EVENING AND MORNING.
"How foolish--how weak--how wrong has been my conduct through this day!"
murmured Emmie to herself, as, after dismissing her attendant, she sat
alone in the small apartment which she had chosen for her own. The room
was a contrast to that which had at first been assigned to the young
maiden. The cell, as Bruce had called it, did not possess even a
fireplace, and might have belonged to some cloistered ascetic. The
stained, dusky, peeling-off paper on the narrow walls had its blots and
patches made only more visible by the whiteness of three large unframed
maps, which the practical Bruce had fastened up for his own convenience.
The young man had rather a contempt for the luxuries in which Vibert
always indulged if he could; to the idea of Bruce they were only
suitable for ladies, or those to whom age or ill-health rendered them
needful. Bruce considered it unworthy of a man in the prime of his life
to care about the softness of a cushion, or the temperature of an
apartment. Thus, in making household arrangements, Bruce had selected
his own quarters with very little regard to personal comfort, while he
had spared no pains in trying to secure that of his sister.
Emmie now suffered from her brother's unselfishness, as well as from her
own nervous fears. Hasty arrangements had indeed been made to improve
the appearance of the cell. Some of Emmie's books had been transferred
to the bookcase by Susan, nor had footstool or guitar been forgotten;
but for her sofa there was no space, and the young lady's
toilette-table, draped with white muslin, looked incongruous in so mean
an apartment. Perhaps the discomfort of that fireless room on a damp
November night was not without its effect on the spirits of Emmie, who
was accustomed to the refinements and elegances of civilized life, and
who was not indifferent to them; but the melancholy which oppressed the
maiden chiefly rose from a deeper source, a profound discontent with
herself.
It was Emmie's custom to review, every night ere she went to rest, the
events of the preceding day, with self-examination as to the part which
she had acted. The review had hitherto been very imperfect, for she had
never traced her errors in practice to the source from whence most of
them had proceeded. Instead of recognizing _mistrust_ as a besetting
sin, it had hardly occurred to Emmie that it was anything meriting
blame. The occurrences of that Friday had been a striking comment upon
the words of her uncle, which Emmie now recalled to memory.
"Unreasonable fear,--uncontrolled fear,--what has it done for me
to-day?" mused Emmie. "It has destroyed my peace, most utterly destroyed
it, and cast needless gloom over my arrival in my new home. Fear has
made me displease both my brothers, has lowered me in the eyes even of
my servants; it has caused an accident which has been painful, and
which, but for Heaven's mercy, might have even been fatal. Should I have
lost self-command in the storm, had I recognized the presence of Him who
grasps the lightning in His hand, and whose voice is heard in the
thunder? If my heart were indeed the abode of His Spirit, would that
heart fail me at the bare thought of--hark! what was that sound?" Emmie
started and turned pale at the cry of an owl outside her window; in her
home near London she had never heard the hoot of the bird of night. The
cry was repeated, and though the nervous girl now guessed its cause, in
her superstitious mind it was still linked with fearful fancies.
Emmie, to compose herself, took up her Bible, and opening it, turned to
the Twenty-seventh Psalm. She read the heart-stirring verse: _The Lord
is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the
strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?_
"Why cannot I make this glorious assurance of faith my own?" thought
Emmie. "Why am I, a Christian girl in an English home, troubled with
fears which would better beseem some poor ignorant African, worshipping
his fetich, and knowing nothing of a protecting, loving God! I must
struggle against this enemy, mistrust; I must try to bring my very
thoughts into subjection,--those thoughts now so full of fears
dishonouring to my gracious Master. Where is my reason,--where is my
faith? I cannot believe that there is real danger in sleeping next to
the bricked-up room, or even my selfishness would hardly have induced me
to put dear Bruce in a post of peril. I must have been secretly assured
that the danger existed only in fancy. But I am now too weary to be able
to reason; I need a night's rest to enable me to distinguish between
facts and the creations of an excited brain. I am so tired--my nerves
are so weak! I shall scarcely now be able to rouse my mind even for the
exercise of prayer, and by prayer alone dare I hope to conquer
mistrust."
Emmie's rest was on that night troubled by a confused medley of dreams,
the natural consequences of the excitement which she had undergone
through the preceding day. Nothing was distinct, but the images of
Harper and Jael Jessel mixed themselves up with the phantoms which their
weird stories had raised in the imaginative mind of the girl. Emmie,
early deprived of the guidance of a sensible mother, had often made an
unprofitable use of her leisure; she had read much of the literature
which is called sensational; she had pondered over tales of horror; her
mind had been fed on unwholesome food. Emmie had let fancy lead her
where it list, and it would be no easy task to undo the mischief wrought
in idle hours under the name of amusement.
Morning came at last, and brightness and hope with the morning. How
different objects appear in sunshine from what they seem to be when only
faintly visible at night! Emmie gazed from her window, and greatly
admired the prospect before her. Never, perhaps, in a well-wooded
country, does Nature display more exquisite beauty than in the early
part of November, when the foliage, thinned indeed, but brilliant in
tints of crimson and gold, varied with russet and green, is lit up by
the glorious sun. The orb of day, just rising, was overhung by rosy
clouds; the air was fresh and fragrant after the storm; myriads of
dew-drops glittered on the lawn; all was brightness above and below!
Emmie thought that she could be very happy even at Myst Court, and
anticipated with pleasure looking over the mansion, exploring the
grounds, and examining the state of the garden.
When Emmie quitted her little room, the sunlight was streaming through
the large east window which lighted the staircase, throwing gorgeous
stains of crimson and azure from its coloured panes upon the wide oaken
steps. What had been dreary and ghost-like by night, had become
picturesque and romantic by day. Emmie tripped lightly down to the
breakfast-room, where she found Bruce looking out his place in the book
of family prayers.
"Did you sleep well?" was the sister's eager greeting as she approached
her brother; for Emmie had reproached herself a little for exposing
Bruce to the chance of any nocturnal annoyance by the exchange of the
rooms.
"I slept very well,--never better," replied Bruce with a slightly
sarcastic smile. "I had no expectation of seeing goblin or ghost, and
was certainly troubled by none. I never knew a place more perfectly
still; so far as I could judge, not a mouse stirred or a cricket
chirrupped in the so-called haunted chamber. But that west room is by
far too pretty and luxurious for a student like me. As ladies are
allowed to change their minds once, I would strongly advise you, Emmie,
to let us resume the first arrangement: do you go back to the west room,
and let me study or sulk in my own little cell."
"Not now," replied Emmie Trevor; and, to do her justice, her motive in
declining the second change was as much consideration for her brother's
comfort as the repugnance, which she had not yet quite overcome, to
sleeping next door to the haunted chamber.
"Why has Master Vibert not made his appearance either at prayers or at
breakfast?" asked Bruce, when, half an hour afterwards, he was enjoying
the cup of hot coffee prepared by his sister.
"Vibert was tired last night, and has probably overslept himself,"
replied Emmie.
"Not he," said Bruce, "for I saw him from my window this morning, more
than an hour ago, loitering about the grounds. Vibert must have heard
the gong sound for breakfast. No; the fact is--you must have seen it
from his manner last evening--that Vibert is in a huff because I called
him a selfish idiot."
"I am so very, _very_ sorry that you called him that," cried Emmie, with
a look of distress. "You do not consider, dear Bruce, what real harm
your sternness may do to our younger brother. Vibert is so
affectionate--"
"He cares for no one on earth but himself," said Bruce. "Look at his
conduct yesterday, and think what might have been its result."
"Driving off from the station without waiting for you was but a foolish,
boyish prank," pleaded Emmie. "As for the accident that occurred, that
cannot be laid to Vibert's charge; it was caused by my catching hold of
his arm just when the pony was turning a corner."
"What made you do that?" inquired Bruce.
"I was foolishly frightened at the lightning," replied Emmie meekly.
"Frightened, always frightened, at everything and at nothing!" said
Bruce, but rather in sorrow than in anger. He was far more indulgent to
the failings of Emmie than he was to those of Vibert.
The gentle girl, who was very anxious to bring about a reconciliation
between her two brothers continued her mild expostulation with Bruce.
"I am sure that you do not think Vibert an idiot, though he may,
perhaps, be a little selfish. I have heard you say yourself that Vibert
has plenty of brain."
"If he were not too lazy and self-indulgent to work it," interrupted the
elder brother.
"You do not think--you never have thought poor dear Vibert a selfish
idiot," persisted Emmie; "and oh! Bruce, if I could only persuade you to
tell him that you are sorry for having spoken that one hasty word, if--"
"Apologize to Vibert! never!" cried Bruce, and he pushed his chair back
from the table.
"Surely it is noble, generous, right to own to a brother that in a hasty
moment we have done him a wrong!" said Emmie with an earnestness which
brought the moisture into her eyes.
Bruce made no reply to his sister, but rose from his seat and left the
room; not hurriedly, not passionately, but with that expression on his
calm face in which Emmie easily read the unuttered thought, "I need no
one's advice to guide me, and I will receive rebuke from no one."
Emmie breathed a heavy sigh. Bruce was in other points so noble, so
good,--oh, why did he shut and bar so firmly against the entrance of
duty and affection one haunted room of his heart! Emmie was distressed
on account of Vibert; she knew that her volatile younger brother needed
the support of the stronger sense, the firmer principle of the
elder,--that the influence of Bruce might be of inestimable importance
to Vibert. And all this influence was to be worse than thrown away,
because the professed follower of Him who was meek and lowly would not
bend his proud spirit to own that he had committed a fault!