THE LIVING PRESENT.
The bitter, cold days of winter are nearly at an end. The forces of
nature are now exhausted and the elements have settled down into
quiet rest.
"How time flies!" exclaimed the solicitor glancing at the calendar
opposite his desk. "Three months to-day since I made that promise."
Phillip Lawson looked happy. His office had a cheerful aspect, and
his surroundings seemed to indicate that the young man was contented
and happy.
"Four o'clock and the fellow is not here! Well, I can afford to be
disappointed to-day. It matters not." And putting on his great coat
Phillip Lawson made his way down town and as he strode along at a
rapid gate we were not surprised to hear one of the "oldest
inhabitants" remark "Gracious! what a fine strapping fellow that
young Lawson has got to be. I bet he'd turn the scales at one
hundred and eighty."
The evening of the same day another scene is before us.
A graceful figure is seated beside the grate of the neat, cosey
parlor which we have hitherto admired.
A deep blush rises upon the maiden's cheek as she turns over the
leaves of the handsome volume lying in her lap. What causes that
blush? What latent property lies hid in a withered moss rose? What
beauty to arrest a maiden's eye?
These are questions to be decided by the fair ones who perhaps in
like manner have treasured away, far from human eyes, a few, petals
of a withered rose or perhaps "only a pansy blossom."
Ah, the tell tale crimson that will betray Marguerite in spite of
all her grand theories of will power!
"It is Phillip!" and the rapid beat of that uncontrollable organ
sends the crimson flood surging over the marble brow with redoubled
force.
"Pardon my coming to-night, Miss Verne. It is on a sacred mission--a
solemn obligation to the dead."
Phillip Lawson's voice was husky, and his muscular frame vibrated
with the depth of emotion.
Marguerite grew pale, but the young man's reassuring words brought
relief.
"It is nothing to grieve for. It is somewhat unpleasant for us all,
but we must not consider our feelings."
A familiar face greets the young man with a pleasing smile.
Mrs. Arnold is indeed a changed woman. She is now a true friend an
honorable and honest friend.
The once peerless beauty is no longer a silly, heartless nobody, but
a being with feelings, and aspirations of a higher kind; and as she
stands before us much altered in appearance, with much of the former
beauty gone, we can indeed rejoice that in its place is a happy,
soft subdued expression that makes even the plainest face comely and
fair to look upon.
"I am glad that you have come Mr. Lawson, I have been thinking of
you the whole evening. I have so much to ask you about papa. It
seems that I never can get him out of my mind. I can see him now
looking so interested, just as he did when you happened to come to
'Sunnybank.' Oh! Mr. Lawson, will I ever cease to feel the deep
remorse that is almost killing me."
"That is just the way she goes on from morning till night,"
exclaimed Mrs. Verne, who now entered, and extended her hand to her
guest in a quiet and kindly way.
The young man was at a loss for words, and thinking it best to say
nothing just then, suddenly held up the missing document.
"This is the promise I made Mr. Verne," said he, addressing himself
to Mrs. Verne, then placing the letter in Marguerite's hand.
The latter glanced at the contents, and trembled violently.
Mrs. Arnold was the first to speak.
"Is it the confession of a murder, Mr. Lawson. It must be something
terrible."
"Bead it for yourself," said Marguerite, awaking from her stupor.
"Truly God has watched over us from the first. Oh! mamma, think what
I have escaped."
"Hush! Marguerite. Let us never refer to the past again," said Mrs.
Arnold, with a calm resignation so characteristic of the noble
spirit which now actuated her.
"Phillip Lawson, you have proved the truest friend that my father
ever had. You have been true to us all, and we little deserved such
sacrifice. Many a time I have held you up to ridicule when I knew in
my heart that you were honest and good."
Marguerite had noiselessly stolen from their midst. She was deeply
overcome and nature must have its way.
"You will pardon me, Mrs. Arnold, if I give you the same advice
which you thought fit for your sister--_let us forget the past and
live only for the present_."
Phillip Lawson was somewhat agitated. A clear, steady light shone in
the intellectual gray eyes, and a noble resolve was written in
relief upon the generous face.
"Mrs. Verne, I have something further to say." And the young man
repeated the conversation which took place when the document was
brought from its resting place when Mr. Verne had invoked his last
blessing upon those whose happiness was so dear to him.
"Mr. Lawson, I will also add _my_ blessing, and may Heaven
shower upon you all the happiness that such as you deserve," then
taking the young man's hand and pressing it to her lips Mrs. Verne
withdrew to her own room.
"Bless you, Phillip. You are all to me that a brother can be," and
leaning her head against the stalwart frame Mrs. Arnold gave vent to
the pent-up grief and wept like a little child.
Phillip Lawson sat for some moments after they had left the room.
His eyes were bent upon the floor and his face was grave indeed.
"Evelyn has told you all, Marguerite?" said the young man rising
from his seat and approaching the spot where the girl stood smiling
through her tears--like golden sunshine through an April shower.
"And I have come, Phillip."
Who can picture the joy those words gave?
"Marguerite, my own! mine forever!" exclaimed the enraptured lover
pressing the maiden to his breast and impressing upon her lips such
kisses as only a pure, noble-minded man can give.
Oh, the bliss of that happy betrothal hour, when two souls are
forever made one--when two hearts outwardly estranged at last find
the realization of their earthly bliss!
Phillip Lawson goes forth from the cosey home as the affianced
husband of Marguerite Verne and with him go our heart's best wishes
for a life to be crowned with all the happiness that this world can
give.
Poor Mrs. Verne. She may at times have felt somewhat disappointed
when she thought how surely she could have had a baronet for a
son-in-law, but in charity for the woman's weakness we will forbear.
It is really wonderful how quickly news travels. Not a week had
passed ere Mr. Spriggins came in with a double share of
congratulation from himself and Melindy.
"I tell ye what it is Mr. Lawson, I'm ahead of Wiggins, for I've
never failed in one of my prophesies. They're every one a-comin'
true jest as I said," and Mr. Spriggins slapped his friend on the
shoulder with a force worthy his muscular frame.
"You know I hinted about it at my weddin' and you looked sorter shy
and put me off, and you had it in yer head all the time. Wal, I'm
beginnin' to think men's as deceivin' as wimin."
Mr. Lawson made a few appropriate remarks and Mr. Spriggins began to
think "it was nigh about time for startin'" when suddenly he jumped
to his feet exclaiming, "I do believe I'd a-gone off without tellin'
you the most thrillin' story that you'd ever heard. That ere thing
just put me in mind of it," added he, pointing to a circular of the
Dominion Safety Fund.
"I remember Miss Verne a-tellin' me that it was the best consarn in
the Dominion and I do believe now she's turned out a prophet too.
Now to my story (as they say in love affairs)," and giving his
waistcoat a vigorous pull Mr. Spriggins resumed--
"You know them ere Wiggleses that Melindy used to be jealous of?
Wal, they had a cousin, Jerushy Cursye, and she married a fellar
that used to work up at Deacon Jones's. Wal, to make a long and a
short of it, they were spliced and came to live on a new farm out in
the backlands. Wal, sir, they had a purty tough time gettin' along
for the first year or so, but Jerushy was study as a rock and made
things go as far as the next one I kin tell you, and so when they
were five years in the log house they began to think of gettin' up a
frame house and puttin' on considerable airs; and one day I tackled
Bill and says I, look here, Bill, if you want to make a good
investment (a purty good word for me, Mr. Lawson)," said Moses with
a wink, "I'll put you on the track."
"Good gracious! yes, Moses, says he, it seems I must have had sich a
feelin' meself, for I was a-wonderin' yesterday what I could do to
make Jerushy and the family sure of a good livin'."
"Safety is the word, says I, and as soon as you could say Jack
Robinson, I explained the bisness, and next day Bill made an excuse
to go to town and came home $1000 richer."
"That was the man you had in here about a year ago," said Mr.
Lawson, with an air of interest.
"The very one. Poor Bill! he had no notion of cheatin' the consarn,
for he was hearty as a bear, but he took a cold in the woods, and
gettin' bad treatment it turned to consumption, and he died in less
than no time.
"Poor Jerushy took it dreadful hard, and the nabers was a wonderin'
all the time how she could get along--for you know Mr. Lawson, that
a farm ain't much good without a man or hired help. Wal, sir, what
do you think--it was no more nor three or four days after the
funeral that a letter came to inform the widder that she was to
receive $1000 for her late husband's policy.
"Well, sir," exclaimed Moses, with a twinkle of the big blue eyes,
"It was equal to a circus to see how the folks flocked from all
parts to hear if the story was true, and I believe there was a good
many of the wimin folks jealous of Jerushy's streak of luck."
The lawyer burst into a genuine and hearty laugh, then exclaimed,
"Moses I am afraid that you are rather uncharitable towards the fair
sex."
"Wal, now sir, because you've happened to fall heir to a terrible
nice gal, you needn't think they're all angels, for they ain't by a
long chalk."
Mr. Spriggins now made a stride towards the door.
"Bless me if it ain't later'n I thought. The goin' is terrible bad
and Melindy will be kinder anxious, so good-bye," and the loquacious
Moses made his exit in a style that might not, strictly speaking, be
considered "good form."
But the postscript most be attended to in the form of a second
appearance.
"I say, Mr. Lawson, when are you a-comin' out? Can't you come some
Sunday, and bring Miss Verne and Miss Lottie and be sure and send us
word, so as Melindy can have a fire in the best room, and a dinner
fit for city folks."
"You may see us all out there some day when you least expect us,"
said the young man, smiling in his peculiar way.
"All right, sir! Off this time, sure. Don't forget to tell the
insurance man about the nine-days' wonder up at the Crossin'," and
with this parting injunction, Moses disappeared in good earnest.
An hour later, as the latter is jogging along the king's highway
happy as mortal can be, Phillip Lawson is indulging in a quiet
reverie beside his bright, cheerful fireside.
Though possessed of much means there is no attempt at display in the
pretty tasteful cottage.
The young solicitor had too much good taste, culture, and breeding,
to follow in the wake of shoddyism. He was a true gentleman, and as
such he cannot take a false movement either to the right or the
left.
What glorious day dreams can now be woven from the golden threads of
happy thought?
Phillip Lawson is happy, indeed. He thinks of the fair maiden who
hourly awaits his coming with the flush of fond expectation mantling
the delicate cheek, and as he gazes upon the faithful portrait of
his betrothed, murmurs, "Is there aught on earth so pure and true as
thee my own--my Marguerite."
"Confiding, frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul,
As free from any fear or doubt,
As is that light from chill or stain
The sun into the stars sheds out,
To be by them shed back again."