Elsie's Widowhood Part 12

She named one situated in a wing of the mansion, and quite distant from the apartments which would be used by the family.

"What more, papa?" she asked.

"He must have an attendant--a nurse. And shall we not write to his aunt, inviting her to come and be with him while he lives? remain through the winter with us, if she can find it convenient and agreeable to do so?"

"Yes, oh yes! poor dear Mrs. Carrington; it will be but a melancholy pleasure to her. But I think if any one can do him good it will be she.

I will write at once."

"Not to-night; it is too late; you are looking weary, and I want you to go at once to bed. To-morrow morning will be time enough for the letter."

"What, sending me to bed, papa!" she said with a slightly amused smile.

"I must be indeed your little girl again. Well, I will obey as I used to in the olden time, for I still believe you know what is best for me.

So good-night, my dear, dear father!"

"Good-night, my darling," he responded, caressing her with all the old, fatherly tenderness. "May G.o.d bless and keep you and your dear children."

CHAPTER IX.

"She led me first to G.o.d; Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew."

--_Pierpont._

Elsie's letter to Mrs. Carrington was despatched by the first morning mail, and directly after breakfast Mr. Dinsmore went in search of Boyd.

Hardened as the man was, he showed some sense of grat.i.tude toward the new-made widow of his intended victim, when informed of her kind intentions toward himself; some remorse for his attempt to injure him whom she had so dearly loved.

"It is really a great deal more than I had the least right to expect even for my aunt's sake," he said. "Why, sir, it will be like getting out of h.e.l.l into heaven!"

"It is not for Mrs. Carrington's sake alone, or princ.i.p.ally--strong as is the tie of friendship between them," replied Mr. Dinsmore, "but rather for the sake of the Master she loves and serves, and who bids His followers return good for evil."

"Cant!" sneered Boyd to himself: then aloud, "Well, sir, I wish it were in my power to make some suitable return to Mrs. Travilla; but that can never be, and unfortunately I cannot even undo the past."

"No; and that is a thought which might well deter us from evil deeds.

Now the next thing is to provide you with a bath, decent clothing, and suitable attendant, and get you and him aboard the boat, which leaves a few hours hence."

All this was done and Mr. Dinsmore returned to his daughter with a satisfactory report to that effect.

Their party remained a few days longer in the Crescent City, then embarked for Viamede, where they arrived in due season, having met with no accident or detention by the way.

As on former occasions, they were joyfully welcomed by the old servants; but many tears mingled with the rejoicings, for Mr. Travilla had been greatly beloved by all, and they wept for both their own loss and that of their "dear bressed Missus," as they were wont to call her whom his death had widowed.

She was much overcome at the first, memory vividly recalling former arrivals when he--her dearest earthly friend--was by her side, giving her the support of his loved presence and sharing her happiness.

Her thoughts dwelt particularly upon the glad days of their honeymoon; and she seemed to see herself again a loved, loving, cherished bride, now wandering with him through the beautiful orange groves or over the velvety, flower-bespangled lawn, now seated by his side in the veranda, the parlor, the library, or on some rustic seat under the grand old trees, his arm encircling her waist, his eyes looking tenderly into hers; or it might be gliding over the waters of the lakelet or galloping or driving through the woods, everywhere and always the greatest delight of each the love and companionship of the other.

Ah, how often she now caught herself listening for the sound of his voice, his step, waiting, longing to feel the touch of his hand! Could she ever cease to do so?--ever lose that weary homesickness of heart that at times seemed almost more than mortal strength could endure?

But she had more than mortal strength to sustain her; the everlasting arms were underneath and around her, the love that can never die, never change, was her unfailing support and consolation.

She indulged in no spirit of repining, no nursing of her grief, but gave herself with cheerful earnestness to every good work: the careful, prayerful instruction and training of her children as her first duty; then kindly attentions to her old grandfather, to parents and guests; after that the care of house servants, field hands, and the outside poor of the vicinity, neglecting neither their bodies nor their souls; also helping the cause of Christ in both her own and foreign lands, with untiring efforts, earnest, believing prayer, and liberal gifts, striving to be a faithful steward of the ample means G.o.d had committed to her trust, and rejoicing in the ability to relieve the wants of His people, and to a.s.sist in spreading abroad the glad news of salvation through faith in Christ.

There was no gayety at Viamede that winter, but the atmosphere of the house was eminently cheerful, its walls often echoing to the blithe voices and merry laughter of the children; never checked or reproved by mamma; the days gliding peacefully by, in a varied round of useful and pleasant employment and delightful recreation that left no room for _ennui_--riding, driving, walking, boating for all, and healthful play for the children.

Lester Leland had been heard from, was well, and wrote in so hopeful a strain that the heart of his affianced grew light and joyous. She was almost ashamed to find she could be so happy without the dear father so lately removed.

Her mother rea.s.sured her on that point: it was right for her to be as happy as she could; it was what her papa would have highly approved and wished; and then in being so and allowing it to be perceived by those around her, she would add to their enjoyment.

"We are told to 'rejoice in the Lord always,'" concluded the mother, "and a Christian's heart should never be the abode of gloom and sadness."

"Dear mamma, what an unfailing comfort and blessing you are to me and to all your children," cried the young girl. "Oh, I do thank G.o.d every day for my mother's dear love, my mother's wise counsels!"

It was very true, and to mamma each one of the six--or we might say seven, for Edward did the same by letter--carried every trouble, great or small, every doubt, fear, and perplexity.

No two of them were exactly alike in disposition--each required a little different management from the others--but attentively studying each character and asking wisdom from above, the mother succeeded wonderfully well in guiding and controlling them.

In this her father a.s.sisted her, and she was most careful and decided in upholding his authority, never in any emergency opposing hers to it.

"Mamma," said Harold, coming to her one day in her dressing-room, "Herbie is in trouble with grandpa."

"I am very sorry," she said with a look of concern, "but if so it must be by his own fault; your grandpa's commands are never unreasonable."

"No, I suppose not, mamma," Harold returned doubtfully, "but Herbie is having a very hard time over his Latin lesson, and says he can't learn it: it is too difficult. Mamma," with some hesitation, "if you would speak to grandpa perhaps he would let him off this once."

"Do you think that would be a good plan?" she asked with a slight smile.

"Herbert's great fault is lack of perseverance; he is too easily discouraged, too ready to give up and say 'I can't.' Do you think it would be really kind to indulge him in doing so?"

"Perhaps not, mamma; but I feel very sorry to see him in such distress.

Grandpa has forbidden him to leave the school-room or to have anything to eat but bread and milk till he can recite his lesson quite perfectly.

And we had planned to go fishing this afternoon, if you should give permission, mamma."

"My son," she said with an affectionate look into the earnest face of the pleader, "I am glad to see your sympathy and love for your brother, but I think your grandpa loves him quite as well and knows far better what is for his good, and I cannot interfere between them; my children must all be as obedient and submissive to my father as they are to me."

"Yes, mamma, I know, and indeed we never disobey him. How could we when papa bade us not? and made him our guardian, too?"

Mrs. Travilla sat thinking for a moment after Harold had gone, then rose and went to the school-room.

Herbert sat there alone, idly drumming on his desk, the open book pushed aside. His face was flushed and wore a very disconsolate and slightly sullen expression.

He looked up as his mother came in, but dropped his eyes instantly, blushing and ashamed.

"Mamma," he stammered, "I--I can't learn this lesson, it's so very hard, and I'm so tired of being cooped up here. Mayn't I go out and have a good run before I try any more?"

"If your grandpa gives permission; not otherwise."

"But he won't; and it's a hateful old lesson! and I _can't_ learn it!"

he cried with angry impatience.