In a few weeks the little neighborhood was duly aroused, and discussing
the state of affairs at Mr. Wyman's. Each one considered herself called
upon to pass judgment upon the daily proceedings.
“It's too ridiculous, right in the face and eyes of honest people, to
see this woman and Mr. Wyman carrying on as they do,” said Miss Gay, a
lady of forty years, whose notions of the mingling of the sexes were of
the strictest character.
“Why, how? Do tell us,” chimed in her companion, a garrulous old lady.
“Why, they say that this young woman is going about with Mr. Wyman
all the time. He takes her to ride almost every day, and they have
interminable walks and daily confabs together.”
“Well, I should think the child's lessons would come off slim, Miss
Gay.”
“O, that's only a subterfuge. They'll be married 'fore one year has gone
by.”
“I do not believe Hugh Wyman will ever marry again,” said one who knew
his character better than the others.
“Then what can he want of that young woman? No good, depend on that,”
and Mrs. Green shook her head as though she had more in it than she
wished at that time to display.
While they chat and waste the hours, let us go and listen to the parties
talked of, and judge for ourselves whether two earnest souls can not
approach, enjoy each other, and yet be pure and blameless.
“I can scarcely believe, Mr. Wyman, that so brief a period could work
such a change in my being. Before I came here, I thought all the world
cold and heartless. You have taught me that friendship, even between men
and women, may exist, and that the only true relations are of soul and
not of blood. I can never by words tell you how grateful I feel to you
for all these teachings,” and she looked thoughtfully out on the summer
scene before her.
“I am very glad that you are happy here, Miss Vernon, for when I first
saw you I instinctively felt that you were just the companion for myself
and daughter. I saw, too, the cloud which hung over you, and felt that
my hand could lift it. You belong to Dawn and myself, and we shall keep
you so long as you are happy.”
“But-”
“But what? I know your fears, and what this busy little neighborhood
will say. I care no more for all its ideas of life than for the wind,
while I feel right here,” said Mr. Wyman, placing his hand upon his
heart. “The time has come for all to live individual lives. I would not
for a moment have your name sullied, but should you go, would gossip
cease? No; stay here, Miss Vernon, and show to this little portion of
the world that man and woman can live together sociably and honorably. I
love you as a sister; no more. My dear Alice is now my wife, the same
as when on earth. I speak as I do, knowing that you will meet with
many sneers and frowns if you stay, but the consciousness of right will
sustain you.”
“How could you know what was in my mind? You have, indeed, expressed all
my fears as regards this relation between us.”
“Will you go or stay?”
“I shall stay.”
“May you never regret the decision.”
“Now may I ask you about this strange belief, that the departed are
about us? Excuse me, if I seem curious, but when you spoke of your dear
wife, my whole being quivered with a new and strange emotion. I only ask
from deepest interest.”
“I believe you. I wish I could transmit to your mind the proofs of
my belief. I have almost daily positive proof of my wife's presence,
sometimes by my own powers, and then again from those of my child.”
“Then she, too, sees like yourself?”
“She does. And every day my experiences are too real and tangible for me
to deny, or even doubt that the loved, and so-called 'lost,' are with
us still. To my mind, there is nothing unnatural about it. Every day my
faith deepens, and not for all the glory of this life would I change my
belief. Death has brought myself and Alice nearer together. But I can
only state to you my faith in this, my experience cannot be imparted.
Each must seek, and find, and be convinced alone by personal experience
and observation.”
“I believe you, and your earnest words have sunk deep within my mind,
yet in modern spiritualism I have little faith.”
“Mere phenomenal spiritism is of course only designed to arrest the
attention; its other form appeals to the soul, and becomes a part of the
daily lives of those who realize it.”
“But I have heard of so much that was contradictory, so much that cannot
be reconciled.”
“Neither can we reconcile the usual manifestations of life. Our daily
experiences teach us that seeming absurdities abound on every hand.”
“That is true. I sometimes think I shall never get the evidence which my
nature requires to convince.”
“In God's own time and way it will come, and when you are best fitted to
receive it.”
“But please go on, Mr. Wyman, and tell me more of your experience.”
“I would I could tell you how often when I am weary, my dear Alice comes
and watches over me at night; how truly I feel her thoughts, which she
cannot express in words; and how, when the poor and needy are suffering,
she leads me to where they dwell amid scenes of want. When my pure child
speaks thoughts beyond herself, and describes to me some vision which I
at the same time behold, with the exact look and gesture of her mother,
I say I believe in spirit communion. I can well afford to let the world
laugh; I know what I see and feel. And well do I know how much there is
mixed with this modern spiritism, which has no origin save in the minds
of the persons who substitute their hopes and thoughts for impressions.
On this I have much to say to you at some future period. It is well
that it is so, else we should not discriminate. Life is so full of
adulterations, that which the world calls 'evil' is so mingled with that
it calls 'good,' would it not be strange if this phase should come to us
pure and unmixed?”
“It would not take you long to make me a convert to your faith; yet I
hope sometime to have my own experiences. If there was not so much that
conflicts with our reason, I think every one would naturally accept the
belief you so fondly cherish.”
“Without such conflicting experiences, we should be mere machines. We
must grow in every direction, using every faculty for our guidance, yet
ever remembering there are mightier realms than reason, and that the
human soul must often go beyond that portal, to catch glimpses of the
silent land.”
“Life would indeed be blessed to me, could I feel an assurance that my
mother was near me to strengthen me in my hours of weakness, and that
she was interested in my labors.”
“I know all our earnest longings are answered, and that sufficient proof
will be given you. Say nothing of this conversation to Dawn. I have my
reasons, and should not be surprised if, in a few days, she should give
you a test of spirit presence.”
“Can Dawn see as clearly as yourself?”
“She can, and far better. I do not force the gift upon her, or seek to
overwork her powers. I want it to be natural and to unfold with all her
other capacities. Never question her, let all come freely.”
“I will remember; and here she comes laden as usual with flowers.”
“O, Miss Vernon, O, papa, I have had such a good time!” she exclaimed
out of breath and almost wild with excitement.
“What was it all about, child?”
“I was on the hill out here, getting flowers, when I seemed to hear
music, all at once in the air. I think I went to sleep, but if it was a
dream I know it means something, for I saw a tall, beautiful lady come
to me, and on her forehead were the letters, M. V. Then she took a
little box inlaid with gems, and drew from it a necklace of pearls,
and then she went away, and as she turned-I saw these words come like a
light-'Tell Florence.' Now, papa, what did it mean?”
Mr. Wyman turned to Miss Vernon who was weeping. He waited until her
emotion subsided and then said,--
“Your mother, was it not?”
“They were my mother's initials. Her name was Mabel Vernon, and mine
Florence.”
“How strange. And the necklace, do you recognize that?”
“My mother gave me-on her dying bed-a pearl necklace in such a box as
described by Dawn.”
“And we did not know your name was Florence. We only knew you as Miss
Vernon.”
“Can it-can this be true? Ah, something tells me I may believe. I am too
full now, Mr. Wyman, to talk. I must go.”
“Call me Hugh, Florence, I am your brother--” and he led her gently to
the house.
She remained in her room all that evening. Deep and strong was the tide
which was setting into her new life. “If 't is true, 't is the greatest
truth mortal has found,” she said again and again to herself, as the old
upheaved, and the new flowed into her soul. Life was becoming almost
too full; her brain grew fevered, but at last sweet sleep, that soul
refiner, came, and after a night's repose she awoke, calm and at rest.