How brief is the time since her voice was the clearest,
Her laughter the loudest, amid the gay throng.
HEMANS.
Could the selfish but remember how much less they would feel their own
sorrows by sharing those of others, they would learn an easy way to
alleviate the unhappiness they are continually guarding against, by so
occupying themselves in thoughts of pity and kindness as to leave little
room in their own minds for fear or regret.
The kindhearted very soon begin to feel an interest in those who are
thrown much with them, and, though Lucy presented many faults to her
notice, Mabel learnt to watch her with great interest. It soon became
evident to her that she was perfectly in earnest in her attempts to
engage the affections of Captain Clair, and, though at first she had
been disgusted and pained at the idea--more ready to pity than
condemn--she felt for Lucy when she perceived, by her variable spirits,
that her heart was engaged in the flirtation she had so thoughtlessly
commenced. The conduct of Clair puzzled her, she wished to believe that
his attentions were serious, and yet she could not help thinking they
meant nothing beyond the fashionable love he might often have professed
for the most pleasing young lady of any society in which he happened to
find himself. Still, she hoped she was mistaken; and thought, over again
and again the little anecdotes which Lucy daily brought to her
confidence, assuming them as unmistakeable signs of an affection which
would soon declare itself.
Mabel knew that a look, a single word, even an emphasis on an ordinary
word are sometimes the evidences of affection. Yet, all that Lucy told
her, seemed to fall short, certainly of her ideas of love, formed, as
they had been, from her own unhappy history. Yet she hesitated to speak
her opinion freely; for, after all, it might be only a very unkind
suspicion of one who had not given any very good cause for believing him
to be a trifler. He had, besides, been so kind to herself, that she
could not help feeling prepossessed in his favor.
Meanwhile, Clair appeared as attentive as ever, but his attentions were
never varied by ill humour or depression. Still Lucy rested confident in
the power of her own attractions--and, persisting in believing he was
only diffident--she became more and more lavish of encouragement,
without, however, finding her admirer become either warmer or bolder.
What was to be done? Her letters to Bath had been full of the
admiration she had inspired in the young officer, and of expectations
that, in a few more posts, she would have to announce his decided
proposals. The letters she received in return were full of delighted
badinage from her sisters, and good advice from her mother. How then
could she bear to return home with the tacit confession that her vanity
had deceived her; and thus subject herself to her sisters' cutting
jests, and the bitterness of her often disappointed mother. The poor
girl had been spoilt by education and companionship, and she was,
according to her own idea, forced to play desperately in order to
justify what she had written home. She did not stop to consider that all
delicacy, modesty, and all that is precious in a woman, would be risked
in such a game, when she read such words as these in her mother's
letters, "you might well pride yourself," she wrote, "on being the first
of my daughters whom I shall have the pleasure of seeing married.
Indeed I have always flattered myself, that my Lucy would be the first
to secure herself an establishment."
The seeds of vanity, thus sown by a mother's hand, grew quickly in the
daughter's heart. To be the first to be married was an idea that filled
her with pleasure; she did not stop to analyze, or she might have
discovered that the hope of mortifying her sisters by her marriage, was
inconsistent with the love she believed she felt for them.
But now, what could she do! how could she bring her backward lover to a
proposal! She eagerly seized any opportunity of meeting him, and never
neglected pursuing any conversation which seemed likely to lead to love.
Still she was as far from her object as ever, and at length she felt the
feverish eagerness of a gambler to bring the game to a successful close.
Mabel, who saw she suffered, sincerely, pitied her, though unable to
divine her thoughts. Disappointed affection the poor girl might have
successfully struggled against; but she could not banish the idea of
the sneers and jests, which, in contrast to her present popularity,
would meet her at home. Home, which in its sacred circle ought to have
afforded a refuge from every evil passion, as from every outward danger.
She knew it would not be so, and willingly would she almost have thrown
herself at the Captain's feet, and begged him to protect her from it,
rather than oblige her to return to such a sanctuary.
Oh, fashionable and speculating mothers, why do you crush in your
children some of the sweetest and loveliest of their feelings. Why are
you so utterly foolish, as, first to make them unworthy of a husband's
trust and confidence, and then wonder that they do not obtain them. A
man seeks, in his wife, for a companion to his best feelings, fit your
daughters to fill such situations, and, should they then fail to obtain
them, they will still hold an honored place in society.
Lucy felt that her success, in a matrimonial point of view, was all that
her mother regarded, that she seemed to view her daughters with the
eyes of the public, and valued them in proportion to the admiration they
excited, and she now strained every nerve to gratify both her and
herself.
There was one little plan to which she looked with great interest. Mr.
Ware's proposal of their taking tea in Mrs. Lesly's garden, was to be
carried into effect. They were all to dine early, and drink tea soon
enough to prevent any danger of taking cold, and Mabel was to prepare
them tea and fruit in the garden, while Miss Ware would take hers
quietly in doors with Mrs. Lesly. Amy talked herself tired with planning
it, for a week before, asking Mabel for an exact list of all the fruit
she meant to get for their entertainment. Lucy looked forward to it more
seriously; she fancied Clair entered so eagerly into the plan that she
hoped he had some particular reason for wishing it, more than the mere
pleasure of taking tea in the open air. Was it not very likely, that
lounging down one of the shady walks which skirted the garden, he might
find courage to tell all she so much wished to hear.
The expected evening at length arrived.
Mrs. Lesly was unusually well, for the renewed confidence between
herself and her daughter had produced the most happy effects. Lucy was
all sparkling animation, and Clair forgot to be rational in the
effervescence of his good spirits. Lucy, whose fear of caterpillars was
quite touching, had persuaded Mabel to place the tea-table on the open
grass-plot--and there the sisters had delighted themselves in arranging
the simple repast. Amy was so accustomed to bustle along by Mabel's
side, that she had come to the belief that she could do nothing well
without her; and she now hurried about, laughing merrily, as she
conveyed to the table, plates of early fruit, which old John had always
carefully matted through the summer. Mr. Ware was particularly fond of
fruit, and it was a great pleasure to the sisters, to store up every
little luxury for him.
The table looked very pretty with its fruit, and cream, and flowers, and
the little party was a merry one, ready to take pleasure and amusement
in anything. Mr. Ware told stories of other days, and Clair brought
anecdotes of the fashionable world of his day, while the girls were
well-pleased listeners.
When tea had been fully discussed, they strolled round the garden,
watching for the sunset, which was to be the signal for taking shelter
in the house. Lucy, the captain, and Amy, went off laughing together,
while Mabel, choosing the driest path in the garden, paced up and down
by the side of Mr. Ware.
"It is very kind of you," he said, "to prefer my company to those who
are gayer and younger; but I am sorry to perceive that you are not quite
in your usual spirits--I hope you have no reason to be depressed."
"None at all," replied Mabel, "and yet I am foolish enough to feel
low-spirited. But have you never felt a vague apprehension that
something dreadful was going to happen--I cannot overcome it to-night."
"I have often felt the same from no reason, as you say, and have as
often found my fears groundless. Do you not remember those beautiful
words--'_He feareth no evil tidings_?'"
"Oh yes--I must not think of it again."
Mr. Ware thought this might be no bad opportunity of speaking of Mrs.
Lesly's delicate health, and leading her to prepare herself for a trial
which he foresaw was not far distant; but at the very moment that he was
thinking how to introduce the subject, the sound of merry laughter came
from the other side of the garden, and Mabel exclaimed--
"Oh, I fear they are at the swing, and John says it's unsafe. I must go
and stop them."
And so saying, she ran quickly across the garden, till she reached the
spot where the swing was suspended from the branch of two tall fir
trees.
Amy was in the swing, which Captain Clair was pushing, while Lucy was
clapping her hands as each time the child rose higher in the air.
"Oh, do stop," said Mabel, running up to them quite out of breath, and
scarcely able to say any more.
"No, no," said Lucy, "we want to see if Amy can touch that bough. What a
beautiful swinger she is--she nearly did it then, I declare--try again,
Amy."
"John says it is unsafe," cried Mabel, trying to be heard, "do, do
stop--for mercy's sake, Captain Clair, do stop her."
Both were, however, deaf to her entreaty. Lucy rejoiced in what she
thought superior nerve, and called to her not to be an old maid,
frightened at everything; while Clair thought her very feminine and
pretty, but apprehended no real danger.
Mabel continued to exclaim, till unable to get a hearing, she burst into
tears of vexation and alarm, fearing to touch the rope, lest she might
cause the accident she feared.
At the same moment, while she watched Amy ascend quickly through the
air, till her feet scattered a few leaves from the bough she had been
trying to touch, there came a heaving sound, then a loud crash--the
swing gave way, and Amy fell violently to the ground. With a scream of
piercing anguish, she sprang to her side, where she lay close by a
knotted root of the tree, which she had struck in falling.
Lucy stood blushing and terrified, uttering some confused excuses for
not listening to one who justice whispered was never fanciful.
Captain Clair looked bewildered and thoroughly ashamed, for often the
only excuse for daring is its success.
Mr. Ware fortunately soon reached the spot, and though extremely vexed
at such a termination to the day's enjoyment, merely roused his nephew,
by telling him to carry the poor child into the house, and then to fetch
a doctor, that they might be certain she had sustained no serious
injury.
His nephew, too happy to have some duty assigned, raised Amy in his
arms, for she was perfectly insensible, and, as Mabel supported her
drooping head, carried her into the house. Mabel's conduct during that
short walk cut him to the heart; she seemed entirely to have forgotten
that his obstinacy had injured her sister; and in her anxiety for her
safety, she did not suffer a complaining word to escape her. Those who
possess little control over their own feelings, often reverence those
who have great self-command--and to Clair, who a few minutes before, had
been laughing with almost childish excitement, and was now utterly
depressed, Mabel seemed like a superior being in the calm dignity of her
silent distress.
At length, Amy was safely placed upon her bed, and leaving Mabel and
their servant-maid to try every means to restore her to consciousness,
he hastened in search of a surgeon. He met Lucy in the lane, who told
him that she had anticipated his errand, but that the doctor had gone to
see a patient many miles away.
"Then I shall go for a horse, and follow him," said he, "anything will
be better than this suspense."
"And what shall I do?" cried Lucy, wringing her hands; but Clair had no
comfort to offer, and hurried on to the village to find a horse.
Lucy returned to the house, frightened, and ashamed. She did not like to
remain alone, yet there was no one in the sitting-room; and not daring
to seek any one, she retired to her own chamber, which looked so still
and lonely, that she put the door half open, and seated herself in a
chair close by, to listen for any news from Amy's room. She could not
help recalling to herself the wild laugh of the poor child only half an
hour before, and she could not bear to think of how still she was lying
there.
At length she heard Betsy, the privileged maid, say:--
"It is all Miss Lucy's fault, I know, for the house has not been the
same since she came into it."
"Hush, Betsy," was the murmured reply, in her cousin's well known voice;
"those thoughts will only make it harder to bear."
Betsy was not so easily stopped, but Mabel seemed to reply no more.
Every word went to Lucy's heart. The frequent question of despairing
feeling. "What shall I do?" received no answer, and she sat on in her
desolate seat, or varied her watch by stealing on tiptoe to the end of
the passage. Thus the weary time slipt away, and she had listened to the
church clock, as it struck the hours till midnight--she then heard the
sound of horses' feet, and anxious for any change, she ran down
stairs--but she found that Clair and the surgeon had already been
admitted by Mr. Ware, who was watching for them, and, feeling herself of
no use, she again crept to her room to listen, trembling for the
doctor's opinion. The examination lasted a long time, and she became
nearly worn out with waiting, and trying every minute to divine
something from the hurried voices, or hurried steps of the attendants in
the sick room. But she could learn nothing, till she heard the doctor
leave the room, and lead Mabel to that next her own, and then she heard
her say in a tremulous voice.
"What do you think of her, Mr. Williams?"
"The accident has been a severe one," he returned.
"Can she recover?" was asked, in a tone which Lucy trembled to hear, and
she leant forward to catch the answer.
"A complete cure is beyond hope, my dear Miss Lesly; I entreat you to
bear up against this blow," were the words she caught; "my heart bleeds
for you, but I see the back is broken, and you know--" a groan of
anguish, which she would have fled miles to have escaped hearing, was
the only answer sentence thus given.
Then followed confused words, as if he were trying to comfort, broken by
suppressed sobs.
An agony of terror, alike for Amy and her sister, then seized her--she
trembled in every limb; and when she attempted to cry out, her tongue
seemed to refuse to utter a sound. She sank upon the floor, too
overpowered to move, and yet without the relief of fainting. Her
thoughts became more and more distinct--of Amy, growing, perhaps, in
beauty and womanhood, stretched on the bed of helpless sickness, unable
to find advantages in either. What a blight had she cast upon a home she
had found so happy. And Mabel, too, the beautiful unselfish Mabel, no
longer the playfellow of innocent childhood, but the hopeless nurse of
youthful decrepitude.
Too carelessly instructed as she had been, in the forms, and almost
wholly deficient in the spirit, of the religion she professed, she knew
of no balm that could heal a wound of such bitterness--she saw no light
that could have guided her to comfort. Highly as she prized youth and
its enjoyments, its hopes, and its ties, much as she sparkled in
company, and revelled in the admiration she excited, so much did she
feel the reverse to be dark and hard to bear. She pictured Amy passing,
in one five minutes, from her joyous youthfulness, with its light laugh,
and bounding glee, to the trials of sickness which she might never more
escape; probably, too, the highly intellectual child becoming only the
feeble-minded woman, weakened by disease and suffering, and cut off from
all those endearing ties so prized by a woman's heart. As these thoughts
passed slowly, and impressively before her--she covered her face with
her hands, and wept long and bitterly.