THE COUSINS.
"From that day I knew him—
Christ, my Priest and King,
Father, Friend, Physician—
Can I cease to sing?
Nay, until he call me
From my work below,
I will tell his praises
Wheresoe'er I go."
"ALONE, mamma! Must I go alone?" said Clara Ross in a low, discontented
tone, as her mother told her the doctor's opinion that, after the long,
weakening illness from which she was just recovering, a change of air
was absolutely necessary, especially now, when the east winds, so
trying to invalids in Edinburgh, were blowing.
"He recommends the Bridge of Allan," she said; "and your father and I
have arranged that you shall go next week. Not alone," she replied, in
answer to Clara's query; "Maria will go with you. It will certainly be
a trial for your sisters to dispense with her aid at this gay season
of the year, for she certainly dresses their hair beautifully; but,
of course; they must make the sacrifice when your health demands it,
although, I fear, I will have to endure their reproaches when they hear
of the arrangement. It is unfortunate that I cannot go with you myself;
but, of course, it is my duty to accompany Laura and Jane to the public
balls, and then the two dances in our house come on, so I have no
choice. Poor Clara! How grieved you will be at missing all the spring
gaiety! What! Crying, child? Well, well, never mind; the doctor says
you will soon be as strong as ever, and you'll enjoy the balls all the
more next year."
Clara pushed aside fretfully the hand her mother laid on her brow. "It
isn't that," she said. "I was tired of balls and visiting night after
night long before this illness came on; but oh! I don't want to be sent
away alone with only a servant. Couldn't Aunt Emmie chaperon the girls,
and you come with me, mamma?"
But such a proposal by no means satisfied the worldly mother. "Now,
Clara, you must be reasonable. You know the calls of duty must be
attended to; a mother must look after the interests of her children.
I am sorry to have to send you away at all, more especially as your
father has peculiar ideas about it; so don't let him see how unhappy
you are."
And so saying, Mrs. Ross moved away to superintend some household
matter.
She was not an unkind or even careless mother. In her own way she loved
and was proud of her children. But her one ambition for them was a
comfortable settlement in life; the things seen and temporal filled her
heart, and a life of worldliness was making her cold and selfish.
That night, when Clara had gone to bed, the subject of the visit to the
Bridge of Allan was warmly discussed in the drawing-room, where Mr. and
Mrs. Ross sat with their daughters.
Mr. Ross spoke angrily. "On one thing I have made up my mind—the girl
shall not go alone. If her own mother cannot leave home, and her
sisters are too selfish to do so, I shall give up a month's business
and go myself. You girls will have to do with fewer fine dresses,
that's all; for I will have to pay a gentleman handsomely to act for
me. But I will not have my little Clara neglected for all the dresses
in the world; so when you fix on the lodgings, take a room for me also."
A look of consternation passed between mother and daughters, and in one
breath they exclaimed.
"But, papa—Mr. Ross—you forget we are to have two dances in the house
next week, and you must not be absent—it is impossible. Think of your
duty to your family, my dear," added Mrs. Ross.
But the only answer vouchsafed was, "Well, my dear, to tell the truth,
I have doubted for long whether my countenancing a constant round of
gaiety and frivolity was indeed my real duty to my family. And when I
see the result of such a life, in rendering my daughters selfish and
unkind, I doubt it still more. We have higher duties to fulfil than
merely living to ourselves, and I pray God he may teach us all to see
it ere it be too late."
If a bombshell had fallen in the midst of the little company, it could
not have caused greater fear and astonishment than did Mr. Ross's
speech. Higher duties to fulfil than living a life of pleasure! Why,
that was the way religious people like the Macleods talked; and surely
papa was not turning one of their sort!
Mrs. Ross was sorely put out, but not so much astonished as her
daughters. Ever since the time, now four years ago, that Mr. Ross had
accompanied Nora Macintosh to Benvourd House, on the night of little
Minnie's death, she had observed a difference in his way of speaking of
religion, and also a growing dislike to the constant gaiety which went
on in their house. She had shut her eyes to the fact, and was glad that
the girls never appeared to observe it. So now she felt she must act
cautiously, and said abruptly she would think over the matter, and see
what arrangement could be made. One thing was certain—Mr. Ross must on
no account be obliged to leave his business.
The next morning found her at the breakfast-table with a radiant face.
An idea had occurred to her, which, if agreed to, would please all
parties.
"Papa," she said, addressing her husband by the name he bore in the
family circle, "I have been so troubled about dear Clara all night; and
as there seems a difficulty about either myself or the girls leaving
home at present, how would it do to ask Nora Macintosh, of whom Clara
is so fond, to visit her at the Bridge of Allan, and so provide her
with a pleasant companion?"
Mr. Ross's brow lightened—for indeed it would have been a loss to him
to leave town just then—and he said eagerly, "That would be a capital
plan. My mind would be at ease, if Clara had such a pleasant, sensible
friend with her as Nora Macintosh. And as she has been brought up not
to please herself only, I doubt not, if she can be spared from her home
duties, she will go. By all means write and ask her."
And so it fell out, after a few days' delay, that Nora Macintosh found
herself installed in comfortable lodgings at the Bridge of Allan, as
companion-nurse to her cousin Clara.
In complying with the request she had to make a sacrifice of no small
kind; for the same post had brought her an invitation from Lady Dudley
to spend the ensuing month with her in her English home, as she had
long desired to become acquainted with the sister of her little boy's
favourite friend, and also with the child of the Elenora Macintosh of
whom she had heard so much.
Inclination said: "Go; this is just what you have long been desiring,
and it would never do to refuse." Duty said: "Decline for the present;
your cousin is ill, and longs for your society."
It was a struggle, we must confess; but Nora had been too long a
servant of the One who came to earth not to be ministered unto, but
to minister, and who has left his disciples the command to deny
themselves, to hesitate long. And so the English visit was put off for
the present, and Nora went to cheer up her invalid cousin.
And a pleasant six weeks' visit she had, as she afterwards told her
aunt. Spring buds were opening, and light spring breezes, and soft,
though often flitting sunshine, brought joy to the bright young heart
of the healthy girl, and returning vigour to Clara's still delicate
frame. Never before had the cousins so much enjoyed being together; and
much pleasant girlish talk was interchanged. But though Nora at first
said little to her cousin as regarded the change she had experienced
since they last met, Clara was not long in discovering the quiet light
in Nora's eyes—the look of rest, so different from the unsatisfied one
which at times she had worn in the days gone by. All testified to "a
heart at peace with God."
And, moreover, Nora preached by her life; the unselfish spirit, the
kind, loving words, the deep reverence for God's Word and for his holy
day, all told from what source the peace and joy came. And somehow—as
Clara told her father in one of his hurried visits, to see how the two
girls were getting on—although Nora never sermonized her, or brought
forth her own opinions, still she was never ashamed to speak of the
love of Jesus, and to claim him as her own friend.
As she spoke these words, Mr. Ross bent over her and said, "Thank
God, we may all claim Jesus as our Friend, if we will take him as our
Saviour. I've been long in finding it out; but I have found it, my
child, though at the eleventh hour. Seek you him, my child, while you
are still young, and the same joy and peace which Nora has got will be
yours also."
Clara's tears fell fast as her father spoke, for, indeed, for months
past she had been weary and dissatisfied with her profitless life,
and a longing after higher things had filled her heart; but she had
feared the opposition she would meet with from all her home relations,
and so had stifled the Spirit of God, and tried to drown the voice of
conscience in a ceaseless round of so-called pleasure.
And now, to find that her own father had been feeling much as she had
done, but, not content with convictions of sin, had found the rest and
the peace she longed to possess. That night proved the turning-point
in the life of Clara Ross; and as she and her cousin sat together,
after Mr. Ross had returned home, the barrier of shyness between them
on sacred things fell, and Clara learned for the first time the way in
which Nora had been brought to decision in religious matters, and heard
all about the field-meeting, and the servant of God whose words had set
her free from Satan's chains.
Nature had spread her fairest, freshest mantle of tender green over
hill and dale, ere the cousins left the Bridge of Allan. The last
evening they spent together there, was one neither of them ever forgot,
one that rose often in memory's eye when seas rolled between the
friends.
Long they lingered, gazing out of the window on the fair scene before
them. The sun was beginning to set when first they took their seats
on the couch placed near the window. Light fleecy clouds, varied with
crimson and purple glory, were floating about on the horizon, as if
accompanying the sun to his resting-place; and after he had slowly sunk
behind the hills, they glowed even more brilliantly with his beams,
seeming now to be set in a background of molten gold, till the eye fell
beneath the exceeding beauty of the sight. But gradually the tints
paled, and at last changed into a soft gray, with only the faintest
blush of rosy hue, paling and paling till the shades of evening crept
over all, and a crescent moon cast its silvery beams on the scene.
Words exchanged that night were long remembered by the cousins; and as,
ere they parted, their voices rose together in prayer to their Father
in heaven, asking for grace to help in each time of need, in her heart
Nora thanked God that he led her to the quiet resting-place, and gave
to her the high honour of helping onward in the heavenly path a child
of his who was groping till then in the darkness, seeking light, but
finding none.
And Clara returned to her home, strong as of yore in body, to begin a
new life of usefulness, to prove a comfort to her father, and a light,
however feeble, to all who were in the home. From her heart now she
could thank God for the long weeks of trying illness through which she
had passed, when, withdrawn from the gay world's influence, she had had
time to be still and to hear his voice, and been enabled by his grace
to exchange the tinsel of a frivolous life for the true riches which
she had formerly despised, but which she now esteemed as far better
than gold and above rubies.
Nora wrote to her brother Ronald that Clara Ross had now begun the
warfare of life under the royal banner.