THE ANGEL STRONGER THAN THE DEMON.
“I have wronged you, Miss Harper,” whispered Mrs. Dainty.
It cost the weak, proud woman an effort to make this acknowledgment.
But Madeline’s arms were around both of their necks, and the child was
clinging to both with a half-trembling eagerness. This confession made
all the rest easy.
“Return to us,” she added, “and be to my children what you once were.”
“Do come back again!” It was the pleading voice of Madeline. “Oh, I
wish you had never gone away!”
Florence felt a shudder run through the child’s body, as if some
fearful image had been presented to her mind.
“Say you will come back, and take your old place, Miss Harper,” urged
Mrs. Dainty.
The arm of Madeline which was around her mother’s neck withdrew itself
and joined the arm that circled the neck of Florence.
“Say yes! Do say yes, Miss Harper!” And the child’s clasping arms were
drawn very tightly.
“Yes,” said Florence, as she kissed the child.
“Oh! I am so glad! So glad!” cried Madeline, overcome with joy at this
concession. “If you had never gone away!”
“We will be friends,” said Mrs. Dainty, taking the hand of Florence
Harper and pressing it warmly. “I did not understand you before. But I
see clearer to-day.”
“Let the past be forgotten,” answered Florence. “All are liable to
misconception. I was faithful to your children; and I will be so again.”
Then, whispering into the ears of Mrs. Dainty, she added,—
“I fear we are exciting Madeline beyond what is prudent.”
“You are right,” answered the mother. “We are forgetting ourselves.”
Madeline was still on the bed. Gently disengaging the arms that were
around her neck, Florence looked smilingly into the face of Madeline,
and said, in a cheerful tone,—
“Come, Maddy dear! you’re wide enough awake now, after a long sleep.”
“How long have I been asleep?” the child asked, curiously, glancing,
as she spoke, toward the windows. “Is it morning?”
“No: the day is nearly done. It lacks scarcely an hour to sunset.”
“Is it so late?” Madeline looked serious, and her face passed from
transient light into shadow.
“Yes. You have slept a long time. But come, dear, you must get dressed
for tea.”
Madeline looked up at Miss Harper with a kind of vague wonder in her
countenance, and then let her eyes wander slowly about the room, as if
searching for some person or object.
“Haven’t I been away from here, Miss Harper?” she inquired, looking at
Florence.
“Why do you ask that question?”
“I’m sure it isn’t all just a dream. That Mrs. Jeckyl! Oh, dear! I feel
so strangely!” And Madeline laid her hand upon her breast.
“Don’t think of any thing, dear, but the happy present,” said Florence,
smiling into the little girl’s face.
But the eyes of Madeline were filling with tears, and their expression
had become very sad.
“Oh, it was so dreadful!”
“What was dreadful, Maddy?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered, in a bewildered manner. “I saw it all
just now; and now it’s gone again.”
“What is gone, love?”
“I thought she was going to kill me.” The child spoke as if to herself.
“Who, Maddy?”
“It was Mrs. Jeckyl. She had me in a room. Oh, dear, mother! I don’t
know what’s the matter with me!”
And the child shuddered, while an expression of almost abject fear came
into her face.
“You are safe at home, my love,” said Mrs. Dainty, in a soothing voice.
“There is no Mrs. Jeckyl here, but kind Miss Harper instead. And she is
going to stay with us.”
“That’s best of all,” replied Madeline, partially recovering herself,
and looking up into the face of Miss Harper. “I was so sorry when you
went away and that dreadful woman came in your place.”
“Won’t you rise now?” said Florence, taking Madeline by the hand and
drawing her gently upwards. The child yielded, and sat erect in bed.
Mrs. Dainty brought a frock, and a change of under-clothing, and both
she and Florence busied themselves in removing the soiled garments of
Madeline and replacing them with such as were fresh and clean. The
excitement of all this quickened and diverted her mind. When fully
attired, and ready to join the anxious, expectant family, Florence said
to her,—
“I think your father and Uncle John are in the sitting-room. Shall we
go down?”
She held out her hand. Madeline drew back for a moment.
“Come, dear?” Florence spoke cheerily. “I know Uncle John wants to see
his pet.”
Madeline took the hand of Miss Harper, who led her down-stairs and into
the sitting-room. Mr. Dainty, old Mr. Fleetwood, Agnes, and little
George were there. Miss Harper gave each a warning glance, which was
understood.
“Wide awake, pet?” said Uncle John, in a cheerful, affectionate voice.
“What a nice long sleep you have had!”
Mr. Dainty and Agnes avoided any remark, or, indeed, any exhibition
of more than common interest. George ran up to Madeline, kissed her
lovingly, and drew his arm around her waist. But he had been cautioned
by his sister, and so made no allusion to recent exciting events.
“Georgie,” whispered Madeline, putting her lips close to her brother’s
ear, “Miss Harper is coming to live here again.”
“Is she?” responded the little boy, with a suddenly illuminated face.
“Yes, indeed. A’n’t you, Miss Harper?” And Madeline looked up into the
face of her governess.
“If you want me?” was the smiling reply.
“Oh, that’s grand!” said George, striking his hands together and
jumping a foot from the floor. “Did you hear that, Uncle John?”
“Hear what?” asked the old gentleman.
“Miss Harper is coming back again!” answered the boy. “Oh, I’m so glad!”
Mr. Fleetwood threw an almost grateful look upon Florence, as he said,—
“You have friends here, Miss Harper. Children are no hypocrites.”
“If this is true, as I hope it is, let me welcome you with a most
sincere welcome,” said Mr. Dainty, coming forward and giving his hand
to Florence.
Mrs. Dainty entered at the moment. She had lingered in the chamber
after Florence left.
“It is true,” she spoke out, with womanly frankness. “I have asked her
to return, and she has kindly consented. We shall all know each other
better in time, I hope.”
The flushed cheeks, drooping eyes, and unsteady lips of Miss Harper
showed emotion, not triumph; and no eye that then read her countenance
mistook its true expression.
Uncle John thanked his niece with his eyes, but said nothing.
“A’n’t you glad? I am!” And George danced about the room, in his wild,
impulsive way. “Hurrah for Miss Harper, and death on Old Snakes!”
Young America was losing himself.
“Georgie! Georgie?” Agnes spoke in warning and reproof. Mr. Dainty
raised his finger; and Uncle John said, “Hush?” But the boy’s blood was
up, and he rattled on:—
“But didn’t I give it to her just now? Didn’t I make her mad, though?
Old Snakes! I reckon they heard me round the corner. If she comes here
again, I’ll shoot her! Old rip! Old hag! Old Snakes!”
“George! Stop this instant!” said Mr. Dainty, in a stern voice.
“Was _she_ here?” asked Madeline, her face growing suddenly pale.
Agnes took the boy’s hand and led him away.
“Come with me to the school-room,” said Florence, with sudden
animation. “I want to see how it looks there.” And she drew Madeline
toward the door. “We had some pleasant times there, hadn’t we, Maddy?
Do you remember the stories I used to tell?”
They were already in the passage.
“Oh, yes, indeed!” was answered. “And they were such beautiful stories!”
“Would you like to hear another? I know a great many,” said Florence.
“If you please, Miss Harper. I always love to hear your stories; they
make me feel better.”
“Oh, it looks as natural as can be!” said Florence, speaking with
animation, as she entered the study-room. “Here is my arm-chair, just
in the old place. There! I am in it again, feeling quite at home and
comfortable.”
“And I am in my little chair, close by your side, and waiting for
a story,” said Madeline, who was already feeling the spirit of her
companion and true friend as well as teacher.
“The story, is it?” And Florence bent down and left a kiss upon the
sweet, upturned face. “Very well: my promise shall be kept. Now, let me
think: what shall the story be?”
Miss Harper lifted her eyes, and sat thoughtful for some moments. Then,
reaching her hand toward a table that stood near, she took up a Bible,
saying, as she did so,—
“I used to read you some of the stories in this precious volume, and I
think you always loved to hear them. Shall it be a Bible story now?”
Florence was looking down upon the face of her pupil. Its expression
suddenly changed into one of strong repugnance, and, with an impatient
gesture she said,—
“No! I don’t want to hear a Bible story!”
Florence was shocked by the tone and manner of the child more than by
her words.
“Not a story from the Divine Book, Maddy dear?” she said, in a voice
touched by an irrepressible sadness. “Oh, you cannot mean what you have
said! Angels are present with us in the holy word; and they bring to
our souls peace and happiness. Let me read to you about the birth of
our Saviour in Bethlehem.”
Miss Harper opened to the second chapter of Matthew: as she did so,
Madeline turned her head away. Miss Harper began,—
“Now, when Jesus was born——”
The instant these words reached the ears of Madeline, she sprung upon
the volume in the hands of Miss Harper, and would have torn the open
pages, if she had not been prevented. Her countenance was flushed
almost to congestion, and her eyes gleamed with an evil light.
“Don’t read that! I won’t hear it! I hate it!” she exclaimed,
passionately.
Florence felt a cold shudder run through her frame. Very still she sat,
and silent, holding the hands of Madeline. For nearly a minute the hush
as of death pervaded the room. Then she released the passive hands she
held, and laid one of her own upon the child’s head, smoothing the soft
hair with a gentle pressure.
“Once—it is not many years ago—there was a dear little baby.” The lips
of Florence were close to the ears of Madeline, her voice was very low,
the tones even and tenderly modulated. “I do not think there was ever a
sweeter baby born into the world. It had the roundest of rosy cheeks,
that were softer than any velvet; eyes as blue as spring’s first
violets; and rich brown hair clustering, in the tiniest little curls
that ever were seen, all over its head. As this beautiful baby lay in
its mother’s arms, it looked like a cherub more than like an earth-born
baby.”
Florence paused, for Madeline had placed both hands over her ears, so
that not a word could reach the sense of hearing. She waited, with
forced calmness, until the hands were removed. Madeline did not look up
into her face, but kept her eyes resting on the floor.
“There were other attendants on that baby, besides those visible to
human eyes.”
The hands of Madeline were raised quickly, but the closing words of the
sentence arrested the movement.
“The mother did not see them; the father did not see them: but still
they were there.”
The hands of Madeline began to fall, and her ear slightly turned,
listening, toward Florence.
“I said they were not visible to human eyes,” resumed Miss Harper.
Madeline looked up, beguiled into wonder. “But they were as really
present, and as near the baby, as its parents. No,—not both of them.”
The last sentence was spoken in a changed tone, as if it involved some
special meaning.
“Not both? Who were they?” asked Madeline, her interest beginning to be
excited.
“The one that stood near the babe,” said Miss Harper, “had the form of
a beautiful woman just passed upward from sweet young girlhood. Her
countenance was lovelier, and purer in expression, than that of any
face ever seen by you in a picture. She bent over the babe with clasped
hands, gazing down upon it with looks of wondering love; and when it
smiled her face grew suddenly radiant. The other,” (Miss Harper’s voice
fell lower, and took on a graver tone,) “stood in a distant corner
of the room, almost crouching down, as if held there by some superior
power. Very different was she from the pure being who bent over the
child. Her face wore a frowning, malignant expression, instead of
curling golden hair gracefully falling around her neck and upon her
shoulders, dark, tangled locks stood out from her head, or crept down
over her face, like serpents.”
“Who were they?” asked Madeline, now thoroughly interested.
“One was the baby’s guardian angel; the other, an evil spirit.”
Madeline raised her eyes to the face of Miss Harper with looks of
deeper wonder.
“The angel’s presence,” resumed Florence, “was alone sufficient to hold
that evil spirit, who wished to hurt the tender babe, at a distance;
just as good affections in our hearts have power to hold the bad and
selfish ones so far away that they can do us no possible harm. Day by
day that infant grew larger, and brighter, and happier; but never for
a moment did the angel remove, nor for a moment cease to spread around
the babe a sphere of tender love, of innocent and holy calmness. And
the mother, and all who drew near to look upon the babe or to hold
it like a precious thing in their arms, felt this angelic sphere as
something tender, pure, and loving.”
“But what of the bad spirit?” asked Madeline, with increasing interest.
“The bad spirit,” answered Florence, “remained also, and its evil eyes
were always upon the babe. But the presence of that celestial being
kept her ever at the same distance, and seemed to hold her there, as if
by a powerful arm. She could not draw near to the babe, nor even make
it aware of her presence.
“Day by day the child continued to grow and to become more beautiful,
until four months of its sweet life had passed. Still the angel and
the bad spirit kept unweariedly their guard over and watch upon the
babe. Occasionally a slight shade would now cross the angel’s face, and
always at the same instant a gleam of pleasure would lighten the dark
countenance of the watchful fiend.”
“A fiend, Miss Harper?” There was a slight pallor on the face of
Madeline, and the interest it expressed was verging on to the painful.
“I will call one a fiend, as I call the other an angel. To do good is
angelic, while to do evil is fiendlike. None but a fiend could take
pleasure in doing harm to an innocent babe. Well, as I was saying,
after this darling baby was a few months old, the angel’s face would
at times be shadowed; and then a gleam of malignant pleasure would
flash over the countenance of the attendant fiend. And now I will tell
you the reason. Do you wish to hear?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Harper! Tell me the reason,” answered Madeline, all
attention.
“The babe, even as early as I have said, displayed an evil temper. It
grew angry, pushed its mother away, and resisted her. This troubled the
guardian angel, and this it was that gave the fiend delight. But these
fits of passion were but transient, passing away as the morning cloud
and the early dew, under the sunny influence of that blessed guardian
angel. The fiend was still repelled,—still kept at a distance. But she
wearied not with waiting. She knew that her time would come,—that the
angel would not always have power to hold her in the distance.”
Miss Harper paused, and looked into the face of Madeline. There was
something in its deeply-interested expression that a little puzzled her.
“Shall I go on?” she asked.
“The fiend didn’t hurt the baby, Miss Harper? The angel didn’t go
away?” Her voice was earnest almost to eagerness.
“The angels never leave us of their own accord. We drive them away,
and then, instantly, evil spirits take their places. This is so from
childhood, even to old age. It was so with the baby of whom I am
telling you; it is so with your brother Georgie now; so with you; so
with me; so with every one. We choose our own companions, always; and
they are evil or good. No angel can be near to us when we are angry
with our brother, when we hate, when we are selfishly seeking our own
pleasure in a total disregard of others; and the moment these bad
affections push the angel attendants away, evil spirits draw near, and
by their malignant power increase our anger, hate, and selfishness,
and make us wretched in consequence; for bad passions always produce
unhappiness.”
Madeline looked very serious,—almost sad.
“Is it so with all of us?” she asked, in a low voice.
“It is so with all of us, dear. But shall I tell you more about this
baby?”
“Yes.”
“No, Maddy, the evil spirit was not permitted to do the baby harm: the
loving angel appointed to be the guardian of its infantile life did not
depart.”
“But you said that the bad spirit knew that her time would come?”
interrupted Madeline.
Florence sighed. “Am I bearing her beyond her depth?” she said,
questioning with herself. There was a moment or two of silence. Then
she resumed:—
“The baby had a good mother, and to her mind the angel was all the
while suggesting right ways of influencing her precious darling; and
so, as the babe grew older, its mind clearer, and its experience wider,
that loving mother was a partner with the angel in guarding it from
evil and in sowing in its young mind the seeds of goodness. Now, Maddy,
just think for a moment of the mind of a babe as a garden all prepared
in the spring-time for seeds. If true thoughts and gentle and good
affections are sown in this garden, good and beautiful plants will
spring up; but, if false thoughts and bad affections are scattered upon
the ground, poisonous weeds will grow. You can see that?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Madeline.
“Well, as I was saying, the baby had a good mother; and she sowed good
seeds in its infantile mind, and as these began to grow the angel saw
pure and beautiful things there, and so kept very near. If weeds had
been suffered to spring up in this garden and hide or destroy the
heavenly plants, the angel would have been repelled by these evil
things, while the bad spirit, seeing in them what was delightful, would
have approached, and hurt the baby by stimulating them to a more rapid
growth. Do you understand my meaning?”
“I think so.”
“One of the first things that was taught to this baby, as its mind
began to open, was the existence of God.”
Florence spoke low and reverently, while her eyes were fixed upon the
countenance of her attentive listener. She saw a slight impulse strike
the child’s features, and a flush of sudden feeling veil them.
“Of that good God who had sent his pure angel to be its guardian,” she
added, in a still lower and more reverent voice.
The light returned again to Madeline’s face.
“‘How shall I do this?’ asked the mother, in her own heart; and the
reply came. She did not know that it was the angel’s voice that gave
the wished-for answer. So she took the little one’s hands in hers one
evening, clasped and raised them upward, and said, ‘God bless little
Amy.’ The baby was too young to repeat the words of her mother, or even
to comprehend their full meaning; but the angel, who bent very near,
breathed a holy feeling into her tender spirit, and she had a faint
impression of something higher than the visible, and up to which she
might look for blessing. How sweetly the angel smiled at this! how
darkly frowned the watchful fiend! The first idea of God was given;
and that was a great gain, for the angel could now be more intimately
present with the child in this idea. So far the angel was triumphing
over the fiend.”
“Are angels present with us when we think of God?” asked Madeline,
interrupting Miss Harper, and speaking with the manner of one who felt
an interest in the question.
“If we think of him reverently, they are.”
“How, reverently, Miss Harper?”
“As great, and good, and holy,” said Florence; “for then we shall
desire to be like him, and angels are always present with us when we
desire to be good.”
“And do they help us to be good?”
“Always. To them it is the most delightful of employments.”
The eyes of Madeline drooped. She sighed faintly, and remained silent.
Florence waited for some moments, and then went on, speaking slowly and
impressively:—
“Tenderly loved and wisely guarded, the first moons of the baby’s life
waxed and waned, and at last a golden year of its life was completed.
The idea of God, once conceived in the child’s mind, grew daily into a
more distinct impression. Her guardian angel never let that first, best
impression become dim, and the good mother was a co-worker with the
angel.
“‘Mamma, read,’ said little Amy, one day. She was just beginning to
repeat a few small words. The best book in the world was lying on the
table, close by the mother’s side, and she turned to it and let her
eyes rest upon the open page. Then a strange thing happened. Both the
angel and the evil spirit drew near to the child. Tender interest
and holy love were on the face of the angel; anger, hate, and fierce
determination on the countenance of the fiend. The angel knew that
every sentence from the holy book that entered the child’s mind and
fixed itself in her memory would remain there, a link in the chain by
which her spirit might be joined to heaven; and the fiend knew that
just in the degree that her mind was filled with the holy precepts
and divine narratives of the Bible would she pass harmless through
the trials and temptations of her future life and rise superior to
the powers of darkness. And so the angel bent with the tenderest
solicitude over the child, while the evil spirit strove to disturb
her mind or awaken in it some evil passion. But the influence of good
was strongest, and as the mother read the little one leaned her head
and listened with fixed attention. Thus she read:—‘Now, when Jesus
was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of Herod the king, behold
there came wise men from the East to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he
that is born king of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east,
and are come to worship him.’ The evil spirit could not abide in the
presence of this word of truth, as it entered the mind of an innocent
little child, and so retired to a distance, almost writhing in hatred
and pain. The mother read on:—‘When Herod the king had heard these
things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. And when he had
gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he
demanded of them where Christ should be born. And they said unto him,
In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet: And thou,
Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of
Juda, for out of thee shall come a governor, that shall rule my people
Israel. Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, inquired
of them diligently at what time the star appeared. And he sent them to
Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child, and
when ye have found him, bring me word, that I may come and worship him
also. When they had heard the king, they departed; and lo! the star
which they saw in the east went before them, till it came and stood
over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced
with exceeding great joy. And when they were come into the house, they
saw the young child, with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped
him; and when they had opened their treasures they presented unto him
gifts,—gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.’”
Florence had triumphed; for Madeline was listening to this story of the
Nativity with deep attention. And so she kept on, repeating from memory
the whole chapter.
“And now,” continued Florence, “not a day passed in which that innocent
little one did not ask her mother to read; and the mother read to her,
at least once every day, some story from the Bible, so that, as she
grew older, her memory was full of precious histories, in the thought
of which her guardian angel could be present with her. She loved to
hear of little Samuel; of Joseph, who was sold into Egypt by his
brethren; and of the blessed Saviour, who went about doing good.
“And the child grew, and grew, until babyhood was passed and the
sweetness of infancy gave place to a more earnest life. But always the
day opened or closed with some lesson from the holy book; and, when
that was read, the angel drew very near to the child, while the fiend
shrunk afar off. No matter how many selfish feelings the evil spirit
had been successful in awakening through the day, thus grieving the
watching angel; when the Bible was read her power was gone, and she
shrunk away in fear from its divine brightness.
“And, still as the child grew, her mother taught her to pity the poor,
the sick, and the suffering, and to find pleasure in doing kind offices
instead of only desiring to have good things for herself. In all these
teachings the angel was very near, helping the mother, and overcoming
the fiend’s influence, which was ever active. Often it happened that
the fiend would approach the child in an unguarded moment, and fill
her mind with selfish thoughts or stir her heart with an evil passion.
For a little while she would have power over her; but the angel had a
dwelling-place in the child’s mind, and, entering, would subdue the
enemy and cast her out. What was that dwelling-place, Madeline?”
Miss Harper looked lovingly into the face of her earnestly-listening
pupil.
“I don’t know,” was answered.
“Shall I tell you?”
“Oh, yes. I wish to know.”
“Why?”
Madeline did not answer.
“Would you like angels to have a dwelling-place in your mind?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Harper.”
“That dwelling-place,” said Florence, very impressively, “was formed of
the blessed words of truth she had learned from the Bible. Into these
the angel could enter and abide; and she did enter, and by the power of
celestial love drove out the fiend.”
“Long years afterward,” continued Florence, “when the child, grown to
be a woman, had taken her place in the world as one of its actors,
meeting its cares, trials, crosses, and temptations, she was able to
overcome in all the life-battles she was called to fight. Evil spirits
assailed her, and sought the destruction of her soul. They were around
her in the morning, at mid-day and evening. But angels were also
present with her, and present with power, for in her memory they found
passages from the word of God, and they abode in them with all their
protecting influence, and helped her to fight the enemies of her soul,
even to their final overthrow. I very much fear that, if her mother
had not filled her memory with stories and precepts from the Book of
books, these evil assailants from hell would have overcome in her
great life-battle. But she had angels on her side; and God’s angels are
always more powerful than demons. One of these blessed beings can put
ten thousand evil spirits to flight. Oh, then, let us make them our
friends! Let us prepare dwelling places for them in our hearts, where
they may always abide and shield us from the powers of darkness. They
dwell with us in the divine teachings of this holy book.”
And Florence, speaking with tender solemnity, lifted the Bible from the
table and held it open before Madeline.
“Fill your mind with its heavenly lessons. Let the angels come to you
and make their abode with you in its divine precepts. Take it to your
heart, dear Madeline!”
Madeline stood almost rigid for a moment or two, as if life were
suspended. Then, with a gush of tears, she caught at the book and
clasped it passionately to her breast.
“Amen! God be praised!” The lips of Florence parted, as her wet eyes
sprung upward: there was a low murmur on the air; and these were her
words of thankfulness.