"The feeling of a parent never dies
But with our moral nature; all in vain.
The wretch by cold and cruel spurning tries
To change that love to hate." PERCIVAL.
_Afternoon._
Emily received to-day a hastily written note from Lucy Lee, requesting
her to call as soon as possible. I long to know what has happened. The
Doctor visits the old gentleman once in a few weeks. Perhaps I have not
told you that he has several times met Allen there. I am afraid Joseph
has come home, and found out that he has renewed his visits.
_Wednesday, April 5th._
I was entirely wrong in my fears about Lucy. She had received a letter
from a physician in the city who was called to Joseph, and who says he
is now so ill, that he deemed it advisable to notify his family. Lucy
inferred from the account, which was rather guarded, that it was an
attack of the delirium tremens, brought on by his late excesses,
hastened perhaps by the fact of his leaving home the last week extremely
angry because his father refused to advance him any more money. Joseph
ascribed it to Lucy's influence over the old man, and vowed revenge.
The forgiving sister no sooner heard of the dangerous illness of her
brother, than she wished to go to him. She could not endure the thought
of his being left alone in his sickness. Emily encouraged her to go at
once, and offered to remain with her father, to which her friend
gratefully acceded.
The Doctor whom they consulted, advised them to tell the Squire frankly
where she was going, as if it resulted as they feared, he must then be
told.
During the long, _long_ months of his confinement, Frank had observed a
gradual softening of the old gentleman's feelings, not only toward his
daughter, but upon religious subjects. He thinks that the daily reading
of the Scriptures by Lucy and also witnessing in her every-day life the
religion of Jesus so beautifully exemplified, has produced a good effect
on the heart so long hard and obdurate. Frank readily undertook to
prepare his patient for the temporary absence of his daughter, while
Emily assisted her in making arrangements for her immediate departure.
Nor was the Doctor disappointed. Squire Lee was indeed shocked at the
dangerous condition of his son and heir; but he instantly sent for Lucy,
and desired her to consult her own feelings and sense of duty relative
to joining him. She took a most affectionate leave of her father, whose
sorrow at parting with her might seem uncalled for, were it not
remembered that the dear girl had been for a long time his sole
companion, his nurse, daughter, friend and comforter. Her couch occupies
a room where she is within the sound of his voice; and it is not at all
unusual for her to arise at midnight to administer to him or to read a
few soothing words to allay the restlessness which is almost invariably
an accompaniment of a complaint like his.
_Thursday, April 6th._
Mother will remain with me during Emily's absence. Pauline continues to
gain in health and strength. I was very much affected last night at her
tenderness of feeling. She was kneeling by my side to say her prayers
before retiring, when all at once she stopped and began to sob.
"My dear little daughter, why do you cry?"
"Dear Mamma," she replied, still sobbing, "my cousin told me when he was
going away, that I must pray every night, that God would help him to
become a good man; and when I was going to ask God, I remembered that
Joseph had gone, and it made me cry." She looked very earnestly at me as
she inquired, "Isn't my cousin good, mamma?"
"I hope he is, my love," I answered, as I thought of his parting request
to the dear child.
I was making a few purchases in the village this morning, when I felt
some one slightly pulling my dress. I turned around and saw the sweet
face of Anna Reynolds, lighted up with such a joyous expression, that it
sent a warm gush of feeling through my heart.
"Please, Mrs. Lenox, excuse me," said she in a low tone and with far
more than all the grace of a lady of the court. "I saw you here, and I
desired to tell you how very happy we all are at home. My father has
come back;" and she reached up to whisper, "he never drinks rum now, and
we all go to church together. Mother says, who knows but Willie and I
may live in Rose Cottage yet? You know that was once our home."
I requested her to wait a moment while I paid for my purchases, and then
I took her hand and walked part of the way with her.
From her simple story, I learned in addition to what I already knew,
that through the kindness of Thomas Jones, her father had procured
steady employment for the summer with a farmer in the neighborhood,
where he was entirely free from temptation. I warmly sympathized with
Anna's delight at having a father. She had never before known the
happiness.
I came home and told Frank the good news of the happiness of the
Reynolds family. When I informed him that Thomas Jones had procured him
work away from temptation, and had given him a whole suit of clothes so
that he could go to meeting, he was very busy reading; but he looked up
in a minute as if he had heard all, and with a queer look, said he was
glad I knew how to rejoice with those that rejoiced, as well as to weep
with those that weep.
_Saturday, April 8th._
Lucy Lee returned rather unexpectedly last evening. Her brother Joseph
did not know her; and the physician thought it not safe for her to be
there. To say the least, it was exceedingly unpleasant to the dear girl.
There were no women to be seen in the establishment. It required the
strength of two men to manage him during his fits of frenzy. Lucy wept
as she confessed she could have submitted to every inconvenience to be
with him, were it not for his horribly profane and lewd conversation. He
seemed living over again midnight scenes of debauchery. "Oh! _Oh!!_"
exclaimed the poor weeping girl, "I never imagined anything half so
awful." She only saw her brother twice, once on the morning and again in
the afternoon of the day of her arrival. She said, even the attendants
who were used to such scenes, confessed that they had never witnessed
one half so bad.
Emily came home early this morning, and has interested us much in her
account of Squire Lee. She says, it is hard for her to realize that he
is the same man who so cruelly spurned his innocent, trembling daughter
from his feet, so lovingly does he now speak to her.
At the usual hour for him to hear reading, Emily brought out the Bible
and began the story of Christ's sufferings and death. Chapter after
chapter was called for and listened to with breathless interest. When
Emily closed the book, he looked around as if missing something, and
sister saw his eye rest on a book of prayer. She arose and brought it to
him, not exactly understanding what was expected. He shook his head.
"Would you like to hear a prayer?" He bowed his assent, and turning to
the prayer for the day of the week, and kneeling near him, she read
aloud.
His right hand supported his head, and when sister arose, the tears were
trickling through his fingers and down upon his cheeks. Several times,
she heard him say, "poor Joseph, soul and body--lost by rum--God
forgive me." Many similar expressions fell from his lips.
Allen came in every day during Lucy's absence, and Emily thought that
the old gentleman received pleasure from his visits. He was a great
assistance to her in changing the position of the sufferer, whose left
side is so paralyzed as to render it impossible for him to raise himself
from the easy chair in which he sits.
One incident which occurred I must not omit. Squire Lee made a remark to
which Emily naturally replied, "from what I remember of Mrs. Lee, Lucy
very much resembles her mother."
This led to the mention of the portrait in the parlor. The old gentleman
sighed, for he remembered how touchingly his kneeling daughter had
appealed to it when he was last below. "I should think," said Emily,
"Lucy would have it hung there, where you can see it from your chair,"
pointing to a vacant place on the wall.
After a moment's pause, he replied, "since it has been changed to the
new frame I have not thought it as natural." Joseph had purchased and
brought from the city some years since massive and heavy frames, and the
sweet face so subdued and tender looked out of keeping with its
surroundings.
After a few moments, Emily called the attendants to remain with her
patient, and hastening to Mrs. Burns, asked if the old frames to the
portraits were in existence. Together they ascended to the garret, found
the very article for which they were searching, packed away with old
rubbish. Almost trembling at her own daring, she carried it below,
removed the picture from its massive frame with the ready assistance of
the house-keeper, and soon had it replaced in its old case. The question
now was how to get it into the room.
Mrs. Burns said, "Lucy would never dare to propose the thing to her
father. She has been trodden upon so long, she has no will of her own."
Determined to carry out her plan, now that she had gone so far, Emily
arranged the cord and tassel so that she could hang it up in an instant,
and setting it down at the door of the room, returned to her charge.
She playfully suggested to him the idea of a look from the window, and
wheeled the chair around for that purpose, when quickly catching the
frame from its hiding place, she suspended it from the nail before the
sick man had noticed her absence from his side. She stood by him combing
his thin, gray locks until her heart began to beat more freely, and then
wheeling the chair back to its usual place, awaited with no little
trembling, the result of her project. She now magnified in her own mind
the oft repeated necessity for perfect quiet and freedom from
excitement.
She took a book, and sat down, when she saw her patient give a start
that almost threw him out of his chair, saying in a half frightened,
though joyful tone, "My wife! _my wife!!_ my own dear Mary, do forgive
me!"
Emily hastened to reassure the old gentleman who did not attempt to
speak again for some minutes; but when she playfully told him of the
pleasant surprise, she intended, he confessed that for a moment he
thought his wife had appeared to him to upbraid him for his cruel
treatment of her daughter. But now nothing could induce him to have her
portrait removed.