The Maidens' Lodge Part 24

Rhoda was not pleased by Molly's last vocative, which she took as an uncomplimentary allusion to the faint shade of red in her hair,--a subject on which she was peculiarly sensitive. This bit of confidence had been exchanged out of the hearing of Madam, who had gone to a cabinet at the other end of the long room, but within that of Phoebe, who grew more uncomfortable every moment.

"Well, 'tis getting time to say ta-ta," said Molly, rising shortly after tea was over. "Where's that t.i.t of mine?"

"My dear, I will send to fetch your horse round," said Madam, "Pray, make my compliments to my Lady Delawarr, and tell her that I cannot but be very sensible of her kindness in offering Rhoda so considerable a pleasure."

Madam was about to add more, but Molly broke in.

"Come now! Can't carry all that flummery. My horse would fall lame under the weight. I'll say you did the pretty thing. Ta-ta! See you on Monday, old gentlewoman." She turned to Rhoda; threw a nod, without words, to Phoebe, and five minutes afterwards was trotting across the Park on her way home to Delawarr Court.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DELAWARR COURT.

"Le coeur humain a beaucoup de plis et de replis."

_Madame de Motteville_.

"And how goes it, my dear, with Madam and Mrs Rhoda?" inquired little Mrs Dorothy as she handed a cup to Phoebe.

"They are well, I thank you. Mrs Dolly, I have come to ask your counsel."

"Surely, dear child. Thou shalt have the best I can give. What is thy trouble?"

"I have two or three troubles," said Phoebe, sighing. "You know Rhoda is going to-morrow to Delawarr Court; and I am to go with her. I wish I need not!"

"Why, dear child?"

"Well, I am afraid it must sound silly," answered Phoebe, with a little laugh at herself; "but really, I can scarce tell why. Do you never feel thus unwilling to do a thing, Mrs Dorothy, almost without reason?"

"Ah, there is a reason," said the old lady: "and it comes either from your body or your mind, Phoebe. If 'tis from your body, let your mind govern it in any matter you _must_ do. If it come from your mind, either you see a clear cause for it, or you do not."

"I do not, Mrs Dolly. I reckon 'tis but the spleen."

Everything we call nervous then fell under the head of spleen.

"There is an older name for that, Phoebe, without it arise from some disorder of the body."

"What, Mrs Dorothy?"

"Discontent, my child."

"But that is sin!" said Phoebe, looking up, as if startled.

"Ay. 'Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.'"

"Then should I be willing to go, Mrs Dolly?"

"What hast thou asked, my dear? Should G.o.d's child be willing to do her Father's will?"

Phoebe's face became grave.

"Dear Phoebe, 'when the people murmured, it displeased the Lord.' Have a care!--Well, what is your next trouble?"

"I have had a letter from mother," said Phoebe, colouring and looking uncomfortable.

"Is that a trouble, child?"

"No,--not that. Oh no! But--"

"But a trouble sticks to it. Well,--what?"

"She says I ought to--to get married, Mrs Dorothy; and she looks for me to do it while I tarry at White-Ladies, for she reckons that will be the best chance."

Mrs Dorothy was silent. If her thoughts were not complimentary to Mrs Latrobe, she gave no hint of it to Phoebe.

"I don't think I should like it, please, Mrs Dorothy," said Phoebe uneasily. "And ought I?"

"I suppose somebody had better ask you first," was Mrs Dorothy's dry answer.

"I would rather live with Mother," continued Phoebe. And suddenly a cry broke out which had been repressed till then. "I wish--oh, I wish Mother loved me! She never seemed to do it but once, when I was ill of the fever. I do so wish Mother could love me!"

Mrs Dorothy busied herself for a moment in putting the cups together on her little tea-tray. Then she came over to Phoebe.

"Little maid!" she said, lovingly, "there are some of us women for whom no love is safe, saving the love of Him that died for us. If we have it otherwise, we go wrong and set up idols in our hearts. Art thou one of those, Phoebe?"

"I don't know!" sobbed Phoebe. "How can I know?"

"Dear child, He knows. Canst thou not trust Him? 'Dieu est ton Berger.' The Shepherd takes more care of the sheep, Phoebe, than the sheep take care of themselves. Poor, blundering creatures that we are!

always apt to think, in the depth of our hearts, that G.o.d would rather not save us, and that we shall have to take a great deal of trouble to persuade Him to do it. Nay! it is the Shepherd that longs to have the lamb safe folded, and the poor silly lamb that is always straying away.

Phoebe, 'the Father Himself loveth thee.'"

"Oh, I know! But I can't see Him, Mrs Dorothy."

"I suppose He knows that, too," answered her old friend, softly. "He knows how much easier it would be to believe if we could see and feel.

Maybe 'tis therefore He hath p.r.o.nounced so special a blessing upon such as have not seen, and yet have believed."

"Mrs Dorothy,"--and Phoebe looked up earnestly,--"don't you think living is hard work?"

"I did once, my maid. But I am beyond the burden and the heat of the day now. My tools are gathered together and put away, and I am waiting for the Master to call me in home to my rest. Thou too wilt come to that, child, if thy life be long enough. And to some, even here,--to all, afterward,--it is given to see where the turns were taken in the path, and whereto the road should have led that we took not. Ah, child, one day thy heaviest cause of thankfulness may be that in this or that matter--perchance in the matter that most closely engaged thee in this life--thy Father did not give thee the desire of thine heart."

"Yet that is promised as a blessing?" said Phoebe, interrogatively, looking up.

"As a blessing, dear child, when thy will is G.o.d's will. Can it be any blessing, when thy will and His run contrary the one to the other?"

"Then you think I should not wish to be loved!" said Phoebe, with a heavy sigh.

"I think G.o.d's child will do well to leave the choice of all things to her Father."