THANKFUL FOR EVERY THING.
The note had been lifted, and all things looked cheering for the
future. It was the last payment Mr. Townsend had to make. He held in
his hand the only piece of paper, promising to pay, upon which his name
was inscribed, and the approaching due day of which had caused him such
needless alarm. Notwithstanding his loss of ten thousand dollars, and
inability to make advances on consignments, the falling off in his
business had not been very considerable, and had more than been made up
by the great reduction in his family expenses.
Mr. Townsend was sitting in his store, musing on these things; and, in
connection with them, balancing in his thoughts the account of loss
and gain that had been running on for the space of two or three years.
He felt calm, and a subdued and thankful spirit pervaded his mind.
Doubt, and utter despondency, had given place to confidence and hope.
The spontaneous acknowledgement of a Divine Providence, ruling in all
the events of life by love and wisdom, which had fallen from his lips
on the previous evening, in the passionate enthusiasm of the moment,
did not pass away. He felt, deeply and thankfully felt, that there was
an invisible Hand, leading men into better, and truer, and happier
states of mind, by ways which they knew not; and that, in spite of all
resistance, impatience, and even impious rebellion against the All-Wise
guidance, love unchanged was ever, through seeming evil, leading on
to good. The self-sacrificing love of his children touched him deeply
whenever he thought of it. The fire had tried and proved them, and the
gold was purer than even a father’s partial affection had believed it
to be.
Such were the thoughts and feelings of Mr. Townsend, as he sat musing
in the great calm that had succeeded to the strong agitation of mind
suffered for many days. In the midst of these reflections, he was
interrupted by the entrance of an individual of whom he had recently
thought very frequently. That individual was Rufus Albertson.
Of late, business had brought the young man to his store several times;
but he felt, the moment his eyes rested upon him, that this was not
a visit for purposes of business. But of its real nature he had no
suspicion.
“Can I have a word with you in private?” said Albertson, in a low voice.
“Certainly.” And the two retired to a part of the store distant
from the counting-room. The young man appeared disturbed, and this
disturbance was very apparent in his voice, when he said,
“Mr. Townsend, some years ago I was bold enough to ask for the hand of
your daughter Eunice, when you refused my request. I now renew my suit,
and, I trust, with more hope of a favorable issue.”
Mr. Townsend was taken altogether by surprise. Nothing was further
from his thoughts than this. For some moments he could not reply, but
looked into the suitor’s face with an expression of countenance that
the latter was unable to interpret as favorable or adverse to his
wishes.
“Have I your consent? Or are you still repugnant to the connection I
propose?” he said, after a pause.
“Mr. Albertson! take her, in Heaven’s name!” exclaimed the agitated
father, grasping with convulsive energy the hand of the young man.
“If you have the love of her young heart, you possess a treasure of
priceless value. May she be to you as good a wife as she has been to me
a daughter.”
Mr. Townsend could say no more, for his voice lost its steadiness, and
choked with emotion.
Albertson returned in silence the pressure of the father’s hand.
Eunice was with her mother and sister about an hour after, and they
were talking of the occurrences of the day before, when the bell was
rung, and Eveline went to the door.
“Another of those mysterious billetdoux, Eunice,” she said, as she
returned and handed her a letter. “I’m dying to know who this faithful
correspondent of yours is. If you don’t soon let me into your secret,
I shall be tempted to break open that closely-locked writing-case of
yours, and find it out for myself.”
By the time Eveline had finished this speech, Eunice had finished her
letter. It was in these few words:
“DEAR EUNICE:--I saw your father to-day, and he gives a free consent to
our union. I am now the happiest man in the world. This evening I will
see you.
ALBERTSON.”
After handing this open letter to her mother, Eunice arose up quickly,
and left the room where they were sitting.
Of their surprise and pleasure, and of her joy, we will not write.
A few days subsequently, Eveline, who was reading a newspaper, while
her sister was engaged in some domestic office in the same room where
she was sitting, suddenly exclaimed, while the paper fell from her
hands,
“Oh! what have I not escaped! Thank God! thank God! for every thing
that has occurred! The evil has been good!”
Then, covering her face, she sobbed for some time passionately.
Eunice lifted the paper hastily, and almost the first thing that met
her eyes, was an account of shameless and criminal infidelity on the
part of Henry Pascal, toward a young and lovely bride, led by him to
the altar not a year before. The whole affair had, as is often the
case, led to judicial interference, and thus made its way into the
newspapers. As soon as Eunice comprehended the cause of her sister’s
agitation, she drew her arms tenderly about her, and said,
“Yes, dear Evie, thank God for every thing!”
And at the very moment, the father, in his store, dropped his paper,
after reading the same paragraph, and exclaimed,
“Thank God for every thing!”