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THE ROPE OF THE SWING SUDDENLY BROKE,AND LITTLE ELSIE WAS THROWN TO THE GROUND.
There had echoed one sharp scream of fear from the childish lips, and then followed a sudden silence, which seemed to paralyze the mother's footsteps.
Quickly recovering herself, she flew to the spot where her darling lay, and lifting her gently from the ground she carried her indoors, bidding Kitty at the same time run with all possible speed for a doctor. After waiting as it seemed to the agonized mother an eternity, the doctor arrived, and examined the still unconscious little girl.
"Doctor," said the poor mother, "I beseech you to tell me, is there serious injury?"
Dr. Webster, who was himself the father of a little child about Elsie's age, looked compassionately at the widow's white, strained features.
"I fear, Mrs. Rose," he answered, "the back is somewhat injured, and there has been a great shock to the system; but keep up heart and hope, she is young and her constitution is good. I will call again this evening and bring my partner with me."
Shortly after this the doctor took his leave, and Mrs. Rose, with a sorely burdened heart, watched beside her darling. It was the first anxiety she had known in connection with her children.
From their babyhood upwards, save for slight childish ailments, their health had hitherto been robust, a fact which their bright eyes and bonny looks had testified.
Voiceless prayers went up from her heart as she bent over her unconscious child.
"Oh, God!" she pleaded. "Spare me my little Elsie, my baby girl, for I cannot live without her."
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SIR MATTHEW'S PENITENCE
"FATHER, I'm going to Linwell!"
"Gracious, Matthew, you must be mad! You haven't taken a railway journey for months; and besides, whatever do you want to go there for?"
A look of irritability came across the old man's face as he spoke these words. Somehow of late he had been in the habit of giving up his will occasionally to his sole remaining son.
There was a strength and decision in Matthew which he could not altogether resist, and moreover the baronet realized the fact that he was growing old, and he could not afford to quarrel with Matthew, as he had in past days with his sons Gilbert and Wilfrid. Matthew with his lameness and consequent weakness was very dear to the old man's heart, and it was still his darling wish that Matthew might yet marry, and have a son who should inherit The Towers.
But Matthew thought otherwise, and his heart yearned over his eldest brother's children. Of their mother, he knew but little, as all intercourse had long ago been forbidden, and to please his father, he had given way in this respect, though now he sorely blamed himself for such weakness. Of Mrs. Wilfrid Rose he had no particularly pleasant recollections; in the days of the past she had been an intensely proud woman, and her departure from The Towers was rather a relief than otherwise, He had almost fancied that she scorned his weakness, and Matthew on this point was very sensitive.
Heedless of the cloud on his father's brow, he pursued his subject fearlessly.
"I want to see Hugh's wife and her children," he said.
"Then you'll do it in direct opposition to my will," was the angry retort. "I repeat, you must be mad to think of such a thing."
"It is not such a very long journey, father, after all—I suppose about forty miles—and besides, I shall take Hickson with me," answered Matthew soothingly.
"Well, if you've made up your mind, of course it's no use for me to seek to alter it, only understand I am not going to have a troop of unruly children here."
"I understand, father," said Matthew; "you must just humour this little whim of mine, because I have a feeling that good will come of my visit to Linwell."
"H'm!" was all the baronet retorted. But nevertheless a kindly gleam came into his eyes after Matthew had left the room.
"He's a good lad, is Matthew," he muttered. "I shall miss him sorely."
Prophetic words were they, for no sooner had Matthew departed with his trusted valet, than the blankness of desolation seemed to fall on the old man's heart.
He grew positively nervous and morbid, and the silence oppressed him strangely.
"The house wants children's voices, it is as still as the grave," he thought drearily, as looking out from the window one chill October morning (the day following his son's departure), he noted how the mists were hanging over the meadows. It seemed to him as though they were enwrapping his heart and soul in their chill, white folds.
He sat down to breakfast, but he could not enjoy the meal as usual. His mind kept reverting to the past, and he realized as he sat at his lonely repast, how bitterly hard he had been in the bygone days.
"I must be getting weak or childish," he thought irritably; "pshaw! I'm sick of myself."
During the day, his self-reproach grew deeper and deeper; he thought of Gilbert as a bonny lad, of Gilbert in the Land where nothing may enter to defile, of his widow left desolate, of her helpless bairns. Then his thoughts roamed to Wilfrid, of his lonely grave in a foreign clime, and actually his fierce old eyes grew misty, with mingled pain and regret.
"Pride and anger have been my bane," he said bitterly.
The shadows at length gathered round; it was the longest day he had ever known. He fought against the depression, the sorrow, the regret, against all his nobler feelings, until at length he was vanquished, and at night-fall, in the silence of his room, a cry went up to the gates of Heaven from a broken and contrite spirit:
"God be merciful to me, a sinner."
* * * * *
Matthew Rose had settled himself at the best hotel Linwell could boast, and was anxiously biding his time to make the acquaintance of his young nephews and nieces.
A great sorrow hung over The Gables; the boys with softened tones and noiseless footsteps moved about the house, as though the Death Angel had already entered. There was sorrow too at York House, for Mrs. Wilfrid dearly loved her little niece; the child with her winsome ways had completely vanquished the heart of the worldly-minded woman.
Reg was strangely moody and silent in these days. He would watch for his mother's return after one of her frequent visits to The Gables, with a white and anxious face.
"How is she to-day, mother?" he inquired one morning with intense eagerness, seeing an expression of deep sadness on her face.
"She is conscious, Reg, but I have seen the doctor, and he gives little hope that she will ever be strong and well again, even if her life is spared, which is doubtful." Tears checked further utterance, and she hid her eyes with her handkerchief.
Reg's expression of terrified grief would have frightened her, could she have seen it. A groan of anguish escaped his lips, which caused his mother to look at him with surprise.
"Why, Reg, I didn't know you took any notice of the child," she said.
"Oh, mother!" he cried, utterly broken down. "If she dies, I am her murderer."
"My dear boy, what are you saying?"
"I can't bear it, mother, I can't! The doctor 'must' make her well!" he sobbed.
"Reg," she replied, with unusual reverence in her tones, "Elsie is in God's hands, we must pray for her recovery."
At this moment Monty and Gwennie entered the room, each anxious to know the latest news of their little cousin. Reg paid no heed to their entrance, so overcome was he with the intensity of his emotions.
"I can't pray, mother, God wouldn't hear me."
"My dear child, don't give way so, you really must not," she said at length.
"Oh, you don't understand," he cried hopelessly. "Mother, I cut the rope of the swing partly through, so that Hugh should fall when he did his sums there."
Mrs. Wilfrid understood at length, and she looked terribly grieved and disappointed in her son; but there was, alas! more to follow.
"I must tell you all now, mother," he went on. "I hid that book in Hugh's desk, so that Mr. Deans should think he copied his sums."
Monty's rage burst forth at this last admission.
"And you let me fight Frank because of it, and black his eyes, Reg! I'll never forgive you!" And with these words the lad, with tears of mortification in his eyes, rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Gwennie, whose tender heart was touched by her brother's remorse, drew near him and laid her hand gently on his arm.
"Poor Reg," she said softly, "don't cry! Tell God you're sorry, and p'raps if you ask Him, He'll make Elsie well."
It was at this juncture, that Matthew Rose was ushered into the room. Having heard of the sorrow at The Gables, he refrained from calling there, until he had ascertained from Mrs. Wilfrid the particulars of the accident, which had taken place two or three days previously.
Quickly recovering herself, the lady welcomed her visitor graciously.
Bidding Reg and Gwennie leave the room, she presently gave him an account of the little sufferer's condition, in accents of such tender feeling that Matthew was deeply touched.
Needless to say, she refrained from mentioning the sad part which Reg had played in the accident.
A FRIEND INDEED
"MOTHER!"
"Yes, darling!"
"What makes my head feel so funny?"
"You are tired, my little one," answered Mrs. Rose with infinite tenderness to Elsie's plaintive questioning.
"Yes, so tired, mother; put your hand on my head a little while."
Mrs. Rose obeyed, and her cool hand seemed to soothe the little sufferer.
"Mother," she continued, half wandering, "Hugh says I'm too little to fight."
"Yes, my pet, so you are; mother's little Elsie doesn't want to be a soldier," she answered, thinking the child's mind was reverting to "The Wars of the Roses," which occasionally she had heard discussed amongst her children, though never, be it said, without expressed disapproval.
"Yes, I do," she answered half petulantly, "Rachel says I'm not too little; she told me—" and here the child's eyes, with a clear light in their depths, sought her mother's face anxiously—"I might be a soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ."
"Yes, darling, so you may," answered Mrs. Rose, a rush of tears nearly blinding her sight.
"Then ask Him, mother, to let me be His little soldier," said Elsie eagerly. "Say it out loud, mummie dear," she pleaded, using in her excitement the pet name which came most naturally to her lips when she was particularly desirous of some favour.
Mrs. Rose hesitated.
"Say it now, 'cause I'm going to sleep presen'y."
The well-nigh broken-hearted mother fell on her knees, and for a while there was silent pleading.
"I can't hear, mummie," she said fretfully.
Then with a strange calm coming over her spirit, Mrs. Rose said slowly and clearly—
"Dear Lord Jesus, make Elsie Thine own little soldier, for Thy name's sake. Amen."
"Thank you, mother dear, that's all right now. Good-night—I'm getting ra'ver sleepy."
The sweet eyes closed wearily, and through the long night-watches, the devoted mother never once left her bedside. Morning dawned, and the spark of life was flickering just a little stronger, and the doctor in a more cheery voice bade her take heart.
"While there's life there's hope," he said, using the time-worn words with an expression of deep sympathy in his kindly face, and from that day it seemed the child slowly but surely began to mend.
* * * * *
"Tell me, Miss Beaumont, is there anything I can do for Lisa?"
"Yes, Matthew, there is much that you can do—I think you are raised up to help her in a time of bitter need and adversity."
Matthew's delicate features wore an expression of tender sympathy, for Miss Beaumont's speech had touched him.
Hitherto he had been unable to obtain an interview with his sister-in-law, as when she was not engaged in nursing, she was taking the necessary rest.
Miss Beaumont did all in her power to render assistance; it was she who superintended the household, looked after the boys, mended torn garments, and soothed to her utmost the sad-hearted mother.
But the time of her departure was drawing near, there remained but a little while ere she would have to bid farewell to The Gables. Her brother had need of her in a foreign land, otherwise she would not have deserted the Rose family in their extremity.
In a few well-chosen words, she gave Matthew an outline of the widow's circumstances, and right nobly did the young man rise to the occasion.
At Miss Beaumont's instigation, he procured a nurse to assist the tired mother, and he determined that no comfort which money could procure should be lacking. It was through Miss Beaumont that Mrs. Rose knew of Matthew's goodness and generosity.
It was on the fourth morning after his arrival at Linwell that he obtained the much-desired interview with Mrs. Rose.
"Matthew," she said gently, as she took his hand with both her own, "God bless you for your goodness to me and mine. I can guess now who befriended me with my boys' education!"
"Oh, that's nothing, Lisa! What we want now is to get the little one well," he said cheerfully, albeit he was touched by her words.
As Matthew gazed at the sweet worn face of his brother's widow, his heart reproached him terribly for all the neglect of past years.
He had been afraid to combat his father's strong will, but no longer had he any fear; then and there he registered a vow before Heaven that never more should Elizabeth Rose struggle against the rough winds of adversity.
After a prolonged conversation, Matthew rose to take his leave, and the mother with renewed hope and courage went back to her little one's bedside.
Matthew's young nephews and nieces soon became greatly attached to him—all save Reg, who held himself strangely aloof; a fact which gave Matthew a certain amount of regret, and he made up his mind by consistent kindness and forbearance to win the lad's heart. And he won it at last, in a most unexpected manner.
Hugh in a moment of confidence had told his uncle the miserable story of his humiliation at school, and of the consequent coldness of the head-master, Dr. Willoughby.
Elsie's sad accident had for a while driven the trouble out of his mind, but as soon as a ray of hope pierced the gloom of the household, Hugh's thoughts again reverted to his disgrace.
Matthew was a good listener, and his wise counsel comforted Hugh more than a little.
Monty Rose, in the consciousness of his brother's guilt, felt very burdened and downcast, but until Reg's sense of honour bade him make what reparation lay in his power, the lad felt bound to secrecy.
Gwennie shed many tears about it, and it was almost the only secret she withheld from Ronnie, who, despite their occasional wordy warfare, was still her best and dearest friend.
One Saturday afternoon Matthew, when calling at York House, chanced to find Reg at home alone; after a kindly greeting, he looked at the lad critically.
"You're not looking up to the mark, my boy!" he said kindly.
"I've got a headache," answered Reg, flushing beneath his uncle's gaze. He might more truly have said a "heartache."
During the conversation which ensued a sudden inspiration flashed into Matthew's mind.
"I have been talking to Hugh," he said thoughtfully, "and he is very unhappy about this trouble at school. I wonder if you could help me. I want to clear his name before I return to The Towers, for I feel sure he is innocent, and that an enemy has done him this wrong."
Matthew unconsciously had sent an arrow straight to his listener's heart. He had no idea in his mind of fixing the guilt on Reg, and his astonishment was unbounded when the lad, hitherto so calm and self-contained in his presence, suddenly threw himself full length upon a couch, and hiding his face in his hands burst into tears.
Then in an instant the truth dawned upon Matthew.
"Reg, my poor boy," he said, gently laying his hand upon the lad's shoulder, "what is it?"
"Don't touch me, Uncle Matthew, I'm not fit. I am the most miserable boy in the whole world!" cried Reg, his voice quivering with emotion.
"Tell me all about it, from beginning to end," said Matthew firmly, yet with compassion in his tones.
Then the whole miserable story was told, even to the sad part he had played in Elsie's accident. For a while Matthew was silent, and then with a swift, silent prayer for guidance, he said quietly—
"That's well spoken, my boy; you have gained a victory over self, this afternoon, which is one step at least in the right direction. Now the first thing to be done, is to ask forgiveness of One whom you have grievously sinned against. Go to your room, Reg, and tell Him all, as you have told me, and ask for pardon. Then come to me again, and we will consider the next step."
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THREW HIMSELF FULL LENGTH UPON A COUCH.
Reg, now utterly humbled, obeyed, and after a little while returned to his uncle looking sad and subdued, albeit a great load was lifted from his heart.
Matthew realized that now was Reg's opportunity, and mindful of the truth of the proverb, he made up his mind to "strike the iron while it was hot."
"I want you to come with me, Reg, this afternoon," he said, "to see Dr. Willoughby."
"I will do anything you think right, Uncle Matthew," he answered sadly.
"We will go at once—that is, if you don't mind suiting your steps to mine," said Matthew, mindful of his lameness. The tenderness with which he spoke, and the entire absence of scorning, utterly won the lad, and in his heart, he both loved and revered the man who was thus leading him into the paths of truth and honour.
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PEACE AT LAST
MATTHEW had returned to The Towers, having fulfilled his mission well. His leave-taking on the Monday following Reg's confession was somewhat unexpected. It was owing to the fact that he had received a letter from his father, who, feeling himself to be growing old and feeble, and likewise weary of his own society, desired his son's immediate return.
Thus was Reg left with the hardest battles to fight, namely, to confess his grievous faults to his Aunt Elizabeth, and to suffer his humiliation at school. It was almost more than he knew how to contemplate, but having started on the upward path, he determined to proceed, however difficult the way.
It was all over at last. Hugh's name was cleared, and Reg, feeling as though life had no longer any hope or gladness, hid himself away in his bedroom and refused to be comforted. He had written his confession to his aunt, and the note was blistered with tears of genuine penitence.
For a while Mrs. Rose felt her heart to be hardened against the lad who had wrought so much sorrow. And not until the evening of the day, when on her knees she breathed the petition,—
"'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us,—"
was she softened towards the culprit.
Hugh and Frank were indignant. The former could far more easily forgive the wrong done to himself than the cruel act which had occasioned his little sister so much suffering. They were ready to wage any amount of warfare in harsh words and bitter upbraidings, but they soon realized the "Yorkists" had no longer any spirit to fight.
"It takes two to make a quarrel," said Frank, "so I suppose, as the Yorkists have given up the fight, the victory is ours."
"They are not even worth having for enemies," answered Hugh, with supreme contempt.
Ronnie sought out his little friend Gwennie next morning, and told her of his brother's decision to end the battle.
"Hugh says that you are none of you even worth having for enemies," he said.
Gwennie looked hurt, and Ronnie to comfort her slipped his hand into hers.
A sad little smile came over her face as she said wistfully, unconscious of the exquisite sweetness of her words—
"No, Ronnie, p'raps not, but don't you think we might be worth having as 'friends?'"
This was a good idea, thought Ronnie, and very clever of Gwennie.
"I'll tell Hugh what you say, Gwennie," he said. Then he added, drawing out of his pocket a round, rosy apple, "I've been saving this for you—it's such a beauty."
"Thank you ever so much, Ronnie; don't forget to tell Hugh what I say. Now I must go, for nurse is calling me," and with these words away ran Gwennie in obedience to the summons.
Mrs. Rose, on the morning following the receipt of Reg's penitent letter, wrote in answer these few words, which were long treasured by the lad.
"DEAR REG,"I forgive you from my heart as I would myself be forgiven by our loving Heavenly Father."Will you come and have tea with Elsie and me this afternoon? Miss Beaumont is superintending the dining-room tea, so we shall be quite by ourselves. Please come."Your affectionate"AUNT LISA."
Mrs. Wilfrid herself shed secret tears over the short note, and came to the conclusion that after all, notwithstanding her poverty and lack of "long descent," there was a great deal in Elizabeth Rose, and from henceforth she decided to cultivate more of her society.
Elsie, who was daily growing stronger, was delighted at the idea of receiving a visitor, and Reg, who brought with him a lovely picture-book as a gift from his mother, was a welcome and honoured guest.
The injuries which Elsie had received were happily not of a permanent nature, as was feared, although many weeks, perhaps months, must elapse ere she would be able to run about as usual.
Owing to their mother's influence, the three boys gradually received Reg into favour, and acting upon little peace-loving Gwennie's suggestion, they found to their surprise that the young cousins at York House were after all worth having as friends, and thus ended "The Wars of the Roses."
* * * * *
The morning of Miss Beaumont's departure drew nigh, and with tears and mutual regrets she bade good-bye to The Gables, and set her face towards the New World.
There appeared to be no prospect of any one taking her place, and the question of ways and means at times sorely troubled the widow's heart, but still her faith did not fail her.
One morning, when the future was weighing somewhat heavily upon her mind, the post brought her a letter from Sir Matthew Rose. Opening it with trembling fingers, for it was the first communication she had ever received from him, she read as follows—
"MY DEAR ELIZABETH,"My son and I are lonely at The Towers, and I feel myself to be growing old and feeble, and in need of a daughter's care."I am asking you, therefore, as a favour to come (you and your family) and take up your abode with us. Please do not let pride stand in the way. I am only too well aware that this is a tardy recognition, but remember to err is human, and to forgive—which is your prerogative—divine. We are 'needing' you, and realize that your presence will do much to brighten our lives. Your little daughter shall have the best medical attention, and I will gladly undertake the future of your sons, for Gilbert's sake and your own."Anxiously awaiting your reply,"Believe me,"Yours affectionately,"MATTHEW ROSE."
"'We are needing you.'" This phrase in the letter completely won the widow's heart, and thankfully she accepted the baronet's generous offer.
When the news reached York House, for a while Mrs. Wilfrid was both resentful and rebellious.
"Who is Elizabeth Rose," thought she, "to be thus favoured?"
But her better nature at length prevailed, and as the time of departure drew nigh, she manifested much kindliness of spirit.
Gwennie was inconsolable; but a letter received one morning, about a week later, from Sir Matthew Rose, greatly comforted her.
It was an invitation to the entire family to spend the Christmas holidays at The Towers.
Elsie's removal had necessitated great care, and special invalid appliances were brought into requisition at the baronet's expense.
Hugh alone of all the party felt a certain shamefacedness at the idea of meeting his grandfather, and at his first opportunity, he made ample apology for his impertinent letter.
With a graciousness to which in past days he was a stranger, Sir Matthew freely forgave the impulsive lad, and from thenceforth Hugh was his devoted adherent.
The weeks rolled on, and the blessed season of Christmas drew nigh. And what a Christmas-tide it was too! Such a time of merry-making, rejoicing and thanksgiving surely was never known in the grey old Towers, and the baronet's heart grew young again as he gazed at the bonny faces of his grandchildren. Little Elsie, in her convalescence, was as gay as any.
"Peace on earth, good-will to men," rang out the Christmas message, finding an echo in the glad hearts of those who assembled around the Yule-tide fire in the wainscoted dining-room at The Towers. Matthew, in his joy at the family reunion, in which he had taken so noble a part; was intensely happy, whilst his father's face actually beamed with gladness.
"Glory to God in the highest!"
Ah! This was the theme of Elizabeth Rose's rejoicing as she gave praise to Him who throughout her chequered pathway had never once failed her.
All too rapidly the holidays flew away, and Mrs. Wilfrid and her family once more returned to York House.
It was the twilight hour, and the children in their spacious play-room were amusing themselves contentedly.
The baronet, with Matthew and his daughter-in-law Elizabeth, sat talking beside the dining-room fire.
"The house seems a different place, Elizabeth," said Sir Matthew gently, "since you have come to us."
She smiled brightly as she replied, calling him by the name which he loved best to hear—
"Dear father, you are very, very good to us. I only trust that we shall never disappoint you."
"There is little fear of that, my child," he answered. "God has bestowed upon you 'good' children, and they have rich blessing in their mother.
"I came across some lines the other day," he added, after a little pause, "which made me think of you."
"What were they?" she said, smiling through a mist of happy tears.
"They were these," he answered, regarding her with true fatherly affection—
"'A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath,Than my son's wife, Elizabeth.'"
THE END
—————————————————————————————————Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.