"And so our dear young lady is married, Ellen?" said Mrs. Williamson to
her daughter, who had just returned from a visit to B----.
"Yes, mother, and a beautiful bride she made."
"Ay, I doubt it not, and as good as beautiful," said the father, who had
just come in to Ellen's neat little cottage, to hear all the particulars
connected with her late journey.
"And they treated you well, Ellen, did they not?"
"Treated me =well=? why, mother, it was like a new world; and they were
so kind to me, took me to every place, and showed me everything worth
seeing. And, dear me, but it is a beautiful city; such grand buildings,
such water-works, such parks, all laid out with trees, and walks, and
grass-plots, and seats, where you can rest whenever you choose,--and
then at night, the splendid shops are so dazzlingly lit up, and the
streets almost as bright as day. Oh, surely it is a fine thing to live
in the city!"
"Ha, ha," said a clear, manly voice, and the speaker entered the door;
"so my little bird has become restive since her taste of city life, and
longs to fly away again."
"Indeed, Edward, that is not true. If I had been brought up to
city-ways, I think I should like to live there; but, now, I like my home
better, far better. I only wish we could have the meetings on Sunday,
that I went to there; oh, mother," she said, as she turned suddenly
round to address her, "it would have done your heart good to have heard
the singing, and have listened to the sermons, and such grand churches,
all crowded too."
"But I want to hear everything from the beginning," said Mr. Williamson.
"Well, then, I will commence my history from the time we got there. You
know Miss Agnes was expecting me, and they kept a constant look-out, so
that the vessel had not been an hour at the wharf, but what should I see
but a splendid carriage, driven by two white horses, galloping down, and
how overjoyed I was when Miss Agnes stepped out, and came on board, and
ran up and kissed me, and we both shed tears, I believe, for I saw her
put her handkerchief to her eyes, and I cried for joy at seeing her
again. And then I must go right home with her; she would fain have had
Edward, too, but he could not leave his vessel, yet was quite willing
that I should go, so my trunk was handed in, we both stepped into the
carriage, and were off in a few moments, Edward standing on the deck,
watching till we were out of sight; at least I take that for granted.
"Well, we drove to her uncle's dwelling, a large white house, with
splendidly ornamented pillars in front, and a balcony all round. It
stands in the midst of a park, at least so I call it; and there is a
fountain just before the door, flinging its glistening waters to a great
height, and grass, and flowers, and large shady trees, and winding
walks, and it looked altogether so lovely to me, with the sun shining
down upon it, that I cannot find words to describe it. Well, we got out
at the hall-door, and I followed Agnes into a parlor, where her uncle
and aunt were sitting, and, would you believe it, as soon as they saw me
they came forward, and kissed me, and made me sit by them, and told me
that Agnes had related to them all the kindness that had been shown to
her by our family, and how thankful they were to us all for it; and then
asked me about my husband, who, they said, had rescued her from a watery
grave, and how anxious they were to see him, and hoped he would be able
to call soon, and so he did that very evening, and a happy time we had
of it!
"The next morning there came in to Mr. Denham's, a young gentleman with
Mr. Clifford, who you know stopped here with Captain Pierce; and they
both shook me warmly by the hand. This young gentleman's name was
Bernard, and while Agnes was talking to Mr. Clifford, he asked me many
questions about my home, and about the people that lived here, and
wanted to know if there were often shipwrecks near the place. I knew
well enough what he wished to find out, for I saw him, every now and
then, look at Miss Agnes so wistfully and sad, and then at Mr. Clifford,
as though he envied him the seat near her, and so I felt a kind of pity
for him, and began to tell him, in a low tone, what I knew he was
longing to hear, though I suppose he had heard it all before; but,
somehow, people never get weary of hearing about the one they love. And,
oh, he grew so lively, as I went on, and seemed such a pleased
listener,--and when I told him how much good she had done, and what a
change had come over the place, while she stopped here; the day and
night schools she had formed, and the services she had held on the
Sabbath, his very eyes seemed to thank me, they shone so brightly; and
when I had finished, he said, in a low tone, which he did not think I
overheard,
"'Yes, she is indeed an angel; so much the more bitter for me!'
"They left soon after, Mr. Clifford being in somewhat of a hurry; so Mr.
Bernard had but little opportunity of conversing with Miss Agnes; and
after they were gone, she stood by the window in silence for a few
moments, and when she turned to speak, I saw that a tear had fallen on
her long lashes, but she said, in a cheerful tone, 'We will go now and
take the promised drive.'
"And so we did, and a charming one it was. Mr. Denham came with us, and
he pointed out everything to me that was new and beautiful; if I had
been his own daughter, he could not have been kinder.
"But still, while I was looking at all the noble buildings, I could not
help thinking of Mr. Bernard; and then Miss Agnes, while she talked and
laughed a good deal, seemed as though she were striving to be cheerful,
I thought it did not come as natural to her there, as it did when she
was with us, and I half fancied something was going wrong.
"Then her uncle began to talk of Mr. Clifford, and to praise him very
much; and I watched her, though she little knew it; but she joined with
him warmly, and her color never rose a bit, nor her voice faltered. By
and bye, somehow or another, I believe it was myself spoke of Mr.
Bernard, and he, too, came in for a large share of praise from Mr.
Denham; but Agnes only responded, 'Yes, I have no doubt of it,' looking
at the same time very earnestly out of the carriage window; but I caught
a glimpse of her face, as she turned it, and saw a delicate rose-color
flush her cheeks, and then I knew that Mr. Bernard need not despair.
"So it went on from day to day. We rode, and walked, and shopped, and
visited, and attended museums, and lectures, and meetings, and yet I
fancied Agnes grew sadder and sadder; and Mr. Bernard, when I saw him
now and then, for he did not come much to the house, looked like a man
who was bravely struggling against some misfortune, which, in spite of
his efforts, was well nigh crushing him.
"But one evening, Agnes had been invited out to a dinner party; they had
sent me an invitation, also, but I declined going, for I knew I should
not feel at home among so many strangers, and they so far above me; so I
remained with Mr. and Mrs. Denham.
"'I would far rather stay with you,' Miss Agnes said, 'than go out this
evening, but these are very particular friends, who would feel I
slighted them, if I remained away; but, indeed, I do not feel at all
well.'
"I was in her dressing-room at the time, and she was preparing for the
occasion.
"'You do look pale, Miss Agnes,' I replied, 'and your eyes look heavy.'
I was pretty sure, from their appearance, she had been weeping that
afternoon.
"However, she went; for it was not her fashion to consult her own ease,
when others were to be gratified.
"It was little more than 10 o'clock that night; Edward had been with me
during the evening, but had just returned to his ship, and Mr. and Mrs.
Denham had retired to rest, for they kept early hours; I was sitting in
the parlor, reading a beautiful book, a present from Agnes, when I heard
steps coming up the gravel walk, and a murmur of voices in earnest
conversation. I peeped through the half-closed blind, and beheld Miss
Wiltshire arm in arm with a gentleman, whom I took to be, though I could
not see very distinctly, Mr. Bernard.
"In a moment after they entered, and sure enough it was Mr. Bernard,
though every trace of sadness had disappeared from his face, and as he
came forward and shook hands with me, asking me so kindly how I was, his
very voice seemed altered, it was so gay, so joyous. I tried to catch a
glimpse of Miss Agnes's countenance,--it was some time before she lifted
her veil, but when she flung it aside, as she took off her bonnet, I saw
that her former paleness had been succeeded by a rosy-red, and her eyes
seemed beaming with new life.
"We sat and talked for some time, at least Mr. Bernard and I, for Miss
Wiltshire was unusually silent.
"At length he took his leave, but as he clasped her hand, and bade her
'Good night,' I heard him say in a low tone, 'I shall see Mr. Denham, if
nothing happens, early to-morrow morning,'--and so departed.
"We soon separated for the night, and I heard nothing until the next
day, when Agnes told me all the particulars.
"It seems there had been a mistake all round; Mr. Bernard having
believed that Mr. Clifford was his rival, and Miss Wiltshire imagined,
from something some lady told--Maria as they called her, I heard her
other name, but forget it--that Mr. Bernard had been paying her very
great attention, and had almost, if not actually, proposed for her hand.
"There was not a word of truth in that, of course; but this Maria, it
seems, was determined to have the young gentleman, and did not care what
she said or did, if she could only secure him.
"But it came out right, after all; Providence is always good to those
that trust Him, and so, just a week ago to-day, for we sailed
immediately after the wedding, they were married, and Mr. Clifford at
the same time."
"But who did Mr. Clifford marry?" inquired one of the deeply interested
listeners.
"Mr. Bernard's sister, a sweet pretty young creature, with eyes as blue
as a summer's sky. And such a sight it was to see the two brides; both
dressed alike in white satin, with orange blossoms in their hair, and
white veils on the back of the head, falling over their shoulders like a
mantle. It was so strange, too, that the clergyman who married them,
and who was a great friend of Miss Wiltshire's, had been a passenger in
the very steamer from which she had so narrow an escape; he had embarked
in another boat, and with the rest of the male passengers had got safe
to land. A short time before her wedding, Agnes met him in the street,
just after his arrival from some distant part, and she said, she did not
know which was the greatest, his joy or surprise at seeing her, for he
had never heard of her wonderful preservation, and had not, therefore,
the most distant idea she was in the land of the living.
"Well, as soon as it was over, and they stepped out of the church, the
joy bells rang out, so merrily, and every person looked so pleased and
so happy. There was a grand lunch at Mr. Denham's, and then the bridal
party drove away to spend the honeymoon in travelling."
"Well, she deserved a good husband, and I trust she has got one," said
Mrs. Williamson, as Ellen paused to take breath, "and I pray that Heaven
may bless them both!"
"Amen," was the hearty response of the listeners, a response which, we
trust, kind reader, you will have no hesitation in echoing.
The wish of Ellen, which she gave expression to, as she narrated her
visit, unlike most earthly wishes, was, in the space of a year or two,
abundantly realized.
Through the instrumentality of Agnes and her devoted husband, a neat
little church was erected; a school-house quickly followed; a minister
and teacher were obtained; the people, stimulated by their example,
rebuilt and improved their dwellings; began to cultivate their land, and
that with such success, that fruit and flowers, and shady trees, and
fields of waving grain, were, in a comparatively short time, to be seen
in every direction, so that with regard to those changes, and the
instrumentality through which they had been effected, it is little
wonder that Mrs. Williamson, as she pointed them out to her family,
would now and then exclaim,--
"The wilderness and the solitary place were made glad by her, and the
desert rejoices and blossoms as the rose."
Verily Agnes Bernard has her reward now, in the enjoyments which cluster
so thickly around her; in the happiness of which she is at once the
dispenser and partaker; but how greatly shall it be increased, when,
from a Saviour's lips, shall be heard the welcome plaudit:--
"Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these, ye did it unto me."
End of Project Gutenberg's Woman As She Should Be, by Mary E. Herbert