A TURNING POINT.
What a change a few moments often make! They seem of small note and
yet to many lives they have wrought wondrous things.
Marguerite Verne sought her father's presence with a heart sad as it
were possible to be, and left it some time later with a new light
dawning upon her. A ray of hope had given warmth to her whole being,
and in the inaudible "Thank God" what a world of gratitude was
conveyed.
But it must not be inferred that the girl had no misgiving. The
picture of the disappointed lover hung before her as a reminder that
her release was purchased at the expense of another's happiness.
Marguerite reasoned with herself. She was of a deep argumentative
turn of mind, though her actions did not always endorse the
statement.
"How shall I ever have courage to write Hubert!" thought she! "How
shall I pen the words inflicting such a blow! Poor fellow! Whatever
his faults are, and papa must know of some, I am certain he loved
me, and would try to do better. Indeed, the only consoling thought I
had was being the means of making him a better man, but then, it is
dreadful to think of him as having committed some crime! Poor
fellow! he has been led into it," and heaving a deep sigh of relief
Marguerite once more felt truly grateful that she had been rescued
from a fate which now to her seemed terrible.
"Papa does not seem inclined to explain matters and perhaps is as
well," said she, taking a small portrait from a cabinet putting it
away in a drawer which she seldom opened. "I will not destroy it.
Poor Hubert! some day I may feel even more sympathy than I do now;"
and Hubert Tracy in miniature was consigned to its solitary resting
place.
Marguerite Verne's words were prophetic indeed.
She had remained some moments in utter abstraction when Cousin
Jennie hastily entered telling her that Mr. Lawson had just left and
that her father wished to see her.
"What an early call for Mr. Lawson," thought the girl as she went in
answer to the message.
Mr. Verne's face caused Marguerite to clutch the chair beside her
for support.
"Is he dying!" thought she, "dying, and our clergyman from home. Oh,
if he were here to give us comfort."
But Marguerite was mistaken. Her father's voice was stronger than
usual and his eye kindled with something of the old fervor, then
drawing from beneath his pillow a slip of paper raised it to
Marguerite.
The latter did not faint or indulge in any hysterical outbreaks as
is fashionable on such occasions but quietly read the lines and with
calm composure stood for a moment as if waiting for some one to
speak.
"May God have mercy upon his soul! Poor fellow, he had passed away
ere the letter could have reached its destination."
Mr. Verne spoke these words in a deep reverential air. They were
sacred to the memory of Hubert Tracy.
Poor misguided young man. He had gone out one bright Sunday
afternoon flashed with the anticipation of his fondest hopes and as
he stepped gaily on board the saucy-looking yacht that awaited him
at the pier a boisterous shout went up from merry-making companions.
Who among the lookers-on, glancing at the calm sky, would have then
predicted the approaching storm.
Sad to relate none who went out ever returned to tell the sad story.
Some waterman who afterwards passed the spot brought back the
tidings that the trim little craft was a complete wreck and that so
far the bodies had not been recovered.
Strange as it may seem Montague Arnold suddenly aroused himself from
his semi-brutal state and sent a lengthy cablegram to none other
than Phillip Lawson.
We will not question the motives which prompted this sense of duty.
Let us charitably hope that the impression left by the Divine
Architect was not entirely obliterated, that his last generous act
was due to that source.
It was the evening of the same day that Marguerite Verne had
received the news of Hubert Tracy's sad end.
She was in her own chamber, locking perplexed and troubled. "Am I to
blame for his death? Heaven forbid! Did I wish it! Ah no!" then she
thought of Cousin Jennie's prophetic speech and a chill seized her
as of ague. "It is indeed hard to decide between right and wrong.
Will I ever feel real happiness again! Will not the bitter past
come up and taunt me with cruel heartlessness. Would it not have
been better if he had lived! then I would have had an opportunity to
know myself better than now!"
What causes the girl to start? A well known step is heard on the
stairway, and a voice that has power to thrill every nerve, is heard
in conversation with Cousin Jennie.
"I cannot see him," murmured Marguerite, "I must not let him think
that I am glad of my release."
The cosey reception-room was directly underneath, and much of the
conversation within could be distinctly heard.
Mrs. Verne having sufficiently recovered to make her appearance now
formed one of the company.
Her manner towards the young solicitor was warmth itself. It was
painfully embarrassing to the sensitive girl to hear the labored
speeches addressed to the guest.
"It is better that I remain in ignorance, for such knowledge will
only make me act more ridiculous, in fact, I would not be myself
when I was prejudiced to such an extent."
Marguerite then arose, and stole quietly along the upper hall until
she sought the curious-looking apartment already described in a
preceding chapter.
Master Charlie and several of his chums were seated around an old
table and were having some fun over that highly intellectual game
known as "old maid" or "old bachelor."
With an air of gallantry the young gentlemen arose and each had an
impromptu seat for the fair visitor.
"We are not very presentable to ladies, Miss Verne," remarked a
rather handsome boy of thirteen, possessed with that I-am-a-man look
so amusing and comical.
"Oh, Madge, what good luck brought you to our den? Come let us make
'old maid' of you, I've been 'old bachelor' six times."
"And he is afraid that it will turn out so in reality one of these
days!" said out the lad who had not hitherto spoken.
"I might as well be diverting these children as brooding over real
and imaginary woes. It cannot be wrong. If papa could only look in
upon us now as he often did."
"I can stay a few moments boys--that is if you will be quick." And
suiting the action to the words Marguerite wedged in between two
curly-headed urchins brimful of fun and mischief and ready for
anything that might honestly be termed a good time.
"I thought so," exclaimed the jubilant Charlie, clapping his hands
in wild delight, "Madge is old maid."
A round of applause greeted Charlie's speech and amid the general
confusion Marguerite made a hasty retreat.
Mrs. Verne's voice could still be heard but with increasing
distinctness and her marked flattery was painfully distressing, but
the girl was careful to avoid the trying ordeal.
"Eve's letter must be written before I sleep," and instantly
Marguerite was seated in Cousin Jennie's room, where a bright fire
glowed in the grate and everything looked bright and cheerful as the
maiden herself.
"No gloom can come in here," said the girl in a manner that showed
that she was trying to fortify herself against intruding thoughts.
"Hubert was kind to Eve, she will surely mourn for him. He was more
attentive than Montague, and I believe had more sympathy."
It was well for Marguerite that she was ignorant of her sister's
sadly altered condition. As she pens the lines she fervently prays
that Montague Arnold may take warning from his friend's sad fate and
that Evelyn may feel more interested in her husband and give less
concern to the fogies and recklessness of fashionable society.
Mr. Verne's condition now appeared more favorable. Marguerite was
buoyed up by the thought that it was almost impossible that her
father could be taken away from her. "A kind Providence sees fit to
restore him to us," murmured she as the door closed upon the
venerable benign countenance of their much endeared physician. But
the latter did not hold out false hope. When questioned as to his
opinion he spoke kindly and said that he was doing all that could be
done.
Another week had flown, and Saturday night was ushered in with a
quiet that was inspiring, reminding one most forcibly of the lines:
"The cheerfu sapper down, wi' serious face,
They, round the ingle form a circle wide,
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace
The big ha' Bible, once his father's pride."
Though Saturday night at "Sunnybank" presented a different scene the
faithful picture was often presented to Mr. Verne in a way that
filled his soul with a deep religious fervour and inspired him with
a filial reverence for the time-honored custom of his worthy
ancestors.
But of the present. Marguerite had been reading from the _Church
Witness_, and having finished her task or rather pleasure, sat
down upon a low stool beside the grate, gazing upon the red hot
coals with a far off look in her violet eyes!
"Has Phillip been here to-day, my dear?" asked Mr. Verne arousing
Marguerite from her reverie.
"Not to-day, papa."
"I would like to see him this evening."
"James can go for him if you wish, papa."
"Very well, dear, just say that I wish to see him, if at all
possible."
Marguerite glanced at the tiny alarm clock that stood on the table.
It was nearly eight o'clock, and in all probability Mr. Lawson might
not be found at home, but she gave the message to the trusty errand
boy, and once more was installed as watcher in the sick room, having
an uncomfortable dread of meeting the expectant visitor.
"James has indeed been successful, papa," cried the girl as she
heard the well-known footsteps in the corridor, then hastily added,
"I shall be in the library, papa. You can ring when I am needed."
Marguerite had not gone many steps when she stood face to face with
Phillip Lawson.
Despite her efforts to appear calm the flushed cheeks were a sad
tell tale.
She reached out her hand in a friendly way but seemed nervous and
embarrassing, a circumstance which might easily be ascribed to the
painful anxiety that at times possessed her.
"Papa seemed so anxious that I proposed sending for you," said
Marguerite in her winning gentle way.
"I am glad that you did, Miss Verne; I was just leaving the house as
the message arrived."
Mr. Lawson was soon seated beside his old friend.
The latter, within the last few moments, had become much excited and
the young man felt uneasy.
Mr. Verne, having divined the latter's thoughts, exclaimed, "Don't
be alarmed Phillip, I have much to say before we are through. This
may be the last opportunity--the very last."
"Never mind sir, you're worth a dozen dead men yet," said Mr. Lawson
in a cheerful voice.
But the effect was lost upon the dying man.
"Phillip Lawson," said he, his voice calm and distinct, "I have
asked God to give me strength to-night and I have not asked in vain.
He has been good and merciful to me through it all and on this bed
of affliction I have made my peace with Him."
A tear shone in the listener's eye and fell upon the floor.
"God has indeed been good to me. He has revealed Himself in a number
of ways. Not once has He withheld His hand. The plots of the wicked
have been frustrated. When their hands were lifted against me He
laid them low in the dust. Ah Phillip, I have much to be grateful
for."
Mr. Verne then pointed to a small box which Phillip brought to his
bedside, when a small key was produced.
"Take this," said he, "and on opening the lower drawer on the right
side of my desk you will see a miniature Japanese cabinet. Bring it
to me."
Mr. Lawson did as requested, and with trembling hands Mr. Verne drew
forth a paper which he passed to the young lawyer.
"There is a document, which doubtless you have seen before, at least
I always thought so," said Mr. Verne, eyeing his friend with eager
look.
"I have indeed, sir, but never would have thought of it being in
your possession."
It is needless to add the explanation that followed, the reader
being well acquainted with the facts, but we can try to imagine the
joy that leaped into Phillip Lawson's heart.
Never within so short a time was realized more true happiness.
"Mr. Lawson," said Mr. Verne, "I want to say a few more words. I
feel that my days are nearly numbered, and that soon my voice will
be silent. It is, indeed, a painful subject, but duty demands it.
Ah! Phillip, what man would have acted towards that unfortunate
youth as you have done. Yours is a generosity that is seldom met
with."
Mr. Verne seemed for a moment lost in deep thought, then exclaimed:
"Ah! Phillip, God's ways are wonderful. Let us thank Him that the
barriers are broken down--that ere long you may possess the rarest
treasure that this earth can give."
Mr. Verne's voice sank into a deep whisper as he uttered the solemn
invocation:
"And now may the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of
Jacob, rest upon thee forever my son."
The icy fingers which had lain within those of the other, now
relaxed their hold.
Mr. Lawson seeing that the man was growing weaker, made an excuse to
leave.
"Phillip," said Mr. Verne in a hoarse tone, "When I have laid in my
grave for three months I want you to show my child that document.
Then plead your suit, and if from my home above it be possible that
it is granted me to witness the scene, I shall pray for you both.
Yes, Phillip, the prayer of an invisible presence shall light upon
you and crown you with a happiness, that will have no end."