Helen and Arthur Part 9

"I can pay you for all I spoiled and more too," said Mittie, sullenly.

"Pay me," repeated Miss Thusa, while the scorching fire of her eye slowly went out, leaving an expression of profound sorrow. "Can you pay me for a value you can't even dream of? Can you pay me for the lonely thoughts that twisted themselves up with that thread, day after day, and night after night, because they had nothing else to take hold of? Can you pay me for these grooves in my fingers' ends, made by the flax as I kept drawing it through, till it often turned red with my blood? No, no, that thread was as dear to me as my own heart strings--for they were twined all about it; it was like something living to me--and I loved it in the same way as I do little Helen. I shall never, never spin any more."

"You will spin more merrily than ever," cried Louis, soothingly, "you see if you don't, Miss Thusa."

Miss Thusa shook her head, and though she almost suffocated herself in the effort to repress them, tears actually forced themselves into her eyes, and splashed on her cheeks. Seating herself in a low chair, she took up the corner of her ap.r.o.n to hide what she considered a shame and disgrace, when Helen glided near and wiped away the drops with her own handkerchief.

"Bless you darling," cried the subdued spinster--"and you will be blessed. There's no malice, nor hard-heartedness in _you_. _You_ never turned your foot upon a worm. But as for her," continued she, pointing prophetically at Mittie, and fixing upon her her grave and gloomy eyes--"there's no blessing in store. She don't feel now, but if she lives to womanhood she _will_. The heart of stone will turn to flesh then, and every fibre it has got will learn how to quiver, as I've seen twisted wire do, when strong fingers pull it--_I know it will_. She will shed tears one of these days, and no one will wipe them off, as this little angel has done for me. I've done, now. I didn't mean to say what I did, but the Lord put it in my head, and I've spoken according to my gift."

Mittie ran out of the room before the conclusion of the speech, unable to stand the moveless glance, that seemed to burn like heated metal into her conscience.

"Come, Miss Thusa," said Louis, amiably, desirous of turning her thoughts into a new channel, and pitying while he blamed his offending sister, for the humiliation he knew she must endure--"come and tell us a story, while you are inspired. It is so long since I have heard one! Let it be something new and exciting."

"I don't believe I could tell you one to save my life, now," replied Miss Thusa, her countenance lighting up with a gleam of satisfaction--"at least I couldn't act it out."

"Never mind the acting, Miss Thusa, provided we hear the tale. Let it be a _powerful_ one."

"Don't tell the _worm-eaten traveler_," whispered Helen. "I never want to hear that again."

Miss Thusa see-sawed a moment in her low chair, to give a kind of balance to her imagination, and then began:

"Once there was a maiden, who lived in a forest, a deep wild forest, in which there wasn't so much as the sign of a path, and n.o.body but she could find their way in or out. How this was, I don't know, but it was astonishing how many people got lost in those woods, where she rambled about as easy as if somebody was carrying a torch before her. Perhaps the fairies helped her--perhaps the evil spirits--I rather think the last, for though she was fair to look upon, her heart was as hard as the nether mill-stone."

Miss Thusa caught a glimpse of Mittie, on the porch, through the open doors, and she raised her voice, as she proceeded:

"One night, when the moon was shining large and clear, she was wandering through the forest, all alone, when she heard a little, tender voice behind her, and turning round, she saw a young child, with its hair all loose and wet, as 'twere, calling after her.

"'I've lost my way,' it cried--'pray help me to find a path in the greenwood.'

"'Find it by the moonlight,' answered the maiden, 'it shines for you, as well as for me.'

"'But I'm little,' cried the child, beginning to weep, 'and my feet are all blistered with running. Take me up in your arms a little while, for you are strong, and the Saviour will give you a golden bed in Heaven to lie down on.'

"'I want no golden bed. I had rather sleep on down than gold,' answered the maid, and she mocked the child, and went on, putting her hands to her ears, to keep out the cries of the little one, that came through the thick trees, with a mighty piteous sound--the hard-hearted creature!"

"How cruel!" said Helen, "I hope she got lost herself."

"Don't interrupt, Helen," said Louis, whose eyes were kindling with excitement. "You may be sure she had some punishment."

"Yes, that she did," continued the narrator, "and I tell you it was worse than being lost, bad as that is. By-and-by she came out of the forest, into a smooth road, and a horseman galloped to meet her, that would have scared anybody else in the world but her. Not that he was so ugly, but he was dressed all in black, and he had such a powerful head of black hair, that hung all about him like a cloak, and mixed up with the horse's flowing mane, and that was black too, and so was his horse, and so were his eyes, but his forehead was as white as snow, and his cheeks were fair and ruddy. He rode right up to the young maiden, and reaching down, swung his arm round her, and put her up before him on the saddle, and away they rode, as swift as a weaver's shuttle. I don't believe a horse ever went so fast before. Every little stone his hoofs struck, would blaze up, just for a second, making stars all along the road. As they flew on, his long black hair got twisted all around her, and every time the wind blew, it grew tighter and tighter, till she could scarcely breathe, and she prayed him to stop, and unwind his long black hair, before it reached her throat, for as sure as she was alive then, it would strangle her.

"'You have hands as well as I,' said he, with a mocking laugh, 'unwind it yourself, fair maiden.'

"Then she remembered what she had said to the poor little lost child, and she cried out as the child did, when she left it alone in the forest. All the time the long locks of hair seemed taking root in her heart, and drawing it every step they went.

"'Now,' said her companion, reining up his black horse, 'I'll release you.'

"And unsheathing a sharp dagger, he cut the hair through and through, so that part of it fell on the ground in a black shower. Then giving her a swing, he let her fall by the way-side, and rode on hurraing by the light of the moon."

Miss Thusa paused to take breath, and wiped her spectacles, as if she had been reading with them all the time she had been talking.

"Is that all?" asked Helen.

"No, indeed, that cannot be the end," said Louis. "Go on Miss Thusa. The black knight ought to be scourged for leaving her there on the ground."

"There she lay," resumed Miss Thusa, "moaning and bewailing, for her heart's blood was oozing out through every wound his dagger had made, for I told you his locks had taken root in her heart, and he cut the cords when he slashed about among his own long, black hair.

"'I'm dying,' said the maiden. 'Oh, what would I give now for that golden bed of the Saviour, the little child promised me.'

"Just then she heard the patter of little feet among the fallen leaves, and looking up, there was the child, sure enough, right by her side, and there was something bright and shining all around its head. How it found its way out of the woods, the Lord only knows. Well, the child didn't bear one bit of malice, for it was a holy child, and kneeling down, it took a crystal vial from its bosom, and poured balm on the bleeding heart of the maiden, and healed every wound.

"'You are a holy child,' said the maiden, rising up, and taking the child in her arms, and pressing her close to her bosom. 'I know it by the light around your head. I'll love all little children for your sake, and nevermore mock the cry of sorrow or of want.'

"So they went away together into the deep woods, and one could see the moon shining on them, every now and then, through the trees, and it was a lovely sight."

There was silence for a few moments after Miss Thusa finished her legend, for never had she related any thing so impressively.

"Oh, Miss Thusa," cried Helen, "that is the prettiest story I ever heard you relate. I am glad the child was not lost, and I am glad that the maiden did not die, but was sorry for what she had done."

"Do you make up your tales yourself, Miss Thusa," asked Louis, "or do you remember them? I cannot imagine where they all come from."

"Some are the memories of my childhood;" replied she, "and some the inventions of my own brain; and some are a little of one and a little of the other; and some are the living truth itself. I don't always know what I am going to say myself, when I begin, but speak as the spirit moves. This shows that it is a gift--praise the Lord."

"Well, Miss Thusa, the spirit moves you to say that the little child forgave the cruel maiden, and poured balm upon her bleeding heart,"

said Louis, with one of his own winning smiles.

"And you think an old woman should forgive likewise!" cried Miss Thusa, looking as benignantly as she _could_ look upon the boy. "You are right, you are right, but her heart don't bleed yet--_not yet_."

Mittie, believing herself unseen, had listened to the tale with an interest that chained her to the spot where she stood. She unconsciously identified herself with the cruel maiden, and in after years she remembered the long, sweeping locks of the knight, and the maiden's bleeding heart.

PART SECOND.

CHAPTER V.

"Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or signs of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.

But clouds instead, and ever-during dark Surround me."

_Milton._

"Thou, to whom the world unknown, With all its shadowy shapes is shown, Who see'st appalled, th' unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between, Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!

I see, I see thee near!"

_Collins._