SORE HEARTS.
WHEN Nellie shut herself into her room on the evening Christina's plans
had been explained, she sat down on a chair, and rested her head on
her hand. Ever since the afternoon, she had been trying her hardest to
be outwardly calm, but the effort had been almost more than her gentle
nature was able to bear. And now that the strain was removed, she sat
as one stunned. A tap at the door made her start; but she did not move,
and her mamma came in and stood by her. Nellie looked up with a white
face, and her mamma bent down and kissed her tenderly.
"Darling," she said, "I guess it all! I wish I could have spared it to
you and Walter; but I did not know till something she said to-day that
his hopes would be in vain."
"How did you guess?" said Nellie, leaning her tired head against the
loving shoulder.
"I have eyes," said her mamma, smiling.
"How shall I tell Walter?" said Nellie dolefully.
"Perhaps—" said Mrs. Arundel, and stopped.
"Yes, mamma?"
"If he waited."
Nellie shook her head sorrowfully. "I thought, mamma, I was
disappointed enough about his going away for a few days; but this—I
never, never thought it could end so."
"No, dear; it is indeed a grief for him, poor fellow; but I do think,
Nellie, I should try to cheer him with hope; Christina is young."
"She said she should never marry."
"Well, dear, we shall see. We must ask God to help him to bear it, and
to show us what to do in it. We must wait patiently, Nellie; God brings
light out of darkness."
Nellie's heavy eyes could hardly look up. She nestled nearer her kind
stepmother. "Thank you, dear mamma," she said lovingly, "you are so
good to me."
"Now, darling, go to bed; you can do Walter no good by thinking about
it to-night. Tell our Father in a few words how it is, and then leave
the burden with Him. He loves Walter better than you do, Nellie."
"Oh, mamma! Mamma!" exclaimed Nellie, sobbing convulsively.
"My dear child, I do grieve; but let that thought comfort us both in
all our trials. He loves our beloved ones better than we do; what can
we ask more, Nellie?"
Kissing her tenderly, she left the room.
And Nellie did as she suggested, and told her Father all about it.
Then she got into bed, and, worn out with her trouble and excitement,
fell asleep.
Half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Arundel came in again to peep at her
child.
"Poor little thing," she said to herself, "it is almost her first
sorrow. May they both win well through it."
When Nellie got a letter the next morning telling her that Walter
hoped to arrive at eight o'clock that evening, she found it hard work
to settle down to any employment. Her dread grew with each hour as it
passed, and Mrs. Arundel was quite grieved to see what a hold this
disappointment had taken on her.
She went to meet the train alone. No entreaties from her brother and
sister could prevail to let them come too.
"I want to talk to him, dear Ada," she said at last.
"Well, we would keep half a mile off, and not hear a word," said Arthur.
"Don't tease her," answered Ada, who had noticed that Nellie's usually
calm face had looked worried during the last day or two.
The uncommon occurrence of Ada's being unselfish, and of something in
herself being noticeable, set Nellie thinking very deeply as she walked
down alone to the station.
"Am I adorning the doctrine of God my Saviour?" she asked herself. "Why
am I so cast down? Mamma said God loves him better than I do. Oh, I
must try! How very unprepared I have been for such a trial. I thought I
had only to guard myself from impatience with the children, or getting
tired of endless little duties; but I never thought such a temptation
as this could overtake me. It is harder than anything else could be. I
suppose God sends it on purpose, just to show me how very weak I am,
how sinful, how unable to stand alone. I do hope He will forgive me and
strengthen me."
It did not take Nellie long to look up and turn this wish into a
prayer. Long ago she had learned the habit from her stepmother of
telling God everything the moment it happened; and she did so now. And
before she reached the station, her extreme fear and depression had
passed away.
Walter's bright face when he jumped out of the train gave her a pang;
but she tried to remember her mamma's words, "God loves him," and
taking his arm, they left the station.
But all Nellie's plans were frustrated; for just outside, they met
Christina and her aunt, who had an inquiry to make at the station, and
willingly consented to Walter's proposal to accompany them back to the
Farm.
Thus it happened that he heard from Ada and Arthur all about what
Christina hoped to do almost directly he arrived.
He did not say much to it, beyond a word or two of how nice it would
be for the little children; but then Nellie knew that this project of
itself would not be enough to give him a hint of the true state of the
case.
"I do not think there will be any moon to-night, Nellie; but we will
have our little walk," he said, "unless you are tired?"
"Not so tired as all that," answered Nellie, getting her hat.
He took the road leading upwards towards the country. "Well, Nellie?"
he asked presently.
"Yes, dear Walter," she answered, faltering.
"Have you had a nice time, dear, while I have been away?"
"Pretty well, Walter; and now I do not know how to tell you something
that will grieve you."
"What is it, Nellie? It will be no better for waiting. What has
happened, dear?"
Nellie still hesitated; then she said slowly, "I do not think Christina
will ever marry."
"Why?" asked Walter; "What makes you say so?"
His tone was light and easy, and suited ill with Nellie's
highly-wrought feelings.
"Because she was to have been married once, and he died," she answered
very low.
Walter did not answer. There was a long silence, broken only by the
tread of their feet on the rough road, and by the beating of Nellie's
heart, which to her sounded above everything else.
"How do you know?" at length he asked.
"She told me when we were discussing her scheme."
"An absurd scheme!" he exclaimed angrily. Then suddenly stopping short.
"No; if it is as you say with her, it is a good, noble scheme, and she
could not do better. Let us go home now, Nellie."
She turned with him, her heart aching at the suffering he was trying to
hide. Then she remembered she had not said much about "hope," and she
tried to think what would comfort him most.
"Dear Walter, it is a good while ago now, more than a year; perhaps
some day—"
"Yes, dear," he said quietly.
"Mamma says, 'God loves you better than I do,'" said Nellie in a broken
voice.
"So He does, dear; I do not doubt it."
The tone was very quiet; but Nellie felt there was a depth of
disappointment which she could not fathom.
"Another day we will talk it over, Nellie; but not to-night, my dear. I
must hear what my Heavenly Father has to say to me about it first."
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