Edith gave a gasp when she saw the noble form of her brother enter the
door at her father’s side; but she welcomed him by laying her white
round arm about his neck and kissing him. Hilda stood for a moment
looking from one to another in a bewildered manner, then a bright light
almost transfigured her face. Gliding to her father’s side she surprised
that individual by winding her arms about his neck and pressing her
fresh dewy lips to his. Then laying her cheek to his whispered:
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
What was it that arose in his throat and dimmed his eye? When had a
sweet woman’s kiss been pressed upon his lips before. He laid a
trembling hand upon the back of a chair to steady himself while his eyes
followed the hazel-eyed girl—so like the Erna of long ago. For just one
moment it had seemed to him that it had been she who whispered that
“Thank you.” That it had been her cheek resting against his. A sigh
escaped his lips as he thought of how short duration had been their
happiness. Why had it been so short? Even now he could not understand;
but he felt a glow of satisfaction, such as he had not known in many a
long year, as he watched the group of three. For the first time a
feeling of conscious pride swelled in his heart at the thought that they
were his children. Mrs. Wallace, when she entered the room in her
sweeping robes was not exactly delighted when the guest of the evening
was introduced to her, but had enough of good grace to tender him a
kindly welcome when she heard of the service he had rendered her own
son. Besides this splendid young giant commanded her respect whether she
would or not. She always did admire handsome men, and Wilbur was
decidedly handsome. So once more—what he believed would never again be
possible—Wilbur found himself sitting at his father’s table, partaking
of his bread, of his hospitality, and felt conscious that he was doing
right; knew that his idolized sisters sanctioned it. Both were extremely
happy and, conscious of that happiness, Wilbur felt as if inspired, and
talked as he had never before talked. His sisters were proud of him and
his father was surprised and astounded at the store of knowledge he
possessed, at the ideas that had possession of his active brain, and a
new light dawned upon his mind.
It was, he now began to see, this brother who had been the teacher of
the sisters, developing them into the splendid independent women that
they were. Even Mrs. Wallace became interested, although most of that
which he said was as so much Greek to her. It was of so foreign a nature
to her. She found more to disagree with than agree to, yet she found
herself listening to every word. Stranger than all, Homer was aroused;
his senses were alert. Where had he ever heard such doctrines propounded
before? Certainly not in such a strain. Yet he had heard them, and with
his mates of the boarding school had jeered and laughed and scoffed at
what they termed “would-be-reformers.” Now he began to see how much
superior were these thoughts when compared with the useless studies with
which his head had been crammed, and with the teachings of the dime
novels which he and his mates had devoured—inflaming their passions and
leading to the formation of vile habits.
While Wilbur was speaking he had been watching the flushing and paling
face of the boy. A suspicion of what made him languid and nervous and
sullen forced itself upon his mind and he forthwith made up his mind to
take the lad in hand. He also observed that none of the other children
possessed a healthy color, but with this one he was, for the moment,
most interested. He remained all the afternoon, partaking again of the
evening meal, thereby causing him to draw still nearer to the slumbering
heart and senses of Homer; at the same time winning his way into the
hearts of all the others. So when after supper as usual a double-seated
cutter drawn by a span of fiery horses came dashing to the door, Wilbur
surprised that young gentleman by inviting him to join them.
“It will do him good,” he said, glancing at his father.
Thus Homer made the acquaintance of this circle which was to influence
all his after-life. As soon as an opportunity offered Wilbur drew young
Arthurs aside and had a prolonged conversation with him, their eyes
frequently resting on the pale face of the boy. Presently Mrs. Leland
was also drawn into the conversation and when it ended all understood
what was expected of them.
Mrs. Leland drew near the boy who was a stranger in their midst, and in
a pleasant motherly fashion began to talk to him, gradually drawing him
out, finding much intelligence stored away in the youthful mind but
which had all been going to waste for the want of a guiding hand and
skillful touch to turn it into proper channels. Edith and Hilda watched
while a feeling of joy filled their hearts. Was there really something
more than self-will, indolence and haughty overbearing in the nature of
the boy, hidden beneath that repellant exterior? Presently it was
Imelda’s turn to exert her gentle influence on him in her bright,
animated manner, and when Cora’s voice filled the large room with a
burst of song he felt as if lost in a new world. The two sisters knew he
was taken care of, and in their turn devoted themselves to the invalid.
Poor Frank! They had the satisfaction of seeing his face light up and
the color come and go in the wan cheeks. He had learned to love the
circle which nightly met here, where naught but love seemed to reign,
while Mrs. Leland was almost worshipped by him. Was ever mother so kind
to erring boy before? If his own mother—but here he stopped. She too had
been erring, suffering. She belonged to his wasted past. She had been an
over-indulgent mother to him, in spite of her fretfulness and
peevishness, and at this late day he felt that it would be wrong for him
to throw a stone upon her grave. While Hilda toyed with his white hand
Edith was standing at the back of his chair, smoothing back the
clustering locks from his brow. A sense of peace and quiet came over
him, such as he had not known in the olden days. Now and then a much
meaning look passed between the young physician and the elder sister,
calling forth a warmer hue to the fair cheek. Hilda enjoyed the same
kind of by-play with Lawrence, to whom it seemed impossible to gain more
than a few moments at a time at her side, while Mrs. Leland was more
successful with her boy lover. When the good nights had been spoken and
our party was whirling homeward, Homer was very quiet, He was deeply
impressed with all he had seen and heard, and his thoughts were busy.
Next morning, earlier far than had been Homer’s habit to rise, two
strong, young figures appeared at the door asking admittance, and
sending the merry tinkle of the bell through the rooms. Wilbur and
Osmond, ready for a hunting trip, had come to take Homer with them. The
boy was tired from being out so late the evening before, and at first
was not at all inclined to join them. It seemed he could not muster
enough of will force to face the crisp morning air, while Mrs. Wallace
objected with all her strength, being positively sure that her darling
would take cold because he was not at all strong. But Wilbur carried his
point. A half hour later, warmly clad and well equipped for their day of
sport they set out, being soon joined by Dr. Arthurs, Norman and
Westcot, they formed quite a party of hunters. As they started away from
the Westcot home a pair of dark eyes, watching them from the window of
the invalid, grew dim and a pair of lips quivered in helpless longing.
But fair woman’s hands took him in tow and made it so pleasant and
entertaining that he forgot the manly sports the others were following.
The hunters were out long hours. Up hills and down valleys, through
woods and meadows, across rocks and frozen brooks they went. Warming to
the excitement of the sport, which sent the blood bounding through his
veins Homer forgot he was weak and tired. The reaction set in, however,
and when they returned he slept long hours, but when the evening came he
was ready and anxious to go to the home of the Westcots.
Next morning another excursion had been planned and again they carried
Homer with them. This time they managed to take Elmer also, in spite of
the protests of the anxious mother who saw certain death in store for
her pampered darlings—tramping about these rough mornings through the
snow; and when she saw them return so tired they almost fell asleep on
their feet she felt more anxious than ever. Soon, however, a change made
itself manifest. They were less fretful and discontented. Their eyes
were brighter, a more healthy color tinged their cheeks, while they ate
with an apparent appetite.
Paul Arthurs now frequently called at the house. He also prescribed a
new course for the younger children. He forbade sweetmeats, spices and
condiments. A simple diet of bread, milk and grain foods, fruits and
nuts, he told the mother, was far more wholesome than the meats and
highly seasoned food they had hitherto been accustomed to.
“Give them a daily bath, then rub them until a warm glow shows itself;
then plenty of outdoor exercise. The cold will not hurt them, but rather
benefit them. Let them go coasting, skating and snowballing until they
are tired out, so tired that they scarce can keep on their feet, and my
word for it, Madame, if you follow this course, you will soon have the
satisfaction of seeing the glow of health in the faces of your children.
They need no medicine. They are suffering from a nervous debility that
only exercise in the open air and wholesome simple food will correct. I
look to you,” turning to Edith, “to see that these directions are
carried out. You understand, I am sure?”
Edith as well as Hilda did understand. The young doctor as well as the
girls did not dare to tell Mrs. Wallace the true reason of the delicate
state of health of all her children—that the seeds thereof had been sown
in the abominable boarding schools she would have considered highly
improbable. At however slight intimation of the real cause she would
have been liable, in her passion, to turn them all from the house and
thus her children would have been robbed of the only chance of regaining
their health. So they wisely kept the secret they had penetrated and
insisted on a course of treatment that these pampered darlings thought
extremely cruel. But soon the effect was apparent, and there was hope
that the morbid cravings might be destroyed, and a strong and pure
manhood and womanhood be secured to them in the future.
So it was that a new life entered this house, and in a manner scarcely
noticeable. A better footing was established between the stepmother and
the daughters. There was more peace and quiet. Once in a while the order
was reversed and the circle would gather in the Wallace home, but not
often. There were many reasons why it should not be the same. The
visitors were made welcome, it is true, but the entertainers must at all
times be guarded in their speech. They could not be quite themselves;
and then Frank never gathered enough strength to bear the fatigue of the
drive back and forth in the cold night air. One or the other would
remain at home with him, as in spite of his protests his sisters and
friends would not consent to leave him alone.
Mr. Wallace had tried hard to induce Wilbur to take up his abode in his
house during his stay in the city, but in this the son was obdurate. He
had buried and consigned to oblivion much of the past, for the sake of
his sisters and also for the sake of those other children who were also
his brothers and sisters, and whom he would, as it were, snatch from an
early grave, but he could not bring himself to lay his head on the
pillow beneath the roof that should have been a loving shelter to his
own precious mother; in the home of the man who should have loved and
cherished instead of driving her with his criminal neglect to a watery
grave. When such thoughts came to him it was all he could do to curb the
ill-will that would fill his heart, and only by the force of his strong
will did he succeed in banishing a feeling of hatred.
Meanwhile Wilbur became more dear day by day, to the father, whose heart
went out to the children of his first marriage as it had never done to
the younger ones.
Thus the weeks passed away and Christmas was drawing near when the mail
brought a letter from Margaret to her mother. A cry of joy broke from
her lips as she read its contents.
“What is it?” cried the girls in chorus.
“O, listen! It is almost too good to be true!”
“And now, dearest mamma, let me wind up this epistle by a little bit of
news. By some strange and opportune circumstance we have no engagement
for two weeks, beginning with Christmas morning, and now I mean for a
short time to join that precious circle of which I have heard so much.
O, you don’t know how impatient I am as the time draws near. I am
longing, am homesick for you all. It is sweet, this thing called fame
and homage, to be greeted and rewarded with applause, but the heart-felt
affection of your loved ones is something different, and O, so much more
satisfying.”
This indeed was news and joy. Imelda knelt at Mrs. Leland’s side, laying
her head upon her motherly knee,
“O, I am so glad, so glad! for once our circle will be complete.”
Glancing up, her eyes met those of Cora. The look of pain and silent
reproach therein pierced to her very heart. Hastily rising, with a quick
step she was at Cora’s side, winding her arms about her she laid her
face to hers.
“Forgive me, little sister. For a moment I forgot that we cannot be
complete until one more noble man, your own Owen, shall have joined us.”
Cora smiled through her tears.
“There is nothing to forgive, only sometimes I grow so hungry, so heart
hungry, so love hungry. I know everyone here loves me, yet——”
“Yet the supreme love, the love of him who makes life’s sunshine for
you, is wanting; is not that so? But why, little one, do you not send
him the word which will bring him to you?”
“I do not know; but I have the feeling that for some reason it would be
useless. I will wait a little while longer.”
So a few more days went by and at last Christmas morning dawned. A
solitary watcher paced up and down the platform in front of the depot
awaiting the arrival of the incoming train, his impatience not
permitting him to seek the warmth indoors as many others were doing. Up
and down, up and down, he paced, the dark eyes glowing in their
suppressed eagerness when at last the whistle sounded on the clear,
crisp air and a few minutes later the thundering train discharged its
load of human freight, and was again putting away on its eastern course.
A tall, fair-haired woman was seen casting searching glances about when
a pair of arms were laid upon her shoulders. She was gently turned
about, almost at the same moment a pair of moustached lips pressing
hers,
“Margaret, my rare, sweet Margaret!”
“Wilbur!” Another kiss followed, then quickly she was assisted to a seat
in the waiting cutter, snugly tucked in with warm robes and furs and in
a few minutes more they were speeding along over the frozen snow.
“My mother, is she well? and Imelda, and Alice, and her babies, and all
the rest whom I have not seen, are they all well and happy?”
Wilbur laughed. “One question at a time if you please, my girlie. But as
to each and all I can give the same answer, so will I answer them all at
once with the one little word ‘Yes,’ and they have sent me along to
greet you, not but one and all are just as eager and impatient to greet
and welcome my darling. Only they have kindly conceded the privilege to
me to be the first to embrace my girlie, for which I certainly am
thankful. For when that bevy of women once have you in their
clutches—there now! I retract that word, but it is certain when they
have secured you I may not hope to again speak to you in a hurry. For
some time at least they will own you.”
By this time they were leaving the turmoil and noise of the city in
their rear and as the roads were quiet and deserted, the arm of the
young driver gently stole about the slender waist of the woman at his
side. Nothing loath the fair head rested against his shoulder while the
blue eyes looked up into the black ones with love unutterable. Again
their lips met in a clinging kiss.
“O sweetheart and lover, it seems so good once more to be able to nestle
in your arms.”
To press her still more closely was his only answer. Thus laughing and
talking, loving and kissing, they enjoyed to the utmost that drive in
the crisp, cold air, and soon they arrived at their destination, where
many open arms were extended to receive the fair Margaret.
“My darling!” and
“My own mamma!” were the caressing words exchanged as Mrs. Leland folded
her daughter to her heart. But not for long was she permitted to hold
her there. Imelda’s brown eyes were beaming with love and pleasure.
Alice was eager for a kiss, her two pretty babies wanted to be noticed
by this new auntie. Then Imelda drew her aside where the hazel-eyed Cora
was standing with one arm laid lovingly about the shoulders of a
pale-faced young man. Margaret needed no introduction. By letter she had
long since known of the finding of both of Imelda’s wayward ones, and a
single glance told her all. She took the girl’s face between her hands
and gently kissed the cherry lips.
“I am so glad for your own as well as for Imelda’s sake.”
This was her greeting and Cora understood, for her eyes filled with
tears. Frank’s hand she took between both of hers and knelt at his side.
“And you are the brother I have so often heard her speak about. For
Imelda’s sake you must be my brother also, as my own brother has been
absent for so long a time I can scarce remember him.”
Frank’s face became sad and his eyes misty.
“O, but your own brother is so much more deserving than I. Would that my
record were as clean.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Not so downcast and self-reproachful, my boy. We are so much the
creatures of circumstances we cannot well help doing just the things we
do. The past you have done with, only the future is yours, to make that
what it should be will be your task, your duty, your pleasure.”
In his turn Frank shook his head.
“No! no! even that boon will be denied me. My bad deeds can’t be undone;
to atone for them will not be permitted me. My days, my hours, even, are
numbered. No, no, please don’t. I understand what you would say. Why
should such a truth-loving woman as you seek to deceive me. I know it
all, and I suppose it is best so. Look, there at your mother’s side
another awaits to welcome you, one who is nearer and dearer to you than
such a poor wreck of humanity as I could ever dare hope to be.”
Following the direction indicated by Frank Margaret saw, standing at her
mother’s side, an arm thrown caressingly about her shoulders, a young
man as yet almost a boy, fair sunny locks thrown carelessly back from a
broad and open brow, a look of longing in the frank blue eyes, and
suppressed emotion quivering about the sensitive mouth.
Slowly Margaret drew herself up to her full height, with her eyes
fastened on that boyish and yet manly form. Was it—O was it——? Her
mother’s hand went up to his face and drew it close to her own, holding
it there, the other hand she extended to her daughter. With bated breath
Margaret crossed the room.
“Is it——”
“Your brother.”
Then both of Margaret’s hands were extended and both were clasped firmly
and tenderly, and,
“Osmond!”
“Margaret!”—spoken in a breath, and Margaret knew that at last her
mother had her heart’s one desire; her boy, her baby is once more her
own, and the sister is clasped in her brother’s embrace.
“O, this is indeed a merry Christmas, and you are the nicest Christmas
gift I could have wished for. But how is it, mamma, that you have not
written this to me?”
“Because I so sincerely hoped and believed that you would make it
possible to spend a week with us, and I wanted to surprise you. Have I
succeeded?”
“Indeed you have, my darling mamma. But is this boy always so
tongue-tied, having just nothing at all to say?”
Osmond laughed,
“I believe you are a saucebox! But that isn’t a bit nice of me, is it?
to call you names in the first moments of our acquaintance—with the
first words I address to you. I promise you to try and do better and say
something nice. I don’t believe you are easily spoiled and feel that I
may tell you, that already I am proud of my sister. I think they have
named you well—Margaret. A daughter of the Gods, divinely tall and most
divinely fair——”
“For shame, Osmond; to try to pay your sister compliments in such
wornout phrases.”
A laugh followed and the ice was broken. Margaret felt and knew that she
should love this brother. As the days of the following week glided by
she gradually came to know all there was to tell and to learn. Osmond
told her all about the father who opposed his coming here, when by
accident he discovered that it was the boy’s mother he daily went to
see; of the battle he had fought and how he had come off conqueror; of
how there had been much in common between them; but that of late he was
daily drifting more and more away from his father; then of how he had
come into this circle, and how he had gradually come to hear and then
understand their ideas; how he had come to know and understand what true
womanhood and manhood were, what they meant, and that he now knew that
his mother and sister were sweet and pure and true, notwithstanding the
teachings of his father.
Then Margaret had come to know the sisters of Wilbur, and knew not which
was the most love-worthy, the stately Edith or the sweet, gentle Hilda.
She saw the heightened color in the cheeks of the former when the young
physician was holding her attention; she saw the sparkling light in the
eyes of the latter and the answering light in those of Lawrence Westcot;
the adoration in Imelda’s glance as it rested on the splendid figure of
Norman Carlton, whom indeed she found to be all her friend had said of
him. “One of nature’s noblemen” was the best she knew how to describe
him. But to which, indeed, of the manly faces and forms should she not
have applied the same appellation? And O, how she enjoyed the society of
this bright circle! how swiftly the hours and days flew by. How soon she
knew her short vacation would be over and that again she must away to
her work.
She loved her work but she could not help feeling sad that her visit
would be of such short duration. She would nestle closer to Wilbur’s
side, and just a little more passion would creep into her kisses, when
she was folded against his heart, at the thought of the coming
separation.
So the first week of her vacation neared its close, and all felt more
than ever before the rapid flight of time, when one evening Norman
joined the circle holding a telegram aloft.
“Look,” he said, “this announces the visit of a friend of olden days, a
college mate, a most precious friend whom I will turn over to the tender
mercies of our ladies; a splendid fellow, wholesouled and true. Maybe
you girls can make another addition to our circle. He is well worth the
winning, though he be a married man.”