CHARLOTTE HARMAN'S COMFORT.
Jasper Harman did not come to his brother's house that night, but about
the time he might be expected to arrive there came a note from him
instead. It was plausibly written, and gave a plausible excuse for his
absence. He told John of sudden tidings with regard to some foreign
business. These tidings were really true. Jasper said that a
confidential clerk had gone to the foreign port where they dealt to
inquire into this special matter, but that he thought it best, as the
stakes at issue were large, to go also himself, to inquire personally.
He would not be long away, &c. &c. He would write when to expect his
return. It was a letter so cleverly put together, as to cause no alarm
to any one. John Harman read it, folded it up, and told Charlotte that
they need not expect Jasper in Prince's Gate for at least a week. The
week passed, and though Jasper had neither come nor written, there was
no anxiety felt on his account. In the mean time affairs had outwardly
calmed down in Prince's Gate. The agitation, which had been felt even by
the humblest servant in the establishment had ceased. Everything had
returned to its accustomed groove. The nine days' wonder of that put off
wedding had ceased to be a wonder. It still, it is true, gave zest to
conversation in the servants' hall, but upstairs it was never mentioned.
The even routine of daily life had resumed its sway, and things looked
something as they did before, except that Mr. Harman grew to all eyes
perceptibly weaker, that Charlotte was very grave and pale and quiet,
that old Uncle Jasper was no longer in and out of the house, and that
John Hinton never came near it. The luxurious house in Prince's Gate was
unquestionably very dull; but otherwise no one could guess that there
was anything specially amiss there.
On a certain morning, Charlotte got up, put on her walking things, and
went out. She had not been out of doors for a week, and a sudden longing
to be alone in the fresh outer world came over her too strongly to be
rejected. She called a hansom and once more drove to her favorite
Regent's Park. The park was now in all the full beauty and glory of its
spring dress, and Charlotte sat down under the green and pleasant shade
of a wide spreading oak-tree. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed
straight before her. She had lived through one storm, but she knew that
another was before her. The sky overhead was still gray and lowering;
there was scarcely even peace in this brief lull in the tempest. In the
first sudden fierceness of the storm she had acted nobly and bravely,
but now that the excitement was past, there was coming to her a certain
hardening of heart, and she was beginning to doubt the goodness of God.
At first, most truly she had scarcely thought of herself at all, but it
was impossible as the days went on for her not to make a moan over her
own altered life. The path before her looked very dark, and Charlotte's
feet had hitherto been unaccustomed to gloom. She was looking forward to
the death, the inevitable and certainly approaching death of her father.
That was bad, that was dreadful; but bad and dreadful as it would be to
say good-bye to the old man, what must follow would be worse; however
she might love him, however tenderly she might treat him, during his few
remaining days or weeks of life, when all was over and he could return
no more to receive men's praise or blame, then she must disgrace him,
she must hold him up for the world's scorn. It would be impossible even
to hope that the story would not be known, and once known it would heap
dishonor on the old head she loved. For Charlotte, though she saw the
sin, though the sin itself was most terrible and horrible to her, was
still near enough to Christ in her nature to forgive the sinner. She had
suffered; oh, how bitterly through this man! but none the less for this
reason did she love him. But there was another cause for her heartache;
and this was more personal. Hinton and she were parted. That was right.
Any other course for her to have pursued would have been most distinctly
wrong. But none the less did her heart ache and feel very sore; for how
easily had Hinton acquiesced in her decision! She did not even know of
his visit to the house. That letter, which would have been, whatever its
result, like balm to her wounded spirit, had never reached her. Hinton
was most plainly satisfied that they should meet no more. Doubtless it
was best, doubtless in the end it would prove the least hard course; but
none the less did hot tears fall now; none the less heavy was her
heart. She was wiping away a tear or two, and thinking these very sad
thoughts, when a clear little voice in her ear startled her.
"My pretty lady!" said the sweet voice, and looking round Charlotte saw
little Harold Home standing by her side. Charlotte had not seen Harold
since his illness. He had grown taller and thinner than of old, but his
loving eyes were fixed on her face, and now his small brown hands beat
impatiently upon her knees.
"Daisy and Angus are just round the corner," he whispered. "Let us play
a game of hide and seek, shall we?"
He pulled her hand as he spoke, and Charlotte got up to humor him at
once. They went quickly round to the other side of the great oak-tree,
Harold sitting down on the grass pulled Charlotte to his side.
"Ah! don't speak," he said, and he put his arms round her neck.
She found the feel of the little arms strangely comforting, and when a
moment or two afterwards the others discovered them and came close with
peals of merry laughter, she yielded at once to Harold's eager request.
"May they go for a walk for half an hour, and may I stay with you,
pretty lady?"
"Yes," she answered, stooping down to kiss him.
Anne promised to return at the right time, and Charlotte and Harold were
alone. The boy, nestling close to her side, began to chatter
confidentially.
"I'm _so_ glad I came across you," he said; "you looked very dull when I
came up, and it must be nice for you to have me to talk to, and 'tis
very nice for me too, for I am fond of you."
"I am glad of that, Harold," said Charlotte.
"But I don't think you are quite such a pretty lady as you were,"
continued the boy, raising his eyes to her face and examining her
critically. "Mr. Hinton and I used to think you were perfectly lovely!
You were so _bright_--yes, bright is the word. Something like a dear
pretty cherry, or like my little canary when he's singing his very, very
best. But you ain't a bit like my canary to-day; you have no sing in you
to-day; ain't you happy, my pretty lady?"
"I have had some trouble since I saw you last, Harold," said Charlotte.
"Dear, dear!" sighed Harold, "everybody seems to have lots of trouble. I
wonder why. No; I don't think Mr. Hinton would think you pretty to-day.
But," as a sudden thought and memory came over him--"I suppose you are
married by this time? Aren't you married to my Mr. Hinton by this time?"
"No, dear," answered Charlotte.
"But why?" questioned the inquisitive boy.
"I am afraid I cannot tell you that, Harold."
Harold was silent for about half a minute. He was sitting down on the
grass close to Charlotte, and his head was leaning against her shoulder.
After a moment he continued with a sigh,--
"I guess _he's_ very sorry. He and I used to talk about you so at night
when I had the fever. I knew then he was fond of you, nearly as fond as
I am myself."
"I am glad little Harold Home loves me," said Charlotte, soothed by the
pretty boy's talk, and again she stooped down to kiss him.
"But everybody does," said the boy. "There's father and mother, and my
Mr. Hinton and me, myself, and above all, the blessed Jesus."
A strange feeling, half pleasure, half surprise, came over Charlotte.
"How do you know about that last?" she whispered.
"Of course I know," replied Harold. "I know quite well. I heard father
and mother say it; I heard them say it quite plainly one day; 'She's one
of those blessed ones whom Jesus Christ loves very much.' Oh dear! I
wish the children weren't back so dreadfully soon."
Yes, the children and Anne had returned, and Harold had to say good-bye,
and Charlotte herself had to retrace her steps homewards. But her walk
had not been for nothing, and there was a new peace, a new quiet, and a
new hope in her heart. The fact was, she just simply, without doubt or
difficulty, believed the child. Little Harold Home had brought her some
news. The news was strange, new, and wonderful; she did not doubt it.
Faithful, and therefore full of faith, was this simple and upright
nature. There was no difficulty in her believing a fact. What Harold
said was a fact. She was one of those whom Jesus loved. Straight did
this troubled soul fly to the God of consolation. Her religion, from
being a dead thing, began to live. She was not friendless, she was not
alone, she had a friend who, knowing absolutely all, still loved. At
that moment Charlotte Harman put her hand into the hand of Christ.