FORGING THE FIRST LINK.
Autumn, with its sobbing winds and falling leaves, was over now, and
cold, sterile winter reigned supreme all around. Day after day the
chill northern blasts swept over the busy town, bringing with them now
a tempest of blinding sleet, and again showers of softly-falling snow:
rich people wrapped themselves warmly in their furs and velvet; and the
poor, gathering their tattered garments more closely round them,
shivered under the touch of the icy king. But if winter days brought
cold, bleak winds and murky skies, they also brought many pleasures in
their train; and young hearts beat joyfully as the Christmas-tide drew
near, and bright visions of the festive season filled each youthful
mind.
Winnie especially was in a state of great excitement, for Mrs. Blake
had promised her a party with a real Christmas tree, to which she was
at liberty to invite as many of her school-mates as she chose. One
little trifle alone damped her happiness--namely, the command to
include Ada Irvine in the list of her invitations; and although Winnie
pouted and pleaded her dislike of that young lady, Mrs. Blake remained
firm, and insisted that her injunction should be carried out. "Your
father was formerly on very intimate terms with Mr. Irvine, Winnie, and
I will have no slight or disrespect shown to his daughter; so, either
post her an invitation or abandon the idea of a party altogether." And
when her step-mother spoke in that decided manner, Winnie knew she had
no alternative save to yield.
"I sincerely trust Ada Irvine will have the good sense to refuse," she
confided to Nellie the day on which the invitations were about to be
issued. "She'll spoil the whole affair it she comes, horrid old thing;
and I did mean it all to be so nice. Ugh! she will surely never
accept," and Winnie's face wore anything but an amiable expression.
School had not been such a very pleasant place those last few weeks,
and many of the scenes which occurred there were certainly neither
seemly nor instructive. Open warfare reigned between Ada and Winnie,
and the skirmishes were becoming serious as well as disagreeable; for
Winnie, scouting all Nellie's proposals of being patient and winning by
love, made a fiery little adversary, and Ada Irvine's dislike of both
was rapidly deepening into the bitterest hatred--the more so when she
saw Nellie rising gradually in the esteem of both teachers and
scholars: the former being won by her steady attention and modest
behaviour; the latter by the simple, kindly spirit which characterized
all her actions. There was much still to call for patient forbearance
and quiet endurance; but Nellie could see the golden sunlight streaming
through the clouds, and hopefully trusted that by-and-by every dark
shadow would vanish and leave never a trace behind.
This state of matters was as gall and wormwood to Ada. Nellie's
gradual triumph, and Winnie's malicious delight thereat, roused every
evil passion in her nature; and out of her deadly hatred she meditated
a sure revenge when the opportunity came in her way. What form it
would take she hardly knew; events would shape themselves somehow; and
then--the cold blue eyes glittered ominously at the thought of what she
termed her reckoning-day.
Many a tender, wistful thought Winnie sent to Miss Latimer, though she
had never managed to visit Dingle Cottage a second time. Her precious
volumes were read and re-read over and over again; and it seemed as it
Aunt Judith's quiet, peaceful face shone forth from every page, and the
soft, kindly voice uttered each loving word and noble thought. Dick
used to protest his utter weariness of Aunt Judith and her books, for
day after day she was quoted to him with never-failing enthusiasm; but
on those occasions when he did give expression to such sentiments,
Winnie merely treated him to a hearty embrace, and pursued the
interesting subject with increased earnestness. In the meantime,
however, her mind was so fully occupied with the forthcoming party that
nothing else was on her lips from morn till eve; and with regard to
Miss Latimer, Dick had peace for a season.
Oh, what discussions took place in the old oak parlour over the
approaching festivity! How was it to be conducted? What was to be the
programme for the evening? and who were to be included in the list of
invitations?
"I suppose your friends will be able to dance, Dick?" inquired Winnie
one night when they were sitting together talking as usual about the
great event in prospect. "Mamma says we cannot play games all the
evening."
"Well, I daresay they can do a hop or two when it's necessary,"
answered the boy lazily. "Just you get hold of Archie Trollope and
he'll spin you round and round the room in a twinkle; not very
gracefully, perhaps, but with no lack of energy. He's the boy to do
it;" and Dick laughed as he pictured the charming spectacle with his
mental eye.
Winnie looked dignified.
"If he cannot dance properly," she said, with a touch of contempt in
her voice, "most assuredly he will not have the honour of dancing with
me. I have no desire to figure ridiculously in a ball-room," and the
little lady drew herself up proudly as she spoke.
Dick collapsed.
"The honour!" he gasped spasmodically--"the honour! My eye! listen to
the princess!" and rolling himself about in convulsions of laughter,
the vulgar boy ended his merriment by tilting over his chair and
landing himself gracefully on the floor.
"Why not an honour, pray?" inquired Winnie, looking loftily on the
sprawling form at her feet. "Is it not a _great_ privilege for any
gentleman to dance with a lady?" and the indignant child laid special
stress on the word "great."
Dick rose, and treating her to a sweeping Sir Charles Grandison bow,
replied, "You are right, madam; the honour is inestimable." At this
both laughed, and continued the interrupted conversation.
"Ada Irvine has accepted her invitation, Dick," was Winnie's next
announcement, given with ominous gravity. "No one ever imagined she
would do so, and all the school-girls are talking about it."
Dick gave a low whistle.
"Depend upon it, Win," he said solemnly, "there's something in the
wind. Ada Irvine's not the girl to take such a step without having a
reason for so doing. I guess you and Nellie had better look out for
squalls, for if Miss Ada's not up to some low dodge, my name's not
Richard Blake."
And even while they were speaking, the subject of their conversation
sat up in her comfortable bedroom at Mrs. Elder's, thinking over the
first link she was about to forge in the long chain of bitter malice
and deceit. She was seated in a low basket-chair before the fire,
making a pretty picture with her long fair hair floating down her back,
and her dainty figure nestling cosily amongst the soft cushions. Her
blue eyes had an absent, far-away look, and the small white hands lying
on her lap were nervously interlaced one with the other.
"Yes," she muttered in a low, hushed voice, "I shall have my revenge,
though I cannot as yet see the way clearly before me. I hardly know
towards which I bear the greater hatred, but anyhow both will
suffer--Winnifred Blake for her malicious triumph and delight; Nellie
Latimer for her upsetting behaviour and quiet contempt. Oh, how I
detest them both!" and the girl's eyes gleamed angrily. There was a
moment's silence; then she continued, knitting her white brow in a
perplexed frown,--"I wonder how I shall manage? One thing is certain:
I must do my best on Friday night--make a good impression on the Blake
family, and cautiously poison their minds with respect to Nellie
Latimer. People are so credulous in this world, it is wonderful what a
word skilfully thrown in will do, and how very easily it is credited;
but I must be careful, and lay my plans with the greatest caution."
She spoke all this in a low undertone, as if fearful of being
overheard, and her eyes wandered round the room with an uneasy light
shining in their depths. The fire-flames leaped and crackled, the
pretty room was full of warmth and comfort; yet the girl shivered
violently, and gave a scared glance towards the window as the wind went
wailing round the house like a sobbing child. What gave her that
strange, restless feeling--that weariness of heart? She could hardly
tell; only somehow the world seemed all changed of late, and the
Christmas-tide so close at hand failed to afford the same joy and
gladness it had done heretofore. A great black cloud seemed to be
hiding all the sunshine from her sight; a heavy weight would keep
dragging at her heart-strings, and a continual thirst after revenge
persisted in haunting her every footstep.
Yet this time was a season of peace and holy joy--a time when hand
should clasp hand with the fervour of warm friendship, and all past
slights and wrongs be blotted out for ever, leaving room for naught in
the heart save the pure Christ-like love which makes this world a
heaven on earth. Night after night, as the Christmas-tide drew near,
the sky spread itself over all--one curtain, of misty blue, studded
with the bright, scintillating twinkle of myriads of happy stars.
Every evening the quiet, peaceful moon shone forth rounder and
mellower; the north wind tempered its cutting blasts and touched the
sleeping earth gently, gently with its icy fingers; and the
frost-sparkles, glistering from lofty steeple and sloping roof, changed
the dingy town to a veritable fairyland.
At first Nellie had often wondered why Miss Latimer took such an
interest in the outside world, and what beauty she could see in the
busy city with its constant din and bustle. But that was over now, for
she had learned that the nature-world was as an open book to Aunt
Judith--a treasury from which she brought forth gold, silver, and
precious stones, and scattered them throughout the world in the shape
of grand, beautiful thoughts.
Nellie found life very pleasant just now at the little cottage in
Broomhill Road. Miss Latimer and Aunt Debby vied with each other in
every endeavour to add to her comfort and happiness; while even Aunt
Meg roused herself occasionally from her selfish torpor and tried to
brighten the tiny home. She could gladden it wonderfully when she
chose, for Miss Margaret possessed many pleasing traits of character;
but, alas! she seldom did choose, and, as Miss Deborah quaintly
expressed it, "one had to endure innumerable showers of rain for one
gleam of sunshine." Nellie had become so accustomed, however, to the
invalid's whims and caprices, that she thought little, if at all, about
them, and in the meantime her whole attention was engrossed with
Winnie's party. Miss Latimer had bought her a soft white muslin for
the occasion, and Miss Deborah was busy converting it into the
prettiest party-dress imaginable. The young girl had been at first
slightly dubious about Aunt Debby's dress-making capabilities; but her
doubts were fast disappearing as she watched the gradual progress made
under that lady's skilful fingers, and noted how beautifully and
tastefully the work was done.
"I am sure no one will have such a pretty dress, Aunt Debby," she said
one afternoon, coming into the parlour and finding Miss Deborah busy
over the dainty garment. "It is so good of you to put yourself to all
this trouble for me, and I shall never be able to thank you as I
ought." Nellie's eyes glistened as she spoke.
"You will soon find out your mistake, my dear," said Aunt Meg from her
couch by the fire. "I question if one of your friends will be dressed
in so simple and cheap a material. Why, you will be a regular dowdy,
and I told Judith so when she showed me her purchase. She could hardly
have bought a less expensive fabric."
"Nonsense, Meg," put in Miss Deborah with a displeased frown and rapid
glance at Nellie's amazed countenance; "don't place absurd ideas in the
child's head. You know perfectly well muslin makes a most appropriate
dress for a young girl. I wonder what Judith would say were she to
hear you speak in that manner?"
"Look like a saint, and preach to Nellie on the vanity and vexation of
the human heart," replied the invalid, who seemed to be decidedly out
of humour. "I am well aware of Judith's style, Debby: that is how she
covers her stinginess," and Miss Margaret gave a little sarcastic laugh
at this point.
"Hush!" almost shouted Miss Deborah, turning a pair of bright, angry
eyes in the direction of the couch. "How dare you utter such an
untruth? Simply because one of your endless wishes was thwarted. Meg,
I am ashamed of you!" and Aunt Debby resumed her sewing with an air of
heavy displeasure, while the invalid relapsed into sulky silence, the
cause of her ill-humour being Aunt Judith's refusal that morning to
grant her a new dressing-gown. "Wait a little longer, Meg; I can
hardly afford it just now, and your old one still looks pretty and
fresh," had been the quiet answer to the proffered request; but that
was sufficient to upset the invalid's equanimity for the rest of the
day, and no amount of kindness could soothe her wounded feelings.
Of course Nellie was ignorant of all this. Still, although she did not
believe Miss Margaret's statement in reference to Miss Latimer's
meanness, the words left a sting, and the pretty dress seemed divested
of half its beauty. "Aunt Judith might have purchased something just a
trifle more expensive," was the unuttered thought ever rising to her
lips; but, oh! how her heart reproached her when, on the evening of the
party, Miss Latimer called her into the little sanctum, and, shutting
the door, lifted a small box from the table and proceeded to unfasten
the lock.
"Aunt Debby has just been showing me your dress, Nellie," she said in
her soft gentle voice, "and now that it is finished I think it very
pretty indeed. I hardly know why, but I have an idea _you_ consider it
too simple for evening wear; and although I am sorry should such be the
case, I cannot agree with you. The dress seems to me quite suitable,
and its charm lies in its very simplicity. A little trinket round the
neck, however, might be an improvement, and so, dear, I am going to
forestall my Christmas present and give it to you now. I suppose you
will value it none the less because I used to wear it long ago in my
girlhood days;" and Miss Latimer, lifting a string of fairest pearls
from the box, clasped them round her niece's neck as she spoke.
Nellie's breath came quick and fast.
"O auntie! they are never for me," she gasped excitedly. "They are so
beautiful, and I have been thinking such horrid things."
Aunt Judith smiled. "I do not blame you, child. It is only natural
such thoughts should crop up; but, Nellie, I am not so very rich, and
cannot afford to be lavish with my money. One never knows what may
happen, and I must needs guard against a rainy day. No, no; not
another reproachful word. I like to see my child look fair and sweet.
Good-night, dear." And kissing her softly. Miss Latimer pushed the
repentant girl from the room with gentle hands. Then closing the door,
she drew a low chair close to the fire, and, as she sat quietly
thinking, the white, set look Nellie had noticed before settled over
the patient face, while the lips quivered and drooped like those of one
in pain.
What was the mystery in Aunt Judith's life? What suffering had stamped
its refining image on that noble, true face, and bore witness to the
fiery trial through which she had passed?
Few knew of the life of complete self-renunciation lived out in that
little home--the quiet acceptance and patient bearing of a life-long
sorrow, and the earnest endeavour day after day to follow closely the
Master's footsteps, and live his holy, blameless life. But some day in
the great hereafter, she knew the mystery of suffering would be
explained, and that there what was here sown weeping would be reaped in
joy and gladness; and knowing this, Aunt Judith was content to wait.