Woman As She Should Be Part 4

"For pity's sake, Ella, what is the matter?" for his sister's cheek had become colorless as marble, and sinking into a seat, she burst into a pa.s.sion of tears.

Still more alarmed, he laid down the letter, and advancing to her, implored her to tell him the cause of her agitation.

"Read for yourself," she said, "for I cannot bear to speak of it. Oh, Agnes, Agnes!"

A fresh mist of tears followed these words.

"Agnes, what of her?" and Arthur's cheek became almost as blanched as his sister's, and his hand trembled as he grasped the fatal ma.n.u.script.

He seemed to forget that the name might belong to some other than Miss Wiltshire, for among the circle of their acquaintance there were two or three with a similar designation, but in his inmost thoughts, though he had never thus addressed her, he had been so accustomed to a.s.sociate it with the remembrance of herself, that it had become dear and sacred as a household word, and when his sister's e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of "Agnes, Agnes," met his ear, he never dreamed of other, for

"There was but one such name for him So soft, so kind, so eloquent."

The letter was from a lady acquaintance of Ella's, written in a fine Italian hand, not very intelligible, and crossed and re-crossed in a most elaborate manner.

"Commend me to a lady's epistle," he said, in a tone more nearly approaching to bitterness than his sister had ever heard from him before. And, indeed, trying to the patience at any time, its perusal, just now, seemed a hopeless task; but at length, at the foot of the closing page, the writer having largely expatiated on the loss she had sustained in the departure of her dear friend Ella, and how eagerly she had looked forward to her return, and having exhausted all other items of information which "she hoped," she added, "might not prove uninteresting to her friend and Mr. Bernard," very coolly wound up by remarking, "By the bye, I suppose you have not heard of Miss Wiltshire's unhappy fate. I think it was a week or two after you left B----, that she embarked in one of the steamers, ostensibly on a visit to a relative who resided in H----, to act as bridesmaid for his daughter, but with an intimation from her uncle, so I understand, that unless she relinquished her fanatic notions, she must no longer expect a home beneath his roof.

The vessel in which she embarked sailed at the appointed time, but never reached its destination. It took fire the night after leaving the harbor, and all efforts to quench the flames were unavailing. The pa.s.sengers, of whom there were a large number on board, attempted to escape in boats; some were fortunate enough to succeed, but the ladies, among whom was Miss Wiltshire, without exception, found a watery grave.

It appears that the females had been first placed in one of the boats manned by two or three sailors, and then another boat received the male pa.s.sengers and crew. They had hoped to keep near each other, but were separated by the dark and tempestuous night. The gentlemen were fortunate enough to gain land, after a good deal of sailing, and from thence, having endured much fatigue, at length arrived here in safety; but of the missing ones no intelligence was gained, until yesterday, when a boat, identified by the pa.s.sengers, from the name printed on its stern, was picked up by some vessel, and brought into our harbor. It had drifted nearly as far as the coast of Newfoundland, and, strange to say, a woman's bonnet was found floating near it, which being also conveyed here, was immediately recognized by Mrs. Denham, as the very one Miss Wiltshire wore on leaving home, thus proving, beyond the slightest doubt, the terrible fate which befell her and her unfortunate companions. Mr. and Mrs. Denham seem almost bereft of their senses,--they refuse to be comforted,--and blame themselves as the sole cause of their niece's death; but, for my part, and I am sure you will agree with me, I think Miss Wiltshire's singular conduct was quite sufficient to warrant the anger of her relatives, who had always treated her with such indulgence; for it seems to me a great presumption, for a young person to set up her own ideas, in opposition to those who certainly are far more capable of judging of what is right and wrong.

"Poor thing, she has gone now, so it would not be right to speak too harshly; but I cannot help telling you, that she was never a favorite of mine, for I do dislike that pretending to be so much better than others, and she had such a soft, winning way with her, that I believe some almost thought her an angel, but she couldn't thus have imposed on me."

Arthur read no further. He forgot his sister's presence; forgot that the epistle belonged to her, and with an impulse of indignation he could not control, he tore it in pieces, scattering its contents to the winds; while with open, wondering eyes, the tears suddenly checked, Ella looked on without speaking, almost ready to conclude that her brother had taken leave of his senses. He turned from the open cas.e.m.e.nt, and as he met her inquiring and troubled gaze, instantly became himself again.

"Forgive me, dear sister," he said, in a tone of mingled anger and grief, "that I have destroyed that =precious= ma.n.u.script," laying an emphasis on the word precious; "but oh, Ella, Ella, is it possible that such fearful intelligence can be true? It almost seems," he added, in a tone of anguish and despair, "that heaven could not permit one so young, so lovely, to perish in such a heart-rending manner,"--he stopped abruptly,--and Ella was spared replying by a gentle tap at the door.

"Come in," she said in a low, faint voice, and, in compliance with the invitation, an elderly American lady, who was on a visit to some friends that resided opposite, and with whom Ella had become quite intimate during her sojourn in the place, entered the apartment.

"I have been wanting so much to see you, my dear child," she said, affectionately, "and have been looking for you all the morning, and finding you did not make your appearance, concluded to come in search of you. But what is the matter," said she, pausing, and glancing first at Ella, and then at her brother, "I trust you have not heard any bad news?"

"We have, indeed, dear Madam," replied Arthur, with an effort to control his voice, "the loss of a very dear friend,"--here the tones visibly faltered,--"by the burning of a vessel at sea, and the subsequent upsetting of a boat, in which some of the pa.s.sengers were endeavoring to make their escape."

"That is indeed very, very sad news," said the old lady, affectionately clasping Ella's hand, "and I, my friends, can sympathize with you, for five years ago to-day, my son, my darling son, the pride of my heart, the charm and ornament of our dwelling, set sail from his native sh.o.r.es, for a distant land, and from that moment unto this, no tidings ever reached me of his fate, for the vessel was heard of never after."

"Do you know," she said to Ella, a few moments after, as Arthur, with some murmured apology left the room, for he felt that human sympathy, however precious at other times, seemed but to madden him now, and he longed to be alone--"Do you know," she repeated, as the young girl's eyes, swollen with weeping, were upraised to her benevolent countenance, "that I was standing at the window right opposite, when you drove up to the door, and as your brother quickly alighted from the carriage, and tenderly a.s.sisted you out, my heart beat quick; the blood forsook my cheeks, and my whole frame was convulsed with emotion, for so strikingly did he resemble my lost one in look and manner, that, for the moment, I wildly dreamed that he had come back to bless me."

The old lady's tears flowed freely.

"I miss him so much, so very much," she said, "and especially on the anniversary of that fatal day which tore him from my fond embrace, and I can well appreciate the emotion which lent intensity to David's pathetic exclamation, 'Oh my son, my son, would to heaven I had died for thee, oh, my son, my son.'"

While Mrs. Cartwright was thus, by a relation of her own trials, endeavoring to divert, in some measure, Ella's mind, and prevent her from dwelling too exclusively on this painful event, Arthur, having gained his chamber, was now pacing the floor with restless steps, his whole soul a prey to the most intense emotions of grief, such as he had never before experienced. At one moment he felt stupefied, at the suddenness of the blow; the next, aroused again to the consciousness of its terrible reality. At length a hope, that seemed to up-spring from the depth of his despair, shed a faint light over the chaotic darkness that reigned within. "The information may be exaggerated," was his mental solving, "for it is plain that the writer, in penning it, was actuated by no feelings of good-will, and there may yet exist a hope of Anges's escape." With this idea, he opened another epistle, which he had received, but not yet read. It was from an elderly gentleman, who had always held Agnes in the deepest esteem, and with a trembling hand he broke the seal. Alas for his futile hopes! Not at the close of the page, as in the one received by Ella, but at the very commencement of the letter, was the mournful intelligence communicated, and while the narrator deeply deplored the event, he intimated, at the same time, that not a doubt existed in his own mind, or in the minds of her friends, as to the certainty of her untimely fate.

Arthur laid the letter aside, and again commenced his restless pacing.

Alas, he had once almost imagined himself a Christian, for had he not been sedulous in the discharge of every duty, and, like the young man referred to in Scripture, could have said, with reference to the moral law as far as outward observances are concerned, "All these have I kept from my youth up." But now, mitigating, soothing, extracting from grief, however mighty, some portion of its bitterness, where was the resignation of the Christian? Not, certainly, in that heart so full of bitterness, that was ready to contend with heaven for having reclaimed its own; its power, its goodness, its wisdom, were almost, unconsciously, arraigned, and finite man presumed to pa.s.s judgment on the acts of infinite benevolence, until, at length, shocked at his own rebellious feelings,--and startled, nay, terrified, at this the deepest insight he had ever obtained of the natural depravity of his heart, he sank into a chair, and in utter recklessness abandoned himself to the tide of grief which seemed waiting to overwhelm him.

Oh there are terrible moments in human experience, moments when even the Christian is so haunted by the demon of unbelief, when the dire enemy of G.o.d and man takes advantage of some unpropitious circ.u.mstance, some painful affliction, to taunt the soul, already almost crushed, and to inquire, with fiendish malignity, "Where is now thy G.o.d?" that if not wholly overcome, he, at least, escapes alone with fearful wounds from the trying conflict; how then can that one sustain the a.s.sault who is totally unprepared, and who knows but little of the source from whence alone help can come? Well, indeed, for frail humanity, that there is a tender, pitying Father, who "knoweth our frame, and remembereth we are dust," and oftentimes, when our need is sorest, sends, in his own good way, unexpected relief.

With his face buried in his hands, heedless of the lapse of time, and of anything save his own absorbing emotion, Arthur still sat in the armchair, into which he had thrown himself, his thoughts dwelling, with strange pertinacity, upon the past,--the past that seemed to mock him now.

They expected very shortly to have returned home, and he had antic.i.p.ated so much pleasure in that return. He had never a.n.a.lyzed the source of that pleasure, but now that it was removed, he saw it too clearly; it was the hope, the expectation, of meeting with her. He recalled to mind the hours he had pa.s.sed with her,--happy hours, all too quickly flown; her winning smile, the sweetly persuasive tones of her voice, her earnest and thoughtful manner, all came back to haunt him with their memory. Oh, how distinctly he remembered one of the last conversations he had with her, when, in her own mellifluous tones, she had repeated Young's exquisite lines,--

"Stricken friends Are angels sent on errands full of love,-- For us they languish, and for us they die."

Never had he felt their beauty as now, for the storm of pa.s.sion had in a measure subsided, and the still small voice of conscience once more a.s.serted its power.

"Oh, Agnes, Agnes," he murmured, "you tarried on our earth as an angel of light, and now you have but returned to your native sphere, and rejoined your sister spirits, but could you see my rebellious heart, how infinitely removed from the resignation and purity that can alone find admission into the haven of bliss, how should I sink in your esteem, if, indeed, surrounded by the spirits of the blessed, your thoughts ever turn to so miserable an inhabitant of earth."

A book lay on the table beside him. He took it up mechanically, scarcely knowing what he did. It was an elegant edition of Mrs. Hemans' poems, and had been the gift of Agnes to his sister a few weeks previous to her leaving home.

On the fly-leaf she had inscribed Ella's name, and the sight of her hand-writing sent a fresh thrill of agony to his heart. But last evening, on borrowing the book from his sister, he had contemplated it with such delight; now, it was but the fatal reminder of "what had been, but never more could be." With the restlessness of a weary heart, he turned over page after page, until his glance was arrested by some lines she had evidently marked. How bitterly appropriate they seemed now as he read,--

"Go, to a voice such magic influence give Thou canst not lose its melody and live; And make an eye the load-star of thy soul; And let a glance the springs of thought control.

Gaze on a mortal form with fond delight, Till the fair vision mingles with thy sight; There seek thy blessings; there repose thy trust Lean on the willow, idolize the dust!

Then, when thy treasure best repays thy care, Think on that dread '=forever=,' and despair."

It is true these lines, evidently addressed to an unbeliever in our holy Christianity, were not, in that respect, applicable to him, yet he felt that the reproof came home to his own conscience; for earth had too much engrossed his vision, and while from childhood he had been taught that life and immortality are brought to light by the Gospel, in his despairing grief he had almost lost sight of the blessed possibility of being re-united to her, whom he now contemplated as a sinless spirit in the regions of eternal bliss.

Far reaching as Eternity were the results of these hours of affliction, and with higher and holier aims, and the determination to consecrate life's remaining days, weeks, or years, to that service which is alone worthy of being engaged in by immortal beings, Arthur Bernard returned once more to the battle of life, with a heart crushed and bleeding, it is true, but not dest.i.tute of Peace, that celestial visitant, or of heavenly hope, pointing to a brighter and more enduring inheritance.

CHAPTER VIII.

The winter had set in unusually early. Along the bleak coast of Newfoundland, and through its dreary and spa.r.s.ely inhabited islands, November blasts raged fiercely, lashing to fury the crested waves that beat against the giant rocks, which, standing sentinel-like on the sh.o.r.e, seemed to frown defiantly on them; or laving, far and wide, the long, flat sand beach, that afforded less obstruction to their impetuous progress. To a remote part of this dreary coast we would now direct the attention of our reader. Scarcely fair, even when Summer lavished upon it her fairest smiles, there, no traces of beauty invited the weary pilgrim to tarry and rest within their refreshing shade; no garden, gay with flowers, rang with childish laughter, as the little ones plucked their fragrant blossoms; but rugged hills, frowning rocks, and desolate sand beaches, a.s.sumed the place of waving woods, smiling corn-fields, and blooming orchards; while for the melodious notes of woodland songsters, was heard the wild cry of the stormy petrel, or the shrill scream of the large sea-gull.

But "Nature never fails the heart that loves her," and while dest.i.tute of the exuberant charms of more genial climes, the spot to which we allude was not without attraction to an admirer of the sublime and picturesque.

Nor was there wanting wild beauty in the scene which greeted the spectator, who might perchance on some lovely summer's morning ascend the steep hills, or pause for rest on one of the rocky eminences jutting out into the sea. Before him lay the wide expanse of ocean, reaching far beyond the keenest vision, calm at that moment as though it had never been lashed to fury by wailing tempests, and reflecting in its mirror-like surface the azure heavens that smiled brightly above.

Beneath his feet the stunted herbage a.s.sumed its liveliest hue of emerald green, diversified here and there by some tiny, hardy wild flowers, while the distant sail, gleaming in the sunlight, and then pa.s.sing beyond the eager vision,--the fishermen's huts, scattered here and there on the rugged and uneven land,--the fishing shallops, and boats of every variety, that dotted the waters, with their owners, some standing on the beach, and some in their vessels, but all engaged in the one occupation of securing and preserving the finny tribe, their only source of wealth, gave an air of animation to the scene, while the merry laugh of children, and the cheerful tones of women, as they hurried to the beach to a.s.sist the parent or husband, spoke of social ties, and seemed to say, that peace and contentment were not alone the a.s.sociates of refinement, education, and luxury.

But quite a different aspect did that barren coast present when chilly Autumn and relentless Winter resumed their dreaded reign. Then, indeed, to the inhabitant of the city, dreary beyond description would a residence within one of its small yet hospitable huts appear, and he must possess resources in himself of no common order, or be sustained by a lofty sense of duty, who could cheerfully and contentedly remain through those cheerless seasons.

Standing somewhat isolated, and at a distance from the sh.o.r.e, yet commanding a fine view of the sea, was a cottage of larger dimensions, and of neater appearance than the generality of the fishermen's dwellings. It was built on an irregular tract of land, that sloped down to the sh.o.r.e, and behind it rose a ragged hill, in summer partially covered with coa.r.s.e gra.s.s, that concealed its jagged rocks, and lent it an air of cheerfulness; but now its rude outline, no longer softened by the verdure and sunshine, presented a weird and desolate appearance. In front of the cottage, which contained four or five rooms, with a small attic above, used for storing away provisions, &c., was a piece of ground, enclosed by a wooden railing, where a few vegetables were planted each spring; but these had long ago been gathered in, and the land was now enjoying its Sabbath, to be continued for six long months, before it would again yield of its productions, for the benefit of its hardy and thrifty owners.

The interior of the dwelling, though roughly fashioned, and furnished in the most simple manner, was not uninviting, for there was that atmosphere of cleanliness and neatness about it, which renders the rudest spot more attractive than luxurious habitations, where it is found wanting. Through the centre ran a narrow hall, out of which opened the different rooms. On the right hand, just as you entered, was a door leading into a good-sized apartment, fulfilling the united duties of kitchen, parlor, and sitting-room, while at the opposite side were several chambers, small, but clean and airy.

In the sitting-room,--for by that term we shall designate the princ.i.p.al apartment,--a bright coal fire was blazing cheerily in the large open fire-place, casting its pleasant light over the spotless and carefully sanded floor, gleaming on the plastered walls, and lingering to see itself gaily reflected on the shining pewter, and brightly colored delf, that, neatly arranged on the bowed shelves of the snowy dresser, were evidently the pride of the housekeeper.

A white cloth covered the rude wooden table that stood in the centre of the room, and the mistress of the dwelling was hurrying to and fro, evidently intent on preparing the evening repast, while from the bake-kettle, that had just been taken from the fire, the fragrance of newly-baked bread ascended, filling the place with its odor; an odor by no means ungrateful to appet.i.tes, sharpened by manly labor and healthy sea-breezes.

While the busy matron was thus happily employed in her labors of love,--for such they emphatically were to her,--the daughter, a girl of eighteen years of age, and two younger sons, were with their father on the beach, a.s.sisting him in sorting, and putting in barrels, a quant.i.ty of fish, designed for the family's use during the winter.

"It will be a fearful night, father," said the girl, pausing from her labors, and looking out on the black, swollen waves, while the wind, as it swept furiously by, more than once obliged her to cling to the rock for support.

"It will be a fearful night, father," she repeated,--and, hesitating for a moment, she added, "and brother William is at sea."

"Ay," responded the brawny, stalwart, and good-humored looking man, "it will be, as you say, la.s.s, a stormy night, and a terrible one, I reckon, to poor seamen,--for there is more than William on the ocean."