service than it is in my power
to render to you. It is miserable to travel alone, without a kindred
soul to talk to and confide in. So it is settled. We shall be true
friends."
From that day Madame Lambert and Emilia travelled together, not as
mistress and companion, but as friends, until the time arrived when
Madame Lambert saw that it was imperative that Emilia should remain
for a few weeks quiet and free from the fatigues of a wandering life.
Thus faith and goodness were rewarded.
In a picturesque and retired village Emilia's baby, a girl, was born,
and baptized in the name of Constance, Madame Lambert's christian
name. Sweet and profound was the happiness with which the young
mother's heart was filled when she held her baby to her breast. A
sacred joy was hers, in which she found a holy consolation for the
troubles through which she had passed. Madame Lambert was delighted,
and drew from the mother and child a newborn pleasure. She never tired
of showing them kindness; had they been of her own blood she could
scarcely have been more considerate and thoughtful. She called
Constance "our child," and was as nervous over the little one's trials
as Emilia herself. In such sympathetic companionship, and with such a
sweet treasure as she now possessed, Emilia could only be happy. She
never dwelt with sorrow upon the past. With rare wisdom she destroyed
the bridge behind her, and buried the memories which had threatened to
utterly wreck and ruin her life. Constance was a child of love, not of
shame. Emilia's pure soul exonerated her from self-reproach, and shame
could never be her portion now that there was no link, except the
loving link of a baby's hands, between the past and the future.
Wherever she turned she met looks of kindness; no longer was she
avoided and repulsed. The world once more was sweet, and bright, and
beautiful, and when she prayed to our Father in Heaven it was in the
happy consciousness that He knew her to be a pure and innocent woman.
"Baby, baby, baby!" she whispered to the child in her "You have
restored me to life, to joy, to happiness. Oh, my baby, my baby! Can I
ever be sufficiently grateful to you? Dear Lord in Heaven, give me
strength and wisdom to guide her aright, to keep her from pitfalls, to
see her grow in purity and innocence to a happy womanhood! Do not take
her from me. Let her remain with me as a shield and protector. Through
her I see goodness and light. Oh, my angel, my angel!"
She wiped her happy tears away, and sang and crooned and worshipped as
only a good mother can. Ah, the little fingers, the childish prattle,
the pattering of little feet, what would the world be without them?
Religion would be dead, and faith a mockery not to be indulged in
without a sneering devil creeping close to lay its icy hands upon
hearts in which sweet thoughts are harbored. Flowers of the human
garden, let us be humbly grateful for the light they shed upon the
dark spaces which at one time or other every mortal has to tread. In
the midst of the gloom which surrounds us shines a star illumining a
fair face and a head with flowing curls. In the midst of the stillness
by which we are encompassed steals a musical voice, with its divine
melody of childish laughter. What is that light in the distance? A
bright cloud shining on a little bed, by the side of which kneels a
small form clad in white. The pretty hands are clasped, and from the
lovely lips issue the words, "Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed
be Thy name!"
It was impossible that Emilia could forget Gerald, but her thoughts of
him were ever gentle and kind and forgiving. "You see our child, dear
Gerald"--thus ran her thoughts--"watch over her. I forgive you for the
wrong you committed. Do not trouble and sorrow over it. It is done and
gone, and only sweetness remains. You have given me a flower which
makes my heart a garden of love. God bless you, dear Gerald!" So from
the bitterest woe in which a human being could be plunged uprose a
heavenly light.
"We must not spoil our child," said Madame Lambert.
"We cannot spoil her," said Emilia. "Is she not beautiful?"
"The loveliest baby that ever drew breath, my dear. You happy woman!
If I were as young as you are I should be jealous of you."
The good lady was amazed at the new beauty which now dwelt in Emilia's
face. The young mother was transfigured. A holy radiance shed its
light upon her. Madame Lambert found herself presently worshipping the
mother almost as much as she worshipped the child.
"If you were my own daughter, my dear," she said, "I could not love
you more."
"You are the best woman in the world," responded Emilia. "Heaven
guided my feet when it led me to you."
"Now it is time," said Madame Lambert, "to think of returning to
Geneva. There is our baby's education to be attended to."
"Yes," said Emilia, gravely. "She must be taught everything that is
good."
And baby was only four months old! But mothers let their thoughts run
ahead.
They did not, however, return at once to Madame Lambert's home. They
lingered for two or three months in the valleys and mountains, and
gathered garlands and posies for their child, which they pressed and
preserved as though they were jewels of inestimable value. And,
indeed, there are no jewels to compare with memories so sweet and
pure. At length the happy rambles were over, and they were in Geneva.
"Welcome home," said Madame Lambert.
Her apartments, in a good position in the city, consisted of five
rooms and a kitchen. Two of these rooms Madame Lambert gave to Emilia,
one a sitting-room, the other a bedroom for her and the baby. During
Madame Lambert's absence the apartments had been taken care of by an
old servant, who acted as cook and general domestic, to whom Madame
Lambert had sent certain written instructions. When Madame Lambert
said to Emilia, "Welcome, home," she conducted Emilia to the rooms set
apart for her, and the young mother's eyes overflowed as they fell
upon the flowers which welcomed her and at the other evidences of a
loving friendship which the thoughtfulness of Madame Lambert had
provided.
"How good you are to me!" she murmured.
"We are going to be very happy here," said Madame Lambert.
"I should be undeserving, indeed," said Emilia, kissing her kind
friend and putting the baby into her arms, "if I were not happy with
you."
Madame Lambert was well known in Geneva, and had many friends there,
to all of whom she introduced Emilia. It was through these
introductions that Emilia was enabled to obtain employment as a
governess, which occupied her four or five hours a day, and her
sweetness and gentleness soon made her loved by all who knew her. In
this way passed five happy years, and then a calamity occurred. Madame
Lambert fell ill, and the doctors said that she could not recover.
When this verdict was imparted to Madame Lambert, she received it with
resignation.
"I have only one regret, my dear," she said to Emilia, "that I must
say farewell to you and our child. But my spirit will be with you
always."
"Dear friend, dear friend!" murmured Emilia.
"It's a great comfort to me to know," said the dying woman, "that you
are well established here, and can get a living. You are so much loved
that I have no fears of your future. I am truly sorry that I cannot
leave you and our Constance a fortune. There is a little money, very
little, but it will be useful; and in my will I have left the
furniture of our home to you. Then I have been clever enough to pay
the rent in advance for the next three years, so that you will be able
to put by a little more. God bless you, my dear; you have brightened
the last years of an old woman's life."
In a voice choked with emotion Emilia thanked and blessed the good
lady, who smiled and fondled her hand. She saw little Constance
frequently, but she would not allow the child to be saddened by
keeping her too long in the room of a dying woman.
"Childhood should be bright," she said. "I want our child to remember
me in my cheerful moods."
"She will remember and pray for you all her life," sobbed Emilia, "as
I shall, dearest and best of friends."
The end came a little after midnight.
"Do you think," she whispered, with a pause between each word, "that
you could let me kiss our dear child without awaking her?"
"I will bring her," said Emilia.
"Kiss me first, dear," said the dying lady.
Emilia kissed her, and lay a few moments with her face nestling to
that of her friend. Then she went and brought the child in her arms.
Constance was asleep. Emilia had lifted her very lightly from her bed,
and now she laid her by Madame Lambert's side, and covered her with a
warm shawl. The child's fragrant breath flowed upon the dying lady's
face.
"Our little angel is the sweetest flower the world contains," murmured
Madame Lambert. "Good-by, sweet one. Heaven guard and protect you!"
She closed her eyes, and did not open them again. And so the good soul
passed away, with the child's breath fanning her face.