A few weeks subsequent to the occurrences mentioned in the last
chapter, Leonard Jasper received a call from Mr. Melleville, in
whose service Claire still remained. The greeting of the two men was
distant, yet courteous. A few words on current topics passed between
them, after which Mr. Melleville said--
"I have called to ask you a question or two in regard to a child of
the late Mr. Elder, to whom you are guardian."
The blood came instantly to the face of Jasper, who was not prepared
for this; and in spite of his struggle to seem self-possessed, his
eyes sank under those of his visitor. In a few moments, he recovered
himself, and replied--
"The child, you mean, who is boarding with Edward Claire?"
"The same." The eyes of Melleville were fixed on those of Jasper so
steadily, that the latter wavered, and, finally, again dropped to the
floor.
"Well, I am ready to hear any thing that you have to say." Jasper had
thrown off, once more, the vague sense of coming evil that made him
cower under the steady gaze of Melleville.
"I learn," said the latter, "from Mr. Claire, that you refuse to pay
any further sums for her maintenance. Is the property left by her
father, to which common report has affixed considerable value,
exhausted, or"--
"I have refused to pay _him_ any further sums," said Jasper, in a
quick, excited voice, interrupting Mr. Melleville. "Our contract,
regularly entered into, has expired by limitation. He was to have the
care of her only until she reached her twelfth year. Of this fact he
is clearly advised, and I wonder at his pertinacity in endeavouring to
retain the child, when he knows that I, her guardian, wish to have her
in my own possession."
"He has had her ever since she was a little child; and both he and his
wife are now strongly attached to her. In fact, she regards them as
her parents; and their affection for her is not exceeded by
their affection for their own children. To separate them would be
exceedingly painful to all parties. As for the child, it would make
her very unhappy."
"I can't help that, Mr. Melleville." Jasper spoke coldly.
"Under all the circumstances," said Mr. Melleville, after a pause,
speaking slowly, and with considerable emphasis in his words, "it is
my opinion that you had better let the child remain where she is."
"Why do you say so?" Jasper spoke with ill-concealed surprise; and the
uneasy, suspicious manner, at first exhibited, returned.
"Claire regards the child as his own; and must so continue to regard
her, even though taken out of his hands."
"Well, what of that?"
"It is for you, Mr. Jasper," was returned, "to determine for yourself,
whether the surveillance of a man like Claire, who cannot now cease to
feel a parent's interest in your ward, will be altogether agreeable."
"Surveillance! What do you mean? I don't understand this language. It
looks like an effort to force me into measures. Pray, what have I to
fear from Edward Claire?"
"Sometimes," replied Melleville, with a slow, meaning enunciation,
"those we regard as most insignificant are the very ones we should
most fear."
"Fear! Fear, Mr. Melleville! You make use of strange language."
"Perhaps I do," was answered. "And, as it seems unpleasant to you, I
will say no more. I did not mean, when I called, to speak just as I
have done. But, as the words have been uttered, I beg you to weigh
them well, and to believe that they have a meaning. Good morning."
Jasper suppressed the utterance of the word "stay," which arose to his
lips, and returned the bow of Mr. Melleville, who left without further
remark.
"What can this mean?" Thus mused Leonard Jasper, when alone. "Can this
scoundrel, Martin, have dropped a hint of the truth?" A slight shiver
went through his nerves. "Something is wrong. There is suspicion in
the thought of Melleville. I didn't look for trouble in this quarter."
To his own unpleasant reflections we will leave the merchant, and
return to Edward Claire and his true-minded, loving-hearted wife.
For a week or two after the former entered upon his new duties
as assistant clerk in a night-auction, he experienced no serious
inconvenience from his more prolonged labours, although it did not
escape the watchful eyes of his wife that his complexion was losing
its freshness, and that his appetite was far from being so good as
before. After this, he began to suffer oppressive weariness, that
made the evening's toil a daily increasing burden. Then succeeded a
feverish state, accompanied by pains in the head, back, and through
the breast. Edith remonstrated, even with tears; but still Claire went
nightly to his task, though each successive evening found him with
less and less ability for its performance.
At last, he came home from the store of Mr. Melleville, at the usual
tea-time, feeling so unwell that he was forced to lie down. He had no
appetite for supper, and merely sipped part of a cup of tea brought to
him by his wife as he still reclined upon the bed.
"Don't get up," said Edith, seeing her husband, after he had lain for
some time, about to rise.
"I can't lie here any longer; it's nearly seven o'clock now."
"You're not going out to-night!"
"O yes; I must be at the store. There is no one to take my place, and
the sales will begin by the time I can get there."
"But you are too sick to go out, Edward."
"I feel much better than I did, Edith. This little rest has refreshed
me a great deal."
"No--no, Edward! You must not go away," said his wife in a distressed
voice. "You are sick now, and the extra exertion of an evening may
throw you into a serious illness."
"I feel a great deal better, dear," urged Claire. "But, sick or well,
I must be there to-night, for the sale cannot go on without me. If I
do not feel better to-morrow, I will ask Mr. F---- to get some one,
temporarily, in my place."
Still Edith opposed, but in vain.
By the time Claire arrived at the auction store, his head was
throbbing with a pain so intense that he could scarcely see. Still, he
resolutely persevered in his determination to go through, if possible,
with the duties of the evening; and so, taking his place at his desk,
as the auctioneer went upon the stand to cry the goods which had
been advertised for sale, he prepared to keep the usual record of
purchasers and prices. This he was able to do for half an hour, when
overtaxed and exhausted nature could bear up no longer.
"Mr. Claire," said the auctioneer, as he took in hand a new article,
"did you make that last entry?--Mr. Jackson, ten cents a yard."
Claire's head had fallen over on the book in which he had been
writing, and the auctioneer, supposing him only yielding to a
momentary feeling of fatigue, or indolence, thus called his attention
to his duties.
But Claire made no answer.
"Say! young man! Are you asleep!" The auctioneer spoke now with some
sharpness of tone; but, as before, his words were not heeded.
"What's the matter, Mr. Claire? Are you sick?"
Still no response or movement.
"Mr. Claire! Bless me!" The auctioneer was now by his side, with his
hand on him. "Bring some water, quick! He's fainted--or is dead! Here!
some one help me to lay him down."
Two or three men came quickly behind the auctioneer's stand and
assisted to lift the insensible man from the high stool on which he
was seated, and place his body in a reclining position. Then water
was dashed into his face, and various other means of restoration used.
Full ten minutes passed before signs of returning life were exhibited.
His recovery was very slow, and it was nearly an hour before he was
well enough to be removed to his dwelling.
The shock of his appearance, supported from the carriage in which he
had been conveyed home, by two men, was terrible to his wife, whose
anxiety and fear had wrought her feelings already up to a high pitch
of excitement.
"Oh! what is the matter? What has happened?" she cried, wringing her
hands, while her face blanched to a deathly paleness.
"Don't be frightened," returned Claire, smiling feebly. "It was only a
slight fainting fit. I'm over it now."
"That's all, madam," said the men who had brought him home. "He merely
fainted. Don't be alarmed. It's all over."
After receiving the thanks of Claire and his assurances that he needed
nothing further from their kindness, the men retired, and Edward then
made every effort in his power to calm down the feelings of his wife,
who continued weeping. This was no easy task, particularly as he was
unable long to hide the many evidences of serious illness from which
he was suffering. Against his remonstrance, so soon as she saw how
it was with him, Mrs. Claire sent off the domestic for their family
physician; who on learning the causes which led to the condition in
which he found his patient, hesitated not to say that he must, as he
valued his life, give up the night tasks he had imposed upon himself.
"Other men," said Claire, in answer to this, "devote quite as many
hours to business."
"All men are not alike in constitution," returned the physician. "And
even the strongest do not make overdrafts upon the system, without
finding, sooner or later, a deficit in their health-account. As
for you, nature has not given you the physical ability for great
endurance. You cannot overtask yourself without a derangement of
machinery."
How reluctantly, and with what a feeling of weakness, Claire
acquiesced in this decision, the reader may imagine.
The morning found him something better, but not well enough to sit up.
Mrs. Claire had, by this time, recovered in a measure her calmness and
confidence. She had thought much, during the sleepless hours of the
preceding night, and though the future was far from opening clearly
to her straining vision, her mind rested in a well-assured confidence
that all things would work together for their good. She knew in whom
she trusted. On the Rock of Ages she had built the habitation where
dwelt her higher hopes; and the storms of this world had no power to
prevail against it.
How little dreamed gentle Fanny Elder--or Fanny Claire, as she
was called--when she laid her cheek lovingly to that of her sick
"father"--she knew him by no other name--and drew her arms around his
neck, that he was suffering alone on her account. In her unselfish
love, Claire felt a sweet compensation--while all he endured on her
account had the effect to draw her, as it were, into his very heart.
As quickly as it could be done, Mrs. Claire got through with the most
pressing of her morning duties, and then, the older children away to
school, she came and sat down by her husband's bedside, and took his
hand in hers. As he looked into her face, pale from sleeplessness and
anxiety, tears filled his eyes.
"O, Edie!" said he, his voice tremulous with feeling, "isn't this
disheartening? What _are_ we to do?"
"_He_ careth for us," was the low, calmly spoken reply; and, as Edith
lifted a finger upward, a ray of heavenly confidence beamed in her
countenance.
"I know, Edie; I know, but"--
The sick man left his sentence unfinished. A heavy sigh marking his
state of doubt and darkness.
"We must feel as well as know, Edward," said his wife. "God is good.
In looking back through all our past life, does not the retrospection
lead to this undoubting conclusion? I am sure you will say yes. Has
he not, in every case, proved better to us than all our fears?--Why,
then, should we distrust him now? In the beautiful language of Cowper,
let us say in these dark seasons--
'Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.'
"Shall we doubt the sun's existence, because the night has fallen? No,
dear husband, no! There are bright stars smiling above us in token of
his unerring return. We know that the morning cometh after a season of
darkness; and so, after our spirits have lingered awhile in the realm
of shadows, the light will break in from above. Has it not always been
so, Edward?"
"He has led us by a way which we knew not."
The sick man's eyes were closed as he murmured these words; and his
voice was slightly tremulous, yet expressive of a returning state of
confidence.
"Yet, how safely," replied Edith. "When our feet were in slippery
places, and we leaned on Him, did he not support us firmly? and when
the mire and clay were deep in our path, did He not keep us from
sinking therein?"
"He is goodness itself," said Claire, a calmer expression coming into
his face. "It is wrong so to let doubt, distrust, and fear creep in
and get possession of the heart; but, we are human--weakness and error
are born with us. When the way in which we are walking is suddenly
closed up before us, and we see the opening to no other way, how can
we keep the faint heart from sinking?"
"Only as Peter was saved from sinking. If we look to God, He will lift
our hearts above the yielding billows. If we stand still, hopefully
and trustingly, the high mountain before us will become as a plain, so
that we can walk on in a smooth way, joyful and rejoicing."
"And so this high mountain, which has risen up so suddenly, will
soon be cleft for us or levelled to a plain, if we wait patiently and
confidingly for its removal?"
"Oh! I am sure of it, Edward," replied Mrs. Claire, with a beautiful
enthusiasm. "We are His creatures, and He loves us with an infinite
love. When his children are disposed to trust too much to the arm of
flesh, He sometimes shows them their weakness in order that they may
feel His strength. Faithfully and unselfishly, my husband, have you
tried to meet the suddenly increased demand upon us: and this out of
love for one of God's children. In the trial, weakness has prevailed
over strength. Suddenly your hands have fallen to your side powerless.
God saw it all; and permitted it all; and, in His own good time, will
supply, from other sources, all that is really needed. We have the
promise--our bread shall be given, and our water sure--not only
the natural food that sustains outward life, but the true bread of
heavenly affections, and the waters of pure truth, which nourish and
sustain the spirit."
Edith ceased speaking. Her husband did not make an immediate reply;
but lay pondering her words, and letting his thoughts expand their
wings in the purer atmosphere into which she had lifted him.
After that they conversed together hopefully of the future; not that
they saw the way more clearly before them, but heavenly confidence had
taken the place of human distrust.
It was, perhaps, eleven o'clock in the day--the doctor had been there,
and pronounced the condition of his patient favourable, but enjoined
quiet and prolonged rest from either bodily or mental exertion--and
the mind of Claire was beginning to run again in a slightly troubled
channel.
"Here is a letter for you," said his wife, coming into the room, after
a brief absence. "A young man just left it at the door."
Claire took the letter, wondering as he did so who it could be from.
On breaking the seal, and unfolding it, he was greatly surprised to
find within a check to his order for one hundred and fifty dollars,
signed Leonard Jasper; and still more surprised to read the
accompanying note, which was in these words:
"Enclosed you will find one hundred and fifty dollars, the sum due
you for Fanny Elder's maintenance during the past and current quarter.
When convenient, I should be glad to see you. Seeing that the child
has remained with you so long, I don't know that it will be advisable
to make a change now, although I had other views in regard to her.
However, when you call, we can settle matters in regard to her
definitively."
"Better to us than all our fears," murmured Claire, as he handed the
letter to his wife, who read it with a truly thankful heart.
"Our way is smooth once more," she said, smiling through outpressing
tears--"the mountain has become a level plain. All the dark clouds
have been swept from our sky, and the sun is shining even more
brightly than of old."
It was more than a week before Claire was sufficiently recovered to
go out and attend to business as usual. At the first opportunity,
he called upon Mr. Jasper, who received him with marked kindness of
manner.
"I do not, now," said the merchant, "entertain the same views in
regard to my ward that I did some time ago. Your opposition to
my wishes then, fretted me a good deal; and I made up my mind,
decisively, that so soon as she was twelve years of age, you must give
her up. It was from this feeling that I acted when I refused to pay
your last order. Since then, I have reflected a good deal on the
subject; and reflection has modified, considerably, my feelings. I
can understand how strong must be the attachment of both yourself and
wife, and how painful the thought of separation from a long-cherished
object of affection."
"The dread of separation, Mr. Jasper," replied Claire, "has haunted us
during the last two years like an evil spirit."
"It need haunt you no more, Edward," was the kindly spoken reply. "If
you still wish to retain the care of this child, you are free to do
so."
"You have taken a mountain from my heart, Mr. Jasper," was the young
man's feeling response.
"It is settled, then, Edward, that she remains with you. And now I
must say a word about her education. I wish that to be thorough.
She must have good advantages; better than the sum now paid for her
maintenance will procure."
Claire made no reply, and Jasper continued--
"I have this to propose. The bulk of property left by her father is
contained in two moderate-sized houses, one of which is at this time
without a tenant. It is a very comfortable house for a small family.
Just the thing, I should say, for you. If you will move into this
house, you shall have it rent free, as a set-off to the increased
charge Fanny will be to you in future. The three hundred per annum
will be paid as usual. How will that do?"
"The compensation, I think, will be greater than the service," replied
Claire.
"Not at all. During the next five or six years, or until she gains
her majority, you will find the cost of clothing and education a
constantly increasing sum. I know more about these things than you
do. And I am very sure, since I understand your relation to her, that
twice this expenditure, could not gain for her what she will have
while in your care. As her guardian, I feel it my duty to provide
liberally for her comfort and education, and to this you, of course,
can have nothing to object."
And Claire did not object. In a few weeks from that time he removed
into one of the houses mentioned by Jasper--a larger and far more
comfortable one than that in which he had lived for several years.
Here, with a thankful heart, he gathered his wife and children
around him. How happy they all were! Not selfishly happy--if such
contradictory terms may be used--but happy in the warmth of mutual
love. A heaven on earth was this little household. Shall we contrast
it with that of Leonard Jasper? No!--the opposite picture would leave
upon the reader's mind too sad an impression; and we will not burden
this chapter with another shadow.