"The true
And steadfast love of years,
The kindly, that from childhood grew,
The faithful to our tears"
_--Mrs Heman_
The day after the ball, to the great grief of his devoted household,
Henry Rayne was much weaker than usual. His tasty, tempting breakfast
went back untouched to the kitchen. Although he had not gone down last
night to the scene of gaiety below, his intimate and privileged friends
had visited him in his own apartments above, and the reaction of this
excitement had assumed alarming features to-day.
Honor hastened to his side the moment she had finished a hurried toilet.
She got herself impatiently into a wrapper of dark red cashmere, which
fastened at the waist with cords and heavy tassels. A little ruffle of
lace bound her throat, and her feet were thrust into dainty slippers,
her beautiful hair hung in two long braids down her back, making a
perfect picture of her _en deshabille_. She walked stealthily to the
door of the sick room, and seeing the dim eyes of her loved invalid
looking at her, wide open, she ventured in. She advanced slowly to the
large chair on which he sat, and half-seating herself on the cushioned
arm, she threw her arms around his neck and asked in a melancholy voice,
"how he felt this morning?"
"They tell me you are not so well, to-day, is that true, dear old pet,
when I have come to wish you the brightest, happiest Christmas day that
will be spent on earth?"
The dim eyes of the old man turned lovingly on her for a moment, his
lips trembled and his voice was suspiciously shaky as he answered,
"Oh, 'tis nothing to dread, my darling; I am only a little weaker,
that's all."
"Yes; but that's a great deal," Honor retorted, "and we must try all we
can to restore you before to-morrow. You were getting on so nicely. I
wonder what can have made the difference."
"Why, you'll quite spoil me," the gentle voice tried to say jestingly,
but the eyes closed languidly and the head drooped helplessly back among
the cushions. Two great, round tears stood in Honors eyes, she bowed her
head over the suffering form, and kissed the clammy brow of the
invalid--she tried to say something of encouragment, but great sobs of
stifled anguish choked the passage in her throat.
A moment after, the sick man raised his lids wearily and looked on the
girl's clouded face.
"My dear little one," he faltered, as he saw the wet lashes and the
trembling lips, "I think, after all, you love your old friend a little
bit."
Honor tried to smile through her tears--it was like a little rainbow
bursting through the clouds. She knelt down beside him, and looking up
earnestly into his face, said,
"You _must_ get better, if 'twere only for my sake. I did not realize
before as I do now how essential you are to my very existence. I shudder
to imagine life without you, and yet if you do not eat and nourish
yourself during these days, you cannot--" but she would not say the
fearful word--her head fell on his shoulder, and she burst into tears.
"My darling!" muttered the unsteady voice of the invalid, "life was
never so seductive to me as it is now, there was a time when I did not
much mind whether I lived or died, but that was before I had you,--since
you have begun to share my solitary life, turning it's dark, dreary
nights into days of happy brightness, I have seen it with other eyes. I
have resigned my days as they passed, one by one, with a greedy,
unwilling resignation, because I had learned to prize them and to love
them, after I had prized and loved you; but, now!--if I must give them
up all at once and forever, I am not going to grumble." A low sob of
suppressed pain escaped the girl's lips. "I have had more comfort in
this world than I ever counted upon," he continued, "I have not known
poverty or destitution, and since a merciful Creator has spared me from
so many briars and thorns of life, I must be doubly resigned to leave
the comforts I have so undeservedly enjoyed, and obey His call."
"Oh! dear Mr. Rayne!" sobbed the girl, "do not, pray do not speak like
that, you are so low-spirited to-day. You will be quite well yet, you
are strong enough to battle with a little illness. Don't say you are
going to leave me so willingly--such a thing would break my heart," and
bowing her head on her folded arms, she wept silently and bitterly.
After a moment of painful pause, Henry Rayne raised the drooped head and
said in a tender, loving accent,
"We are distressing one another, my darling, run away now, and distract
yourself elsewhere. I have much to think about." Honor turned to do as
she was bid, but she had barely reached the door when she heard the
feeble voice of her guardian calling her back. When she stood before him
again, his eyes wore a pensive, distracted look, and his voice was
wonderfully serious, as he asked,
"Honor, do you love me now, think you, just as you would have loved your
own father, had he lived?"
Clasping her hands in an attitude of thoughtful attention, she answered,
"Have you had any reason to doubt it, my more than father?--have I, in
word or deed, ever caused the slightest shade of disappointment to
darken your brow, that you deem this question necessary?"
"Tis none of these, my little one," he answered tenderly, "but your
words reassure me, and I like to hear you say them"--then changing his
tone suddenly, to one of pleading enquiry, he asked. "If I were to wish
you to do me a great favor, Honor, which involved the sacrifice of your
own feelings, and the risk of your future happiness, but that, I did so,
merely on account of my great love for you, do you think, you could be
so unselfish, so grand, as to slight every other consideration for mine,
and grant me my wild wish?"
With a little wistful, puzzled look on her face, she answered "There is
no word of binding promise, that it is possible for my lips to utter,
nor no deed bespoken before its committal, by your request or command,
that you may not consider, as wholly yours beforehand, for the
confidence that you have deserved I should place in you, assures me,
that you will ask nothing of me, which is not thoroughly consistent with
my welfare and happiness."
"What a noble creature you are!" the old man exclaimed faintly, then
turning, and looking her tenderly in the face, he said "I understand,
then, that very soon, when I make a request of you, you will not deny me
the extreme gratification of giving my request due consideration?"
Impulsively, frankly, innocently, Honor thrust her little hands into
those of her guardian, and smiling half sadly, said "A promise is a
promise--there is mine."