SHOCKED as was Emily Winters at the sight of Andrew, bleeding in the
hands of the watchman, and by the subsequent newspaper report of his
bad conduct; and estranged from her early regard for him, as she had
been, by these and other things that she had heard, the young girl
could not entirely banish from her mind the image of the boy who had
been to her so gentle and affectionate since the early and innocent
days of childhood. In spite of all her efforts to turn her thoughts
away from him, they were ever turning toward him; and, as time
passed on, and his long absence left all in doubt concerning his
fate, his memory became to her something like a hallowed thing.
In passing on to the estate of womanhood, Emily, who possessed more
than common beauty, attracted admirers, and from two or three of
these she received offers of marriage. But in each case the suitor
had failed to win her heart, and she was too true a woman to give
her hand to any one unless her heart could go also.
In at least one case her father took sides with the lover, and urged
his suit with a degree of feeling that resulted in a partial
estrangement of affection. But he afterward had cause to be well
satisfied with Emily's decision in the case.
On the morning that had succeeded the day of Andrew Howland's return
to P--, Emily Winters, who had long since ceased to think of the
young man as alive, was informed that a gentleman had called, and
wished to see her.
"Who is he?" was the natural inquiry.
"I don't know," replied the servant.
"You should have asked his name."
"I did so, but he said that it was no matter."
After making some slight change in her dress, Emily went down to the
parlor. As she entered, a gentleman arose and advanced a few steps
toward her.
"Miss Winters!" said he, while he fixed his eyes intently on her
face.
The young lady bowed slightly in return, while she looked at him
inquiringly.
"You don't know me?" said the stranger, with perceptible
disappointment in his voice.
Emily dropped her eyes for a moment to the floor, and then lifted
them again to his countenance. There was a gentle suffusion on her
face, as she slowly shook her head.
"I have seen you before," she remarked, "but I cannot, at this
moment, tell where."
"Years have passed since we met," replied the stranger, with
something of sadness in his voice; "but I had hoped you would not
forget me."
As he spoke, he came nearer, and held out his hand, which Emily did
not hesitate to take.
At the moment of this contact, a light flashed on the maiden's face,
and she exclaimed, with sudden emotion--
"Andrew Howland! Can it be?"
And she stepped back a pace or two, and sunk upon a chair. Andrew
did not relinquish her hand, but sat down by her side, replying, as
he did so--
"Yes, Emily, it is even so. After a long, long absence, I have come
back to my old home, wiser and better, I trust, than when I went
away."
It was some time before Emily looked up or replied; but she did not
make a motion to withdraw the hand which Andrew held with no slight
pressure.
"How often, Emily," continued Andrew, seeing that she remained
silent, "have I thought of the sweet hours we spent together as
children--hours, too often, of stolen delight. Their remembrance
has, many a time, saved me from evil when strongly tempted. But for
that, and the memory of my mother, I should long since have become a
castaway on the ocean of life."
The voice of Andrew became tremulous as he uttered the last
sentence. It was then that Emily raised her eyes from the floor,
gently withdrawing her hand at the same time, and fixed them upon
his face. His words had sent her thoughts back to the old time when
they were children together, and when, to be within him, was one of
her highest pleasures; and, not only that, his words and tones had
reached her heart, and awakened therein an echo.
"It is a long time since you went away," said Emily. "A very long
time."
"Yes; it is a long time. But, the weary slow-passing years are
ended, and I am back again among early scenes and old friends, and
back, I trust, to remain."
"How is your mother?" inquired Emily, after a slight pause.
"I found her much changed--older by twice the number of years that
have elapsed since I went away."
But all that passed between Andrew Howland and Emily Winters in the
hour they spent together at this first meeting, after so long an
absence, we cannot write. For a time, their intercourse was marked
by a reserve and embarrassment on the part of Emily; but this
insensibly wore off, and, ere the young man went away, their hearts,
if not their lips, had spoken to each other almost as freely as in
the days of childhood.
Not many months elapsed ere the tender regard that was spontaneously
awakened in their bosoms when children, and which had never ceased
to exist, led them into a true marriage union, to which no one
raised even a whisper of opposition. Almost at the very time that
Andrew was holding his first interview with Emily, Mr. Winters was
listening to a brief account of his return, with some of the
pleasing incidents immediately attendant thereon. In a meeting with
the young man shortly afterward, he was prepossessed in his
favor, and when he saw that he was disposed to renew the old
intimate relations with Emily, he did not in the least object.
Thus, after a lapse of over twenty-five years, two families, each
possessed of substantial virtues, and with social qualities forming
a plane for reciprocal good feeling, but which had been forced apart
by the narrow prejudice and iron will of Mr. Howland, came together
in a marriage of two of its members. Alas! how much of wrong and
suffering appertained to that long period during which they were
thus held apart! How many scars from heart-wounds were left; and
these not always painless!
Can any summing up of the causes and consequences set forth in our
story give force to the lessons it teaches? We think not; and
therefore leave it with the reader to do its own work.