The Silver Lining Part 5

"But, I thought Madame was better, much better," she said, half aloud, half to herself.

"Ah! unfortunately," said the widower, "'twas only the lull before the storm--a state which is common to people dying from consumption.

Make haste," he continued to the bewildered Abigail, "put the blinds down."

Marie did as she was told and the man proceeded downstairs.

In the kitchen, seated on a chair, a boy was sobbing. His father had just told him that death had visited them. And the boy felt completely weighed down with grief. His mother had been so good to him. "Such an excellent mother," he said to himself; "ah, how I shall miss her."

He sobbed silently; the hot tears were few and far between. His grief was too intense to be demonstrative.

He stayed there for fully an hour, in the same att.i.tude, bowed down as it were by this heavy load which had fallen upon him.

Let us go back into Frank Mathers' history--for Frank Mathers it was who mourned his mother's loss--for a few years.

Mr. Mathers, his wife and only son were seated round the fire one evening.

"You will be fourteen years of age to-morrow," said Frank's father, "it is time for me to think of finding you a situation."

Frank did not answer, the idea of leaving school did not please him; he looked up from his book for an instant, then pretended to resume his reading.

"I shall talk to Mr. Baker, the grain merchant; as you have a liking for books, I think you would do well in his office. Would you like to go?" said his father.

"If you think I am old enough to leave school," mumbled Frank.

"Certainly you are old enough," said his father, "we can't afford to keep you at school all your life."

Mrs. Mathers looked at her son sympathetically, she knew he loved his school immensely.

"You will only have to be at the office from nine till five, and, if you are diligent, you shall be able to study a few hours every day,"

she said.

"Yes," said the boy reluctantly.

In less than a week after this, Frank had left school and was settled in Mr. Baker's employment.

The winter was beginning to make itself felt, and the days were growing shorter and shorter. Ah! how Frank liked these winter evenings. He took his books, and, drawing his chair near a small table close to the fire, he kept plodding on, evening after evening, educating himself constantly.

At the age of nineteen, he obtained a situation as clerk in a bank.

He possessed a good knowledge of English and French. He was also acquainted with German, Latin and Mathematics.

He had learnt unaided two systems of shorthand: one English and one French.

Neither was he ignorant of other useful sciences, of which he had striven to acquire at least a few elements.

Thus armed for the world's battle, he thought himself almost invulnerable. "I am bound to succeed," he sometimes said to himself.

"I have done all that I possibly could do towards that end. I don't believe in chance. 'What a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'"

If ever a youth deserved to succeed, it certainly was Frank Mathers.

He had sacrificed many pleasures for the sake of better fitting himself for life's struggle. Often, when his companions invited him to spend an evening in questionable pleasures; "No, he would answer, I have no time for that." At last, they ceased to torment him.

He liked these evenings spent at home, quietly, near the fire, alone with his mother, who sometimes lifted her eyes from her knitting or sewing, and affectionately gazed for a few moments upon her son.

They were nearly always alone, mother and son; for the father, who was a carpenter, spent his evenings in the workshop.

As her son neared his twentieth birthday, Mrs. Mathers felt that she would never live to see it. She was very anxious for her son's future. After all, would he always keep in the path in which he was now walking?

One evening when she felt worse than usual, her anxiousness for her son's welfare rose to such a pitch that she ventured to speak a few words to him.

"Frank," she began, "you know that I am not in very good health."

"Yes, mother."

"I don't think I shall live long," continued she, "and, I should so much like to know if you have formed a decision to be a n.o.ble, good, and upright man."

"You are not going to die," said the youth in a half-frightened tone, "you will be better soon, I hope."

"No," she said, "I am slowly but steadily declining;" then she added in a very affectionate tone: "Will you promise me, Frank, that you will always strive to do what is right?"

"Mother," replied the son, his voice quivering with emotion: "I will be good."

Neither of them said another word for a few minutes. Their hearts were too full. Affectionate love, grief and resignation were filling their souls.

Soon, the father entered and the family retired.

Next day Mrs. Mather's prophecies were fulfilled. She felt much worse and stayed in bed. In less than a week, she was dead and buried.

Thus deprived of his mother, Frank Mathers felt intensely lonely. He suppressed his grief as much as possible, but it could be seen that he suffered.

He had his father, 'tis true, but Mr. Mathers was a man of a gloomy temperament. But a young man of nineteen ought not to be attached to his mother's pinafore! The house seemed so empty, it seemed quite large now, a roomy house with no furniture. The air he breathed was not perfumed with the sweet breath of love as it was wont to be.

He grew melancholy. He had never been of a very bright temperament, and the life of self-sacrifice which he had hitherto led, had not helped him towards being cheerful.

Besides, there was no one to cheer him now, no kind word to spur him on. "Ah! life without love," he sighed, "life without love is hardly worth living."

From bad he went to worse. He almost ceased to eat. He lost a great deal of his former activity and was often absent-minded. His employers noticed this, for he often made false entries in the books.

One morning, the manager of the bank thought fit to speak to him. "I cannot make out what ails you," he said, "but you will have to be more careful in the future."

"Pull yourself up, Mr. Mathers, try and take more interest in your work, or I shall feel obliged to dispense with your services altogether."

"I must try," answered Frank. "I _will_ try, Sir."

And try he did, but all to no purpose.

A cloud seemed to hang over him; he was in a state of lethargy. "Am I going mad?" he said to himself more than once. No! he was not insane, not yet at any rate; he simply took no interest in life.

Nothing seemed to distract him; he cared for nothing, spoke to no one except when questioned.

His father and Marie often tried to coax him into conversation.