“When morning came, the fears and troubles of the night passed
away like a mist, and I felt less inclined to tell aunt Marion my
short-comings. In the excitement about the crazy girl, I forgot it
almost entirely, and indeed she was so busy that I had no opportunity
of speaking to her alone. So, when the bustle was over and my
whisperings of conscience returned, I made _that_ an excuse to
myself—and tried to dismiss the whole matter from my mind.
“But how surely our sin finds us out! how one spot on our souls, not
washed clean by repentance, spreads itself and poisons the good in us:
and one step taken in the wrong path leads to another and another, till
we are sinking hopelessly in the mire of mistakes and sin, and lose
time and strength in struggling back to the broad, clean way, if indeed
the mire be not too deep for our force, and we remain there ever going
deeper and deeper.
“Remember, dear children, to pluck out, by the grace of Jesus, every
root of sin and keep a clear conscience; don’t let any stain rest
there, or it blackens the whole. And then, think, is the pain, the
embarrassment of confession, equal to the fear of being found out, the
depression, the stings of conscience which last so long?
“Mr. Percy remained all that day, and I had the satisfaction of hearing
all about papa. If I had but had patience to wait. I was angry with
Cora, for having been the cause of my discomfort; I avoided her,
feeling guilty; and as for her, she moped alone almost the whole day.
“After a while, grandmamma called me to her room and told me my
mother’s story—my poor, dear, young mother! She could not tell it
without many tears, neither could I listen unmoved, and it seemed to me
that I had lived a life-time in hearing it.
“My father was a lieutenant in the army. He and my mother were very
young when they met each other, and they became much attached. There
was so much opposition to their marriage, for many reasons—one, their
youth, another, my father’s profession—that at last, unhappily, they
disobeyed their parents and displeased their friends by marrying
secretly.
“Soon after, papa was ordered with his regiment to Florida, to fight
the Indians, and my delicate young mother accompanied him. Her friends
had never forgiven her, never seen her; and grandmamma wept when she
told me what she fancied must have been my mother’s grief at leaving
her home without a word of tenderness for those whom she had loved so
dearly. But she went, and months passed without any tidings from her.
“At last there came a letter, telling of my birth, and then they longed
to see her again. The yearning was so sore that grandmamma would have
gone herself, had it been possible. That being out of the question,
Aunt Millicent, her twin sister, whose light-heartedness had left
her when my mother went away, determined to go. They had friends in
Florida, and she could make her home with them; so it was arranged.
“In the mean time my mother fancied that but one thing was wanting
to her perfect happiness. She lived in garrison, and was the light
of the old colonel’s eyes, as well as of her husband’s. Gay and
simple-hearted, full of childish spirits and happiness, they could
think but little of their hardships where her bright, fair face
appeared.
“At last the tidings that the home hearts had melted for her, that her
dearest sister was on her way to meet her, came to her, being the one
thing she craved to make life beautiful to her. Aunt Millicent was
to travel with a party bringing supplies and reinforcements to the
garrison, thinking it the safer plan.
“A party was sent out to meet them, on the day upon which they were
expected. My mother, in the gaiety of her heart, begged to be of the
company; and as the Indians had been quiet for some time, my father
allowed her to go. He could not accompany her, being officer of the
day, and saw her mount her horse and ride off laughing in the sunshine
without a thought of the grief which was to fall upon him like a
thunder-bolt before night.
“Several hours afterwards a horse came galloping back to the garrison,
riderless, and when my father saw it he fell to the ground as if a
bullet had struck him. It was the horse my mother had ridden. It
was not long before they went in search of those who had set out so
fearlessly in the morning, with sad forebodings. They scarcely hoped to
find the remains of any; it was the habit of the Indians to mutilate
fearfully the bodies of those slain by them, and the agony of all was
increased by the thoughts of the tender young form hacked and torn by
the savages.
“Very soon they reached the spot where the work of death had been done.
Three bodies lay upon the ground, and at some distance, under a tree,
to which he had dragged himself with much pain, lay a soldier mortally
wounded. They gathered round him. Close at his side, with his hat over
her face, lay my dead mother, shot through the heart. The soldier could
just speak.
“‘Lieutenant,’ said he, ‘I would have protected your lady with my last
drop of blood: they would have had to tear me to pieces before they
should have taken her body.’
“And when the strong men around, with tears on their cheeks, lifted the
hat, there was the young face, with almost a smile parting the lips.
Before they had left the place, the rest of the party returned from
pursuing the Indians, and they heard the particulars of the sad event.
“It seems, as they were riding along gaily, not dreaming of danger, the
Indians fired upon them from the woods, and killed one man. My mother,
in terror, sprang from her horse, and attempted to reach the baggage
wagon, thinking she would be safer in that, but as she was running
towards it, a bullet struck her, and she fell instantly dead. The men
rallied and turned, and the few Indians, taking alarm lest there
should be help for the whites at hand, fled.
“The wounded soldier died on the way back, and when my aunt arrived
in the afternoon, she saw only my mother’s dead face, and found only
a deaf ear, into which she poured all the tardy messages of love and
forgiveness from home.
“Neither Aunt Millicent nor my father ever entirely recovered from the
shock. My father’s poor health and spirits were caused by this grief
in the beginning of his life, and he shut himself up with his child,
refusing to see any of my mother’s family for years: it was not until
he was going to Europe that he had any intercourse with them.
“Aunt Millicent was so shattered, so shocked, by this dreadful
occurrence, that her nerves never recovered from it. She was morbid,
ailing, and delicate for a long time; and, taking to heart a great
disappointment which happened to her several years after, she became
hopelessly insane.
“‘My dear,’ said my grandmother, when she had finished her story, ‘let
not the sun go down upon your wrath. You cannot tell what sorrow and
punishment the morning may bring you. The pride and stubbornness of age
need severer lessons to train them into gentleness and patience than
the same faults in youth—and so surely, for every fault, God sends a
pain to cure it.’
“And how inexpressibly I was touched! My dear father! I resolved that
in the future, nothing that the most loving care, the utmost devotion
to every wish, could do towards making his days brighter, should be
left undone—and Paradise seemed not so far off now, because I knew
that there waited for us both, the bright-eyed, gentle, young mother,
whose kisses and glances I had never consciously received. And so
another evening came, and I forgot the yesterday resolutions in my new
thoughts.