Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "WE GALLOPED OFF FOR OUR LIVES."]
Myra Sherwood's Cross
AND HOW SHE BORE IT.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE OBJECT OF LIFE," "HOME IN HUMBLE LIFE,"
ETC., ETC.
[_Lucy Ellen Guernsey_]
[Illustration]
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard E.C.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. INCIDENTS OF CHILDHOOD, AND A FAMILY HISTORY
II. A TRIAL OF PRINCIPLE
III. THE DESOLATE HOME
IV. "WHAT MADE YOU COME?"
V. HARRY'S LESSONS AND A CHANGE OF SCENE
VI. A SECRET
VII. A HAPPY SUNDAY
VIII. A NEW HOME AND SOME VARIATIONS OF TEMPER IN IT
IX. HOLIDAYS ANTICIPATED
X. THEY THAT WILL BE RICH
XI. PEACEABLE FRUITS
XII. AFTER A TIME
XIII. THE BROTHERS—A CONTRAST
XIV. SIN BRINGS SORROW
XV. IN THE SCHOOL OF CHRIST
XVI. "OVERCOME EVIL WITH GOOD."
XVII. "DYING IS BUT GOING HOME."
XVIII. NEWS FROM AFAR—HARRY'S ADVENTURES
XIX. SISTERS' LOVE
XX. THE LAST OF THE STORY
MYRA SHERWOOD'S CROSS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
INCIDENTS OF CHILDHOOD,
AND A FAMILY HISTORY.
"DEAR father, you are to name your little granddaughter; what will you
call her?" said a lady, holding in her arms a young child, whose mother
had just been laid in the family vault in the village churchyard.
The old sire was mourning that she, the young, the loved, the useful,
should be cut down in her bloom, and the aged and the helpless left
behind.
"Poor thing, poor thing!" said he, touching the soft cheek. "If Edward
does not object, call her Myra, and let her be brought up to be as much
like our lost one as possible. I will have her mother's picture put
into the nursery; and Myra must be taught to love the sweet face, and
to grow like it. She cannot be like it unless she is good, you know. My
Ethel's face was a good face."
"Edward will be satisfied with your decision, dear father, but his
distress is so terrible, he cannot bear the child in his sight at
present."
"Ah, poor Edward! Time will help him, and me too. I shall soon see her
again, so the faster it flies now, the pleasanter for me. He may have
a long journey yet, but new scenes and faces will beguile him of his
sorrow. I wish you had the bringing up of her child, Amy. Can it be
managed? You are so like Ethel, that the little one would never know
the difference."
"I shall make the offer as soon as I may venture," replied Amy Somers,
kissing her niece, and wishing she might carry her off at once to her
own nursery. But that could not be; for when the poor distracted young
father came to see and love his child, he might be displeased at the
idea of a separation, even though others should feel that it might be
for her benefit.
In due time, the widower ceased to nurse his sorrow. And the grandsire
ceased to mourn for the darling of his life and home, the message
was welcome that bade him prepare to join her, so he set his house
in order, summoned his remaining daughter, blessed his motherless
grandchild, and after a useful life spent in the love of God and the
service of his generation, he fell asleep in Jesus at a good old age.
Again the family vault was opened, and Mrs. Somers, with the little
Myra on her knee, followed her dear and honoured father to the body's
last resting-place. But she rejoiced in the assurance that he and Ethel
had met again among Christ's redeemed, to wait together for the morning
when the finishing touch shall be put to the likeness commenced by
grace below, and the Redeemer shall be "admired," not only in Himself,
but "in all them that believe."
Her thoughts were not idle concerning her father's wish respecting
Ethel's child, but she could only wait, and she waited as patiently as
she could.
The watchful grandsire had seen his prediction fulfilled, that new
scenes would wear away the grief of his son-in-law. And, even sooner
than he expected, a new face had dimmed the remembrance of his Ethel.
The fact was not grudged, but silently noted, and its consequences
provided for. The little Myra, after the first keenness of the shock
of her mother's death, had for some months seemed necessary to the
existence of her father. But by degrees, he went less frequently to the
nursery, required her company less often in his library, sometimes put
her off with a gay kiss when she pleaded for her place on his knee.
And before she was two years old, her scenes of pleasure had become
gradually transferred to the house and presence of her grandfather,
while report spoke of a coming new mistress, and a step-mother in her
home.
It was not wonderful that these changes should work other changes, both
in thought and practice. And when the grandsire's will was read by the
attorney, after the funeral, it was found that only a legacy was left
to his son-in-law, as a mark of regard and good-will, while the portion
that would have fallen to his loved daughter was confided to suitable
trustees (for the whole and sole use of her only child) until the age
of twenty, when they were to surrender their trust, or continue it, as
she and they might decide.
Mrs. Somers followed her brother-in-law to his own house, in anxiety
about the effect on him of this unexpected settlement of affairs. He
was in his library, and had ordered that no one should disturb him. But
he was not accustomed to brood over disappointments and vexations, and
learning that Mrs. Somers was with Myra in the nursery, he proceeded
thither.
"Papa, papa," cried the little one, "see mamma." And she pointed to the
picture of her mother, and then to her aunt's face, putting her little
fat arms round Mrs. Somers, and kissing her, saying, "Pretty mamma,
Myra's mamma!"
Mrs. Somers clasped the child close, and looked up in Mr. Sherwood's
gloomy face.
"Edward, will you, can you, give or lend her to me now?"
"Myra seems to have decided," said he, looking from the picture of
his late wife to the face of her sister; "the likeness is certainly
striking. It has been evidently intended that I am not to have much to
do with her," he added bitterly.
"Nay, brother, your authority over your child is not interfered with;
only the property, and you do not need it."
"That is nothing to the point. It is monstrous that two comparative
strangers should have the management of it. It is an insult to my
integrity, and my feelings as her father. What will she think of such
mistrust, when she is able to understand it?"
"My dear father meant it for the best," said Mrs. Somers sadly; "let us
hope it will prove so; and if you will trust me to take care of Myra,
she shall never misunderstand, or imbibe a prejudice against, either
him or you."
"I will think of it, Amy," he said, after a silence of some moments. "I
believe I could trust you; you would not alienate her affections from
me. You would let her often come to see us; and, as a visitor rather
than an inmate, some foolish feelings and prejudices might be avoided."
The "us" betrayed the subject of the speaker's thoughts; and Mrs.
Somers's heart bounded with thankfulness at the course they had taken.
"Myra, will you go with Aunt Amy?" said he, taking her in his arms, the
cloud clearing from his brow.
Myra patted his face, and returned his kisses, but then, stretching out
her arms to her aunt, she said again, "Mamma, go to mamma."
"It will be a great charge for you, Amy, in addition to your own, but
I see it is the best thing to be done for Myra. Be liberal in all
provision for her, nurses and governesses, and so on. Let her have a
first-rate education, and let your children share whatever advantages
you give to her. Nothing can repay you for your kindness to her and to
me. I will give orders to nurse about preparing for the change."
"Edward, you must do one thing more; you know we may live even farther
away from you than we do now, for my husband's health may require a
warmer climate, at least for the winter. Let Myra have a picture of you
to match this, and they shall be side by side wherever she is, that you
may be associated with everything she loves, and furnish a stimulus to
every effort to become what you wish your daughter to be."
"It shall be done," said the gratified father; "it is a nice thought.
She is a dear little thing, and I should not like her to forget me."
Then he rang for the nurse, gave her all needful orders, and left them.
Though deeply annoyed at the terms of the will, Edward Sherwood's
mind was greatly relieved. Not only was it satisfactory to know that
his child was provided for without any trouble on his part, but the
perfectly natural and satisfactory guardianship of her aunt would leave
the coast clear for the new-comer, saving her from all the fears and
troubles and responsibilities of a step-mother; securing to the little
maiden herself the most happy of homes and the most loving of friends,
and avoiding the probable contingency of banishment to school at some
early day. Nothing could be better, and the picture should be painted
at once, and accompany its companion (the likeness of the cherished
bride of some three years ago) to Myra's future home.
Mrs. Somers and her charge had not long departed, when alterations were
commenced in the house, and, in due time, another fair young wife was
the heart-cheer and comfort of its master.
Years sped swiftly, committing three children—two daughters and a
son—to the parents' care. And when the little Myra came to see them,
and learned to love them, it was a never-failing comfort to the
father's heart, though not unmixed with slight remaining jealousy,
that, come what might through the fluctuations of business, she needed
nothing from his provision for the others.
Mrs. Sherwood wisely kept her own view of the case to herself, and, in
her husband's presence, was all that he could wish to his elder child.
Myra, however, seemed never sorry when her visits ended, though she
desired to love them all if they would but allow it. Helen, the eldest
of the three, was her favourite, because she responded kindly to her
overtures, but Harry was rough and blunt, and Florence was shy and hard
to win.
A great and unexpected change occurred when Myra had reached her ninth
year. She was suddenly summoned to her father's death-bed, and only
arrived in time to share with the others his parting blessing. With
a stricken heart, she begged to remain some time with the mourning
family. But, evidently not recognised as having an equal share in the
sorrow, and finding her presence neither appreciated nor desired, Mrs.
Somers was glad to take her away again to the more genial home she had
so long enjoyed. No more invitations came for Myra, the little letters
that had passed between the children became few and far between, and
none of Mrs. Somers's invitations were accepted.
Whether Mr. Sherwood had made any ample provision for his family was
not known, but the news of his widow's marriage with the gentleman who
had undertaken the settlement of his affairs occasioned only a little
passing surprise. This gentleman, Mr. Haynes, was a prosperous man of
business, and he was kind to the children, to whom his protection and
guardianship were supposed to be invaluable; so all went on calmly
again, and in the indulgence of a more luxurious style of living than
before.
Mr. and Mrs. Somers, on their part, devoted themselves to the education
of their children wherever the best assistance was to be found, and
Myra received with them, according to her father's wish, a first-rate
education; the only drawback being, and to her loving heart it was a
real one, that he could no longer enjoy her success in study, nor its
results in her future character.
Twice only, on occasions more like a stranger's call than a friendly
visit, the children met during several years, but Mrs. Haynes was now
a fashionable woman, still in the prime of life, highly attractive,
and too much engrossed with her own family and position to bestow much
attention on her former step-daughter.
The children of Mrs. Haynes were under the charge of professors and
teachers, and seemed to care very little for their elder step-sister,
though three younger playmates were received with every token of
satisfaction. Myra would have clung, with a sister's love, to those who
bore her father's name, but it was hard to be repulsed with coldness.
Myra was at no loss for channels for her young affections. Her uncle
and aunt were as parents, and her cousins were as dear as any sisters
or brothers could be. Seldom had "the lines fallen" in more "pleasant
places" to an orphan girl, and Myra know nothing of the sorrowful side
of that condition. Love and peace surrounded her, and it must have
been an ungracious plant indeed that would refuse to bloom in such an
atmosphere. But Myra was not an ungracious plant, and she bloomed into
a very lovely flower.
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