After breakfast, Mr. Wyman informed Miss Vernon and Dawn that he should
go away that day on business, and be absent perhaps two weeks.
“I have a book which I would like you to take to Miss Evans for me
to-day,” he said, addressing Miss Vernon.
“The lady who called here soon after I came?”
“The same.”
“I like her much, and should be pleased to see her again.”
“I am glad you do. She is my ideal of a true woman, and one whom every
young, earnest soul ought to know. You will go to-day?”
“Certainly; I am anxious to see her in her own home.”
“She is queen of her domain, and entertains her friends in a most
lady-like manner; but I must bid you both good-bye, and be off. Be
happy, Miss Vernon, Florence, and let me find you full of good things to
tell of yourself and Dawn, on my return. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, papa,” rang out on the sweet summer air till he was out of
sight, then the child's lid trembled, the lips quivered, and she laid
her head on the bosom of her friend and teacher, and gave vent to the
grief which ever wrung her at parting with her kind parent.
“I am glad you did not let your father see those tears. You are getting
quite brave, Dawn.”
“I feel so bad when he goes. Shall I ever be strong like you, and look
calm after these partings? Perhaps you don't love papa; but every body
does that knows him-you do, don't you?”
“Very much; but we will go to our lessons, now, dear.”
“Can I bring my book into the hall, to-day? I like to stay where I saw
him last.”
“Certainly; and we will have a review to-day and see how well you
remember your lessons. We shall have no interruptions this morning, and
after dinner we will go together to see Miss Evans.”
An hour passed, and the lessons were but half through, when a ring at
the door caused them both to start, and they left the hall.
Aunt Susan answered the call, and ushered the visitors into the family
sitting-room.
“Some ladies have called to see you, Miss Vernon,” she said, thrusting
her head into the doorway of the room where teacher and pupil sat close
together with clasped hands, as though some invading force was about to
wrest their lives apart.
“In a moment, Aunty, I will see them,” and a strange shudder shook her
frame.
“Where shall I go while they stay?” asked Dawn.
“Anywhere; only not far from home, as we intend to have an early
dinner.”
“Then I will stay here, and look over papa's folio of drawings.”
Miss Vernon went to her room to see that her hair and dress were all
right, and then slowly descended the stairs to the sitting-room. Her
hand trembled violently as she turned the knob, and she almost resolved
to go back to her room. “I am growing so sensitive of late,” she said
to herself, “but this will never do, I must go in,” and she opened the
door.
Three ladies hastily rose and bowed very formally, as she entered.
The tallest and most stylish of the three blandly inquired for her
health, and after a few commonplace remarks, announced the object of
their visit.
“We have come to you, Miss Vernon, to-day, as friends of our sex, to
inform you of, as you may not fully comprehend, the character of the man
whom you are serving.”
Miss Vernon coolly signified her attention.
“We deemed it our duty to do so, being married women,” broke in a little
squeaky voice, belonging to the most demure-looking one of the party.
“Yes, we all decided, after long deliberation,” added the third, “that
no young woman who cared for her reputation, would tarry a day longer
under this roof. This visit of ours is an act of the purest kindness,
and we trust you will receive it as such, and in a kind spirit.”
“Yes,” resumed the first speaker, “it is no pleasant duty, and one we
have long delayed performing, but we could not bear to see youth and
innocence betrayed.”
Miss Vernon at first seemed stunned. She knew not what to say, so many
emotions filled her. She tried to speak, but her tongue lost its power,
and all was silent. She made one more effort, and voice and courage
returned, enabling her to address her “friends.”
“Will you inform me, ladies, what grounds you have for your accusations
against Mr. Wyman?”
“I beg pardon, Miss, we who have known him longer than yourself, of
course know both sides of his character; indeed he has no reputation in
B--, as all know.”
She started involuntarily. What passed through her mind at that moment
none can tell, but all can form some idea of the wild tremor of doubt
which was gaining strength under their vile calumny and falsehood.
They saw their vantage ground, and followed close with such invectives
as women only know how to hurl against whomsoever they assail.
“Strangers,” she could not call them ladies, “I can only speak out of my
own experience of this person who a few months ago was unknown to me. He
has ever treated me with all delicacy and respect. I have ever found
him to be a gentleman. I cannot, will not, believe your assertions,” she
said with emphasis, a sudden strength coming over her.
“If you do not believe us, then seek one proof of his wrong dealing,
which you can find any day, at a small cottage near the uplands, on the
road to L--. 'Tis only a mile from here, Miss, and we would advise you
to acquaint yourself with the fact. Take our good advice and leave this
house. That is all we can say to you. Of course, if you remain here, you
will not be admitted into respectable society.”
“I will not leave his house while he remains the friend and brother he
is to me now.”
“No virtuous woman will permit you, then, to enter her house; remember
this, Miss Vernon,” and the tall lady assumed an attitude of offended
dignity.
“I see,” she continued, “our visit has done but little save to arouse
you. It may be at some future day, you will thank us for our advice to
you this morning. We must go now. Good day, Miss.”
“Good morning,” replied Miss Vernon, rising and accompanying them to the
door, scarce able to repel the strong tide of grief, or bear up under
the weight of sadness that was bearing down her soul.
“My brief, happy days so soon, O, how soon, gone by, and over,” she
said, after she had closed the door; and she sank on her knees and
prayed as only those have prayed before, in like trouble.
She knew not how long she knelt there, but she was roused by Dawn's
sweet voice, which was always music to her soul, saying, “Please, may I
come, Miss Vernon?”
She rose and held out her arms to receive the little one, who stood
hesitatingly on the threshold of the library, then pressing the dear
child to her heart, found a sweet sense of relief in doing so.
“I know what makes you feel so, Miss Vernon.”
“What, Dawn, tell me all you feel,” and she sank upon a seat and rested
her face on her hand.
“I was looking over the drawings, and feeling very happy, when the room
grew dark and cold, so cold I was frightened. Then I heard something
say, 'Fear not, Dawn,' and I laid my head down upon the couch, and
saw you standing in a damp, cold valley, on either side of which were
beautiful green mountains, whose tops overlooked all the towns around.
They were so steep that no one could climb them. While you stood there,
a great cloud came directly over your head. It was full of rain, and it
burst and flooded the whole valley. I feared you would be drowned; but
you rose with the water, instead of its going over you, and when the
tide was as high as the mountain, you stepped to its highest point, on
the beautiful green grass, and sat down. Slowly the waters went down and
left you on the mountain-top, where you could never have gone without
the flood. Then I looked up, and the room was all full of sunshine just
as it was before. I felt cold, and I heard the women go, and then-”
“Then what, Dawn?”
“Then I came to you. The cloud is over you now, but the high green
mountain is more lovely than the valley, and overlooks all the pleasant
vales and hills around. Do you care if the clouds burst now, Miss
Vernon?”
“No, child, I will stand firm and sure while the rain descends. O, Dawn,
so justly named, come and soothe my brow, for it aches so hard.”
The child passed her soft, white hands over the forehead of Miss Vernon,
and the throbbing pain passed away under her magic touch.
The bell rang for dinner long before they were ready for the summons,
but they soon took their places at the table, yet with little appetite
for food.
“A poor compliment you pay my dinner,” said Aunt Susan, as she came
to remove the dishes, and prepare for dessert. “I suppose you are both
lonely without Mr. Wyman. I, too, miss his pleasant face and smile
to-day.”
How Miss Vernon wished she had not spoken his name just then.
The form of dinner over, Miss Vernon and Dawn dressed themselves for
their walk, knowing that they must start in good season, as it was a
long way to the house, and they would need to rest a little before their
return.
“I almost question, Dawn, if I should go to Miss Evans while this cloud
is over me,” remarked Miss Vernon, feeling as though she was seeking
counsel from one her superior in wisdom, rather than addressing a mere
child.
“Why, Miss Evans is just what you need to-day. She is as calm as the
lovely lake on which we sailed last week.”
“Well, I need her to-day; but should I carry my state to her?”
“Why, she is like a great stream that carries all lesser streams to
the ocean of truth,” said Dawn, in a voice not her own, and so deep and
thrilling that it made her teacher start and gaze with new wonder upon
the child.
“Then we will go this very minute, Dawn; and through the pleasant
fields, that we may avoid the dusty road.”