Home Influence Part 29

"Selfishness, mamma; and I do hate the thought of it so! Am I selfish?"

she repeated, her voice faltering, and her eyes filling fast with tears.

"I hope not, my love; but if you do not try to shake off this depression, we must believe you to be so. Your father's absence is a still greater trial to Caroline than it is to you, for it compels a very bitter disappointment, as well as the loss of his society; and yet, though she feels both deeply, she has exerted herself more than I ever saw her do before, and so proves, more than any words or tears could do, how much she loves both him and me."

"And do you think I love you both, less than she does?" replied Emmeline, now fairly sobbing.

"No, dearest; but I want you to prove it in the same admirable manner.

Do you think I do not feel your father's absence, Emmeline? but would you like to see me as sad and changed as you are?"

Emmeline looked up in her face, for there was something in the tone that appealed to her better feelings at once. Throwing her arms round her, she sobbed--

"Dear mamma, do forgive me. I see now I have been very selfish and very weak, but I never, never can be as firm and self-controlled as you and Caroline are."

"Do not say never, love, or you will never try to be so. I am quite sure you would not like to be one of those weak, selfish characters, who lay all their faults, and all the mischief their faults produce, on a supposed impossibility to become like others. I know your disposition is naturally less strong and firm than your sister's, but it is more elastic, and still more joyous; and so had you not too weakly encouraged your very natural sorrow, you would have been enabled to throw it off, and in the comfort such an exertion would have brought to us, fully recompensed yourself."

"And if I do try now?"

"I shall be quite satisfied, dearest; though I fear you will find it more difficult than had you tried a few days ago. Confess that I am right. Did you not, after the first two or three days, feel that you could have been cheerful again, at least at times, but that you fancied you had not felt sorry enough, and so increased both sorrow and anxiety by determinedly dwelling on them, instead of seeking some pursuit?"

"Dear mamma, shall I never be able to hide a feeling from you?" answered Emmeline, so astonished, that her tears half dried. "I did not know I felt so myself till you put it before me, and now I know that I really did. Was it very wrong?"

"I will answer your question by another, love. Did you find such pertinacious indulgence of gloom, help you to bring the object of your regret and anxiety, and of your own grief before your Heavenly Father?"

Emmeline hesitated, but only for a minute, then answered, with a crimson blush--

"No, mamma; I could not pray to G.o.d to protect dear papa, or to give me His blessing, half as earnestly and believingly as when I was happier; the more I indulged in gloomy thoughts, the more difficulty I had to turn them to prayer, and the last few days, I fear I have not even tried."

"Then, dearest, is it necessary for me to answer your former question? I see by that conscious look that it is not. You have always trusted my experience and affection, my Emmeline, trust them now, and try my plan.

Think of your dear father, whom you can not love too well, or whose compelled absence really regret too much; but so think of him, as to pray continually in spirit to your gracious G.o.d, to have him always in His holy keeping, either on sea or land, in storm or calm, and so prosper his undertaking, as to permit his return to us still sooner than we at present expect. The very constant prayer for this, will make you rest secure and happy in the belief, that our G.o.d is with him wherever he is, as He is with us, and so give you cheerfulness and courage to attend to your daily duties, and conquer any thing like too selfish sorrow. Will you try this, love, even if it be more difficult now, than it would have been a few days ago?"

"I will indeed, mamma," and she raised her head from her mother's shoulder, and tried to smile. "When you first addressed me to-day, I thought you were almost harsh, and so cold--so you see even there I was thinking wrong--and now I am glad, oh, so glad, you did speak to me!"

"And I know who will be glad too, if I have prevented his having a Niobe for his Tiny, instead of the Euphrosyne, which I believe he sometimes calls you. I thought there was one particular duet that Percy is to be so charmed with, Emmy. Suppose you try it now." And, her tears all checked, her most unusual gloom dispersed, Emmeline obeyed with alacrity, and finding, when she had once begun, so many things to get perfect for the gratification of her brothers, that nearly three hours slipped away quite unconsciously; and when Caroline returned from a walk, she was astonished at the change in her sister, and touched by the affectionate self-reproach with which Emmeline, looking up in her face, exclaimed--

"Dear Caroline, I have been so pettish and so cross to you since papa left, that I am sure you must be quite tired of me; but I am going to be really a heroine now, and not a shy sentimental one; and bear the pain of papa's absence as bravely as you do."

And she did so; though at first it was, as her mother had warned her, very difficult to compel the requisite exertion, which for employment and cheerfulness, was now needed; but when the _will_ is right, there is little fear of failure.

As each day pa.s.sed, so quickly merging into weeks, that five had now slipped away since that fatal letter had been sent to Edward, the difficulty to do as she had intended, entreat Mrs. Langford to dispose of her trinkets and watch, became to Ellen, either in reality or seeming, more and more difficult. Her illness had confined her to her room for nearly a week, and when she was allowed to take the air, the state of nervous debility to which it had reduced her, of course prevented her ever being left alone. The day after Mr. Hamilton's appeal to his domestics, she had made a desperate attempt, by asking permission to be the bearer of a message from her aunt to the widow; and as the girls were often allowed and encouraged to visit their nurse, the request was granted without any surprise, though to the very last moment she feared one of her cousins or Miss Harcourt would offer to accompany her. They were all, however, too occupied with and for Mr. Hamilton, and she sought the cottage, and there, with such very evident mental agony, besought Mrs. Langford to promise her secrecy and aid, that the widow, very much against her conscience, was won over to accede. She was in most pressing want of money, she urged, and dared not appeal to her aunt. Not daring to say the whole amount which she so urgently required at once, she had only brought with her the antique gold cross and two or three smaller ornaments, which had been among her mother's trinkets, and a gold locket Percy had given her. Mrs. Langford was painfully startled.

She had no idea her promise comprised acquiescence and a.s.sistance in any matter so very wrong and mysterious as this; and she tried every argument, every persuasion, to prevail on Ellen to confide all her difficulties to Mrs. Hamilton, urging that if even she had done wrong, it could only call for temporary displeasure, whereas the mischief of her present proceeding might never come to an end, and must be discovered at last; but Ellen was inexorable, though evidently quite as miserable as she was firm, and Mrs. Langford had too high an idea of the solemn nature of a pledged word to draw back, or think of betraying her.

She said that, of course, it might be some weeks before she could succeed in disposing of them all; as to offer them all together, or even at one place, would be exposing herself to the most unpleasant suspicions.

One step was thus gained, but nearly a fortnight had pa.s.sed, and she heard nothing from the widow.

"Will they never come?" exclaimed Emmeline, in mirthful impatience, one evening, about four days after her conversation with her mother; "it _must be_ past the hour Percy named."

"It still wants half an hour," replied Mrs. Hamilton; adding, "that unfortunate drawing, when will it succeed in obtaining your undivided attention?"

"Certainly not this evening, mamma; the only drawing I feel inclined for, is a sketch of my two brothers, if they would only have the kindness to sit by me."

"Poor Percy," observed Caroline, dryly; "if you are to be as restless as you have been the last hour, Emmeline, he would not be very much flattered by his portrait."

"Now that is very spiteful of you, Caroline, and all because I do not happen to be so quiet and sober as you are; though I am sure all this morning, that mamma thought by your unusually long absence that you were having a most persevering practice, you were only collecting all Percy's and Herbert's favorite songs and pieces, and playing them over, instead of your new music."

"And what if I did, Emmeline?"

"Why, it only proves that your thoughts are quite as much occupied by them as mine are, though you have so disagreeably read, studied, worked, just as usual, to make one believe you neither thought nor cared any thing about them."

"And so, because Caroline can control even joyous antic.i.p.ation, she is to be thought void of feeling, Emmy. I really can p.r.o.nounce no such judgment; so, though she may have settled to her usual pursuits, and you have literally done nothing at all to-day, I will not condemn her as loving her brothers less."

"But you will condemn me as an idle, unsteady, hair-brained girl,"

replied Emmeline, kneeling on the ottoman at her mother's feet, and looking archly and fondly in her face. "Then do let me have a fellow-sufferer, for I can not stand condemnation alone. Ellen, do put away that everlasting sketch, and be idle and unsteady, too!"

"It won't do, Emmy; Ellen has been so perseveringly industrious since her illness, that I should rather condemn her for too much application than too great idleness. But you really have been stooping too long this warm evening, my love," she added, observing, as Ellen, it seemed almost involuntarily, looked up at her cousin's words, that her cheeks were flushed almost painfully. "Oblige Emmeline this once, and be as idle as she is: come and talk to me, I have scarcely heard a word from you to-day; you have been more silent than ever, I think, since your uncle left us; but I must have no gloom to greet your cousins, Ellen."

There was no rejoinder to these kind and playful words. Ellen did indeed put aside her drawing, but instead of taking a seat near her aunt, which in former days she would have been only too happy to do, she walked to the farthest window, and ensconcing herself in its deep recess, seemed determined to hold communion with no one. Miss Harcourt was so indignant as scarcely to be able to contain its expression. Caroline looked astonished and provoked. Emmeline was much too busy in flying from window to window, to think of any thing else but her brothers. Mrs.

Hamilton was more grieved and hurt than Ellen had scarcely ever made her feel. Several times before, in the last month, she had fancied there was something unusual in her manner; but the many anxieties and thoughts which had engrossed her since her husband's summons and his departure, had prevented any thing, till that evening, but momentary surprise.

Emmeline's exclamation that she was quite sure she heard the trampling of horses, and that it must be Percy, by the headlong way he rode, prevented any remark, and brought them all to the window; and she was right, for in a few minutes a horseman emerged from some distant trees, urging his horse to its utmost speed, waving his cap in all sorts of mirthful gesticulations over his head, long before he could be quite sure that there was any body to see him. Another minute, and he had flung the reins to Robert, with a laughing greeting, and springing up the long flight of steps in two bounds, was in the sitting-room and in the arms of his mother, before either of his family imagined he could have had even time to dismount.

"Herbert?" was the first word Mrs. Hamilton's quivering lip could speak.

"Is quite well, my dearest mother, and not five minutes' ride behind me.

The villagers would flock round us, with such an hurrah, I thought you must have heard it here; so I left Bertie to play the agreeable, and promised to see them to-morrow, and galloped on here, for you know the day we left, I vowed that the firstborn of my mother should have her first kiss."

"Still the same, Percy--not sobered yet, my boy?" said his mother, looking at him with a proud smile; for while the tone and manner were still the eager, fresh-feeling boy, the face and figure were that of the fine-growing, n.o.ble-looking man.

"Sobered! why, mother, I never intend to be," he answered, joyously, as he alternately embraced his sisters, Miss Harcourt, and Ellen, who, fearing to attract notice, had emerged from her hiding-place; "if the venerable towers of that most wise and learned town, Oxford, and all the grave lectures and long faces of sage professors have failed to tame me, there can be no hope for my sobriety; but here comes Herbert, actually going it almost as fast as I did. Well done, my boy! Mother, that is all your doing; he feels your influence at this distance. Why, all the Oxonians would fancy the colleges must be tumbling about their ears, if they saw the gentle, studious, steady Herbert Hamilton riding at such a rate." He entered almost as his brother spoke; and though less boisterous, the intense delight it was to him to look in his mother's face again, to be surrounded by all he loved, was as visible as Percy's; and deep was the thankfulness of Mrs. Hamilton's ever anxious heart, as she saw him looking so well--so much stronger than in his boyhood. The joy of that evening, and of very many succeeding days, was, indeed, great; though many to whom the sanct.i.ty and bliss of domestic affection are unknown, might fancy there was little to call for it; but to the inmates of Oakwood it was real happiness to hear Percy's wild laugh and his inexhaustible stories, calling forth the same mirth from his hearers--the very sound of his ever-bounding step, and his boisterous career from room to room, to visit, he declared, and rouse all the bogies and spirits that must have slept while he was away: Herbert's quieter but equal interest in all that had been done, studied, read, even thought and felt, in his absence: the pride and delight of both in the accounts of Edward, Percy insisting that to have such a gallant fellow of a brother, ought to make Ellen as lively and happy as Emmeline, who was blessed nearly in the same measure--looking so excessively mischievous as he spoke, that, though his sister did not at first understand the inference, it was speedily discovered, and called for a laughing attack on his outrageous self-conceit. Herbert more earnestly regretted to see Ellen looking as sad and pale as when she was quite a little girl, and took upon himself gently to reproach her for not being, or, at least, trying to make herself more cheerful, when she had so many blessings around her, and was so superlatively happy in having such a brave and n.o.ble-hearted brother. If he did not understand her manner as he spoke, both he and the less observant Percy were destined to be still more puzzled and grieved as a few weeks pa.s.sed, and they at first fancied and then were quite sure that she was completely altered, even in her manner to their mother. Instead of being so gentle, so submissive, so quietly happy to deserve the smallest sign of approval from Mrs. Hamilton, she now seemed completely to shrink from her, either in fear, or that she no longer cared either to please or to obey her. By imperceptible, but sure degrees, this painful conviction pressed itself on the minds of the whole party, even to the light-hearted, unsuspicious Emmeline, to whom it was so utterly incomprehensible, that she declared it must be all fancy, and that they were all so happy that their heads must be a little turned.

"Even mamma's!" observed Caroline, dryly.

"No; but she is the only sensible person among us, for she has not said any thing about it, and, therefore, I dare say does not even see that which we are making such a wonder about."

"I do not agree with you, for I rather think she has both seen and felt it before either of us, and that because it so grieves and perplexes her, she can not speculate or even speak about it as we do. Time will explain it, I suppose, but it is very disagreeable."

It was, indeed, no fancy; but little could these young observers or even Mrs. Hamilton suspect that which was matter of speculation or grief to them, was almost madness in its agony of torture to Ellen; who, as weeks pa.s.sed, and but very trifling returns for her trinkets were made her by Mrs. Langford, felt as if her brain must fail before she could indeed accomplish her still ardently desired plan, and give back the missing sum to Robert, without calling suspicion on herself. She felt to herself as changed as she appeared to those that observed her; a black impenetrable pall seemed to have enveloped her heart and mind, closing up both, even from those affections, those pursuits, so dear to her before. She longed for some change from the dense impenetrable fog, even if it were some heavy blow--tangible suffering of the fiercest kind was prayed for, rather than the stagnation which caused her to move, act, and speak as if under some fatal spell, and look with such terror on the relation she had so loved, that even to be banished from her presence she imagined would be less agony, than to a.s.sociate with her, as the miserable, guilty being she had become.

Mrs. Hamilton watched and was anxious, but she kept both her observations and anxiety to herself, for she would not throw even a temporary cloud over the happiness of her children. A fortnight after the young men's arrival, letters came most unexpectedly from Mr.

Hamilton, dated twelve days after he had left, and brought by a Scottish trader whom they had encountered near the Shetland Isles, and who had faithfully forwarded them from Edinburgh, as he had promised. The voyage had been most delightful, and they hoped to reach Feroe in another week.

He wrote in the highest terms of Morton; the comfort of such companionship, and the intrinsic worth of his character, which could never be known, until so closely thrown together.

"I may thank our Percy for this excellent friend," he wrote. "He tells me his brave and honest avowal of those verses, which had given him so much pain, attracted him more toward me and mine, than even my own efforts to obtain his friendship. Percy little thought when he so conquered himself the help he would give his father--so little do we know to what hidden good, the straightforward, honest performance of a duty, however painful, may lead."

"My father should thank you, mother, not me," was Percy's rejoinder, with a flushed cheek and eye sparkling with animation, as his mother read the pa.s.sage to him.

"No such thing, Percy; I will not have you give me all the merit of your good deeds. I did but try to guide you, my boy; neither the disposition to receive, nor the fruit springing from the seeds I planted, is from me."

"They are, mother, more than you are in the least aware of!" replied he, with even more than his usual impetuosity, for they happened to be quite alone; "I thought I knew all your worth before I went to Oxford, but I have mingled with the world now; I have been a silent listener and observer of such sentiments, such actions, as I know would naturally have been mine, and though in themselves perhaps of little moment, saw they led to irregularity, laxity of principle and conduct, which now I can not feel as other than actual guilt; and what saved me from the same? The _principle_ which from my infancy you taught. I have questioned, led on in conversation, these young men to speak of their boyhood and their homes, and there were none guided, loved as I was; none whose parents had so blended firmness with indulgence, as while my wild, free spirits were unchecked, prevented the ascendency of evil. _I could not do_ as they did. Mother! love you more, perhaps, I can not, but every time I join the world, fresh from this home sanctuary, I must bless and venerate you more! To walk through this world with any degree of security, man _must_ have principle based on the highest source; and that principle can only be instilled by the constant example of a mother and the a.s.sociation of a home!" Mrs. Hamilton could not answer, but--a very unusual sign of weakness with her--tears of the most intense happiness poured down on the cheek of her son, as in his impetuosity he knelt before her, and ended his very unusually grave appeal by the same loving caresses he was wont to lavish on her, in his infancy and boyhood.

The letters from Mr. Hamilton, of course, greatly increased the general hilarity, and the arrival of Mr. Grahame's family about the same time, added fresh zest to youthful enjoyment. In the few months she spent at Moorlands, Annie actually condescended to be agreeable. Percy, and some of Percy's boyish friends, now young men, as himself, were quite different to her usual society, and as she very well knew the only way to win Percy's even casual notice was to throw off her affectation and superciliousness as much as possible, she would do so, and be pleasing to an extent that surprised Mrs. Hamilton, who, always inclined to judge kindly, hoped more regarding Annie than she had done yet. Little could her pure mind conceive that, in addition to the pleasure of flirting with Percy, Annie acted in this manner actually to throw her off her guard, and so give her a wider field for her machinations when Caroline should enter the London world; a time to which, from her thirteenth year, she had secretly looked as the opportunity to make Caroline so conduct herself, as to cover her mother with shame and misery, and bring her fine plans of education to failure and contempt.