Leila’s face quite brightened as she saw him depart; the very idea that he would bring back intelligence quite raised her spirits; she never for a moment dreaded that this intelligence might not be favourable.
Mr. Howard returned sooner than was expected, but he had learned nothing. Neither the Victoria, nor the other steamboat which had sailed on the same day, had come in, and the owners were in much anxiety, as there were reports of several wrecks on the coast. This last part of the intelligence received, Mr. Howard did not communicate to Leila, but he looked anxious, and she knew his face too well not to feel considerable alarm. Next day he againwent to London. Mrs. Stanley saw it would be too much to ask any of them to attend to their lessons; Leila was beginning to have a pale, exhausted look, she therefore gave Selina a book of natural history to read to them aloud, while the other two worked by the window. Poor Leila, she did not listen much. She worked very little, and looked out a great deal; after some hours horses’ hoofs were heard on the gravel walk; she saw her papa alight at the door; her heart beat violently; she felt unable to move; he looked up and smiled; she could not read that smile; it was sweet as usual, for when was his smile ever otherwise when it rested on her? But it was a melancholy smile. He entered the room, they all clustered round him.
“The Victoria has come in,” he said.
Leila clapped her hands. “My pets, my pets,” she cried; “and Dash, and Peggy Dobie—all—ALLsafe!”
“Dear child,” Mr. Howard continued, looking anxiously at her, “dear child, your pets are safe, but Dash and Peggy—” he stopped.
“What of them, papa? Oh tell me, tell me quick—why do you look so grieved?”
Mr. Howard drew her towards him. “Try to calm yourself, my beloved child, for you have much to bear. Peggy and Dash are not in theVictoria; they have not been seen since the night of the storm.”
“But how is that possible, papa? It cannot be, they were in the ship—oh, yes they were. I cannot understand what you mean. I am not very frightened; say it all out quick.”
Mr. Howard then went on to say that he had not been able to see the captain, and had got but a confused account from two of the sailors, but that both agreed in the same story. The storm had been most fearful; they had anchored that dreadful night off Scarborough, but with little hope of being able to keep their anchor. They expected every moment to be driven on the shore. The passengers in the fore cabin were too much frightened to keep below as they were advised and entreated to do. A heavy sea had swept the deck, and several of them were swept overboard. Peggy, with Dash by her side, had been seen on deck the moment before by both these sailors. The night was frightfully dark, the sea running mountain high; to save any of them was impossible. Next morning both Peggy and Dash were amongst those missing.
Leila for a moment did not utter a word, she grew deadly pale, then throwing her arms round her papa’s neck, she cried, “Lost to me, lost to me for ever! Oh, poor Peggy, and my dear, dear Dash—my dearest friend—” but seeing herpapa’s look of distress, she stopped, then continued, “I am wrong, very, very wrong; I am vexing you. Peggy herself said, if the dearest was left, if she had him to love and him to listen to—and have I not you, papa, and are you not my dearest one, and so many besides to love?” and she drew Selina towards her, and with her pocket-handkerchief she wiped Selina’s eyes, then went on, “and it is bad in me to be so sorry for Dash—for poor Peggy is a human being—but Dash, my own Dash, and twice he saved my life.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed violently.
Mr. Howard did not attempt to console her or to stop her tears; he lifted her gently in his arms, and laying her on the sofa, sat down beside her, clasping her hand in his.
After some time she became more calm; she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, then shutting her eyes she in a few minutes dropped asleep; it was but a troubled sleep, but all were thankful that it had brought forgetfulness for the present. After some time she awoke with a sudden start, slowly she remembered all. Sad memories they were which clouded her sweet face, and tears again filled her eyes, but brushing them hastily away, she said, in a low voice, “The great trial has come to me at last, and Imust bear it, but God will help me.” Then rising from the sofa she slowly left the room.
Matilda sprang up to follow her, but Selina held her back, and whispered in her ear, “You had better not, Matilda: I am sure Leila has gone to her own room to pray.”
Anxious to see the captain of the Victoria, and if possible to obtain more intelligence, Mr. Howard, on the following morning, again went to London, but to his disappointment found that the vessel had sailed on her downward passage a few hours before. A gentleman came into the office while he was there to inquire for one of his trunks which was missing, and Mr. Howard found he had been a passenger in the Victoria. He said he had been much at sea, but had only once before been out in a similar storm; that their escape had been most providential, as several vessels near them had been driven on shore. The frightful accident which had taken place had thrown a heavy gloom on all; their being unable to render any assistance had been heart-rending; it was a moment, he said, he never could forget, but the darkness of the night and the violence of the storm had rendered all attempts impossible. Not half an hour after the wind had fallen in some degree for a short time, and a boat had put off from the shore; some of the passengers had taken advantage of this, andhad left the vessel; but it seemed to him as if no boat could live in such a sea, and he had, after some hesitation, resolved to abide by the ship.
Leila listened in breathless agitation. “And Peggy, papa, and Dash? did he say nothing of them?”
“He spoke of Dash, my love, with much regret; he said he was a most noble animal. He seemed not to be aware to whom it belonged.”
Leila sighed heavily. “A most noble animal; yes, he was noble, every body loved Dash.” Then taking her papa’s hand, she looked anxiously up in his face, and said, “Dash could swim so well; do you think, papa, there is any——” She stopped.
“Any hope, you would say, my love; I fear, Leila, we must not trust to it, but the same idea struck me, and before I left town I wrote an advertisement, fully describing Dash, and giving our address; and this I sent to the ‘Times’ newspaper office.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, dear papa,” and she hastily walked to the window and looked out. She was determined not again to give way.
Leila’s naturally buoyant spirits did not long remain much depressed; still the sudden shock, after all her bright anticipations, had been sogreat, that it left evident traces in her appearance, and when any accidental circumstance recalled the late events, a pang of such acute sorrow shot through her frame as it greatly pained Mr. Howard to witness, and he was not sorry that neither Mr. and Mrs. Herbert nor the Selbys had accepted his invitation for Christmas; the Selbys had a family party that day, and the Herberts were on a tour of visits; both parties, however, promised to be at Woodlands soon after Christmas, and Mr. Herbert added, that if Mr. Howard would allow him, he would be glad to introduce to him his son, who would be at home for the holidays. Christmas-day, therefore, would be spent in a manner more congenial to the tone of their present feelings; and Mr. Howard arranged that they should not remove to Woodlands till a few days before, when Leila could have the comfort of having her uncle and aunt and her cousins with her.
The meeting with her pets again had been very trying to Leila, and still more so was her first visit to Peggy Dobie’s cottage; Susan, Bill’s wife, had been employed to take charge of her pets for the present, till some one could be found to fill the situation, and the cottage had continued locked up. Matilda had in vain tried to dissuade Leila from making this visit, but she said she felt sure she would feel better when itwas over, and she thought of it so much; and Selina seemed to be of the same opinion. It appeared as yesterday when she had been there before, but with what different feelings! there stood the glass with the withered flowers, on the little table, and the wood-ashes lay cold upon the hearth. Leila gazed earnestly on every object which before had given her such delight; the tears ran silently down her cheeks, there was no violent emotion. She turned Peggy’s own chair from the hearth, and placed it against the wall, then left the cottage followed by Selina and Matilda. She was certainly better after all this was over, yet there were feelings which did not soon leave her; she could not help remembering, with self-accusation, that her papa had only yielded to Peggy’s removal to England in consequence of her entreaties; he had at first represented to her that at Peggy’s time of life it were wiser to leave her in her own country, and probably more for her happiness to do so; but Leila had been carried away too much by her own wishes in this instance to practise the lesson of self-sacrifice which her papa so often inculcated; she now felt this deeply, and it was a lesson not lost upon her.
THE day had now arrived when Mrs. Roberts was expected; the young people were all assembled in the school-room busy with their different tasks; Selina and Leila were seated silently at their writing-desks, translating English into French; Alfred quietly in a corner, drawing birds and animals on a slate, his favourite employment. Matilda alone was restless and unquiet; she kept constantly running from the table to the window, holding a book of French dialogues in her hand, and looking out on the approach, while she rhymed the same phrase over and over again: “Il faudra faire comme nous pourrons, il faudra faire comme nous pourrons, il faudra faire comme nous pourrons; now surely this is knocked into my brains.”
Selina shook her head.
“Well, Selina,” she continued, “you need not shake your head; il faudra faire comme nous pourrons, and I am sure I am doing the best I can.”
“Are you?” Selina quickly said, and went on with her writing.
“How provoking you are, Selina; there do you two sit as quietly as if nothing were going to happen, and as if Mrs. Roberts might not arrive every moment.”
“But will running to the window and shaking the whole room make her come any sooner?” Selina inquired.
“To be sure it will, that is, I shall see her sooner. Alfred, do run down and listen if you hear a carriage,” and she snatched the slate from his hand; “there’s a good boy, run down and do like Fine-ear, you know; stoop down and put your ear to the ground, there’s a man,” and she pushed him out at the door.
Alfred returned again almost immediately. “I could not play at fine-ear, Matilda,” he said, “for I saw the carriage at a little distance the moment I went out; listen, it is stopping at the door now.”
All the three young girls jumped up and ran instantly to the window. The steps of the carriage were let down, a ladylike person, rather slender, and rather above the middle height, stepped out, her bonnet entirely concealing her face. Mr. Stanley came forward, he seemed to welcome her kindly; they entered the house together. The next moment they heard the drawing-room door close. Matilda glided from the room.
Selina looked anxiously after her; in a few minutes she returned.
“I have seen her trunks,” she said; “I don’t like them.”
Selina looked distressed.
“Well, Selina, why do you put on that sorrowful face? I did not say I did not like her. Come, cheer up, I will do the best I can.”
The drawing-room bell rang; in a few minutes Amy tapped at the school-room door to say the young ladies were wanted in the drawing-room. They all went down.
Mrs. Roberts seemed talking earnestly to their mamma when they entered; but she stopped, and as Mrs. Stanley introduced them, said a few kind words to each. Her face was not pretty till she smiled; her smile was very pleasing, and her voice was low and sweet. Leila felt she should like her; both she and Selina, when addressed, said something in return, and probably just what they ought to say, though no one heard it; Matilda said nothing. Almost immediately after Mrs. Stanley told them they might return to the school-room, that Mrs. Roberts was probably a little tired with her journey, but if she felt inclined by and by for a walk, they might join them in the garden.
It was all over in a moment. “Well,” Matilda exclaimed, as they entered the school-room again, “how do you like her?”
Both answered, “Very much, we like her very much.”
“Very much,” Matilda repeated; “well, I don’t. I don’t like her at all.”
“And why, Matilda? why do you not like her?” Selina anxiously inquired.
“I don’t like her nose.”
“Don’t like her nose!”
“No, I don’t; she has a pinched nose, and don’t you see it droops?”
Selina saw that at this moment it was a hopeless case; she did not even attempt the vindication of the nose.
Mrs. Stanley was not disappointed in her expectations with regard to Mrs. Roberts; she proved to be a highly principled, amiable, accomplished woman, and with a gentle steadiness about her which peculiarly fitted her for the task she had undertaken. With Selina and Leila she had comparatively little trouble, and they soon became fond of her, and anxious to give her satisfaction, but with Matilda she had a far more difficult task; besides having strong prejudices to combat, she had to struggle not only with careless inattentive habits, but often with an obstinate determination not to overcomethem, for Matilda’s goodness as yet only came by fits and starts; there was no very steady improvement, and the arrival of Mrs. Roberts seemed rather to have thrown her back. She had fancied that she would not like her, and she seemed too often to have a wish to act up to the opinion she had formed. Mrs. Roberts’ patience with her was wonderful; indifferent observers might have fancied that Matilda was her favourite; she spoke more to her than to the others, often conversing cheerfully with her on interesting subjects, and trying to draw out her feelings and sentiments; and Matilda, though she gave her much trouble, was not quite insensible to this. There were times when she acknowledged that Mrs. Roberts was rather a kind person, though her nose did droop.
The removal to Woodlands now took place, and the following morning Mrs. Roberts granted a holiday to the young people, that every room in the house might be visited and properly admired, and also that Leila might have time to settle with Susan as to a convenient arrangement for several of her pets, while, with the assistance of her cousins, she hung the cages with the parrots and the smaller birds up in the conservatory. She had for some time been bringing up a pair of turtle-doves as a gift to Mina, and teaching a young parrot to speak, whichshe intended for Louisa. The turtle-doves were now at a very interesting age, just beginning to be independent, and to coo to each other in a most melodious manner, and the parrot gave proof of fine abilities, and could already say, “I am Louisa’s pretty bird.”
The house was most comfortably though simply furnished; but the conservatory delighted Leila more than any part of it: the flowers so fragrant, so bright and beautiful, and the birds so happy, they were already singing in the branches. Once more she walked about amongst the birds and flowers, and felt that but for one sad thought she would not have had a wish ungratified. She quite longed to give her papa an account of all her arrangements, and went in search of him. She found Mr. Howard reading in his library, but he answered her little tap at his door with his usual kind voice.
“Come in, I think I know who is there; what have you got to tell me, love?” and the book was thrown aside, and she, seated on a low stool at his knee, kept looking up in his face, and pouring out her little history, he entering into all her arrangements with all the attention and satisfaction her heart could desire. “And now, papa,” she continued, “you know I am of a great age now, I am eleven, and I want to talk to you a little about my responsibilities.”
“Your responsibilities, my love!—that is a very fine word for you; where did you pick up that word, Leila?”
“I think it is a very nice word, papa, and I understand it; and you must know I have responsibilities in my new home, for I heard Aunt Stanley say to Mrs. Roberts the other day, that Miss Palmer had gone now to keep her father’s house, and would have many responsibilities; that besides the regulating the house, and attending in every way to his comfort, she would also have the school to attend to, and the poor people to visit, and it was a large parish. I could not find out what a large parish meant, but I understood all the rest; and don’t you think, papa, I should have a school, also, and visit the poor people?”
“No, dear Leila; I think you are too young to have a school at present; but don’t look so disappointed, my love; let us talk this matter over quietly. Miss Palmer is a great many years older than you are, she is a grown-up young lady, and it is quite right that she should in every way imitate her excellent mother’s example, and endeavour to make up as much as lies in her power for the loss they have sustained in Mrs. Palmer’s death: but you, my love, are still a child, and requiring too much instructionyourself to be able to instruct others; yet you, dear Leila, also have your responsibilities.”
“I am so glad of that papa,”—and her countenance brightened again.
“Yes,” Mr. Howard continued, “you are responsible for the talents God has entrusted to you, for the employment of your time, for the cultivation of the abilities He has given you; for the use you make of the religious instruction you receive in correcting your faults; you are by nature ardent and impetuous, you must struggle for the mastery over yourself; for more self-denial, in rejecting the sudden impulses by which you are governed; you must try to check that excessive sensibility which, if indulged in, must unfit you for the necessary exertion for the welfare of others which is so high a duty, and without which you would soon become a useless, selfish being—turning away from the misery of others, from the fear of what you yourself must feel in witnessing it.”
“But, papa, if I am not to teach a school or visit the poor, and only to cultivate abilities, is not that turning away from others, is not that being selfish?”
“But, my dear Leila, it is by no means my wish that you should turn away from others; though you are as yet too young to teach a school yourself, you are not too young to accompanyyour Aunt Stanley when she goes to visit the school, in which she takes so much interest. Selina often accompanies her; I shall ask her to allow you to do so also; and in this way you will become acquainted with the duties you will, I trust, one day fulfil yourself. You will, also, accompany me in visiting the poor; you have now a weekly allowance, which, though not much, will still enable you, by practising self-denial in some of your own desires, to save a little each week for the benefit of others: with this you can sometimes buy materials which may be useful to poor children; and by employing some part of your time in making them up, you can bestow a double benefit; for remember, Leila, it is not real charity to give of your superfluity only.”
“I know it, papa; I know that you are thinking now of the rich man throwing into the treasury, and the widow’s mite, and I will try to be the widow’s mite. Am I staying too long, papa?” she continued; “must I go now? perhaps you wish to have your book again?”
“No, my dear child, I am in no hurry to resume my book; I am quite pleased to have a little talk with you; besides, if I had not heard your little tap at the door just then, I meant to have sent for you—I have got something to show you.”
“To show me, papa?”
“Yes, my love; something which will interest you, but will also bring to your mind sorrowful recollections.”
Leila looked up anxiously in her papa’s face. “Is it about Dash?” she said; “has any one answered the advertisement? or Peggy?—but no, about Peggy, that is impossible; poor Peggy!”
Mr. Howard smiled mournfully as he answered. “No, my child, I have heard nothing of them.”
Leila continued: “I have tried to bear it, papa, and not to give way; and I have prayed to God, and He has strengthened me, and often I feel quite comforted, sometimes I feel quite happy, just as if it had never been; but often when I am talking and laughing I am not really happy—I am only pretending, for Selina and Matilda always look so distressed when I am sorrowful; but night is the worst—I always think of Peggy at night;—and how kind she was to me; and there is nobody to be made sorrowful then, and so I often cry very much; but I won’t talk of it any more, and I am forgetting you had something to show me;” and she hastily brushed the tears from her eyes.
Her papa carefully unfolded a small paperwhich he took from his pocket-book, and showed Leila a very few small seeds.
“Flower-seeds?” she asked, inquiringly; “are they not, papa?”
“Yes, my love, they are the seeds of Clara’s flower.”
She started. “Of Clara’s flowers! Who has been to visit her lonely grave? Who, papa?”
“No, one, my love; I gathered those seeds the day we left the island; but I did not mention it to you, because I thought I had lost them, and that they had dropped from my pocket-book. This morning I found that this paper had fallen within another, and that the seeds were still there; there are only seven of them, but I don’t think there ever were more, for I remember I had difficulty in finding even these.”
Leila gazed at them earnestly. “I also tried to find seeds that day, and could get none—how interesting they will be to me. I will plant them instantly, and when they spring up, I will have some of Clara’s flower to give to her mamma.”
“But, my dear Leila,” Mr. Howard said, “had you not better wait till spring? I fear this is not a good time to sow flower-seeds;” but seeing her look of distress, he added,—“atleast, it would be more prudent to sow only part now, and the others in spring, this will give you the best chance of securing some of the plants.”
“Well, papa, I will do that, and three I think will be prudent;” and selecting three of the seeds, she folded them into another paper. “You had better keep these, papa, that I may not be tempted; and I will go now to the gardener—he is very good-natured—he will give me a flower-pot and the proper earth, and I will plant them this moment and put them into the conservatory. In the conservatory it will be the same for them as in the island, for it is always so warm there; so you see, papa, I am very prudent about them, for I did not mean to put them out in the cold. Every day I shall watch for their coming up. You could not have given me any thing, papa, so very interesting to me—I will come back and tell you when they are planted;” and she darted off.
OLD David, who had been many years at Woodlands, was indeed very good-natured, and from the day when Leila had evinced so much anxiety to have poor Peggy’s garden put in nice order, had taken quite a fancy to his young mistress. He stood over her while she sprinkled the earth gently upon the seeds, having given her a flower-pot of the proper size to put them in, and he seemed much interested as to their coming up, but could give no positive opinion when that event might take place. “Some very small seeds,” he remarked, “came up very quickly, while others of equal size required to lie in the ground a long time; he would not despair,” he said, “though they did not make their appearance for a month; besides, who could tell what might be the nature of flower-seeds from that outlandish country,” for Leila had told him they came from the island, though he had no idea of the other circumstances which made them so precious in her
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eyes. The residence of the squire on a desert island had for some time past been a favourite subject of discussion both in David’s cottage and at the lodge, and the wonderful histories related by Nurse had been listened to with the most profound attention and astonishment, and had served to throw a sort of romantic interest around both Mr. Howard and his child. Old David had remarked, “that it was easy to see their young mistress was something by common, something sae gleesome, and springing about her as if her foot had been used to the hill-side and the heather brae. She remembered him muckle of the highland lassies of his own dear country; for though he had been long enough in England to have forgotten his Scotch tongue, (and the more the pity,) yet he had not been long enough to forget their ways, and he was still a highlander in his heart, every inch of him.”
But to return to Leila. She had just completed sowing the precious seeds when Alfred ran into the conservatory.
“I cannot find Selina,” he said; “but, Cousin Leila, you are always so good-natured, perhaps you will go with me to Mrs. Roberts,—I have done a cruel thing, though I did not mean to be cruel, and I would like to have some one with me when I tell it.”
Leila, having placed the flower-pot in what David pronounced to be the most favoured spot in the conservatory, proceeded immediately with Alfred to seek Mrs. Roberts. They found Selina and Matilda with her.
“Mrs. Roberts,” Alfred began, in a hesitating manner, as they entered the room, “you told me not to be cruel, and I promised, and indeed I was not cruel; but I have brought the body to you to see if you can bring it alive again;” and he placed a little bit of paper, crumpled up, before Mrs. Roberts.
Matilda jumped up. “What is the boy saying? thebody! what body?” and she was about to seize the paper, but Alfred spread his hands over it.
“Matilda, you are not to touch that paper,” Mrs. Roberts said gently; and, turning to Alfred, she continued,—“and now, my little man, compose yourself, and tell me distinctly what has happened.”
Alfred then proceeded to say that he had been playing in the garden, and on lifting up a stone, a number of spiders had run out from below it, that one was very large and beautifully spotted, that he did not mean to kill it or even to catch it, only to touch it very gently with his finger; but on his doing so, immediately all its legs fell off, and it dropped down dead; thathe instantly looked for its legs, but could not see them, they had quite melted away. And Alfred was so overcome by the recital of this sad catastrophe, that he dissolved into tears.
“Crying for such a thing as that?” Matilda exclaimed; “foolish Alfred.”
“But, Matilda, it had eight legs.”
“And so,” Matilda continued, “because its eight legs melted away you must melt away also. Take care, Alfred, we shall be looking foryounext on the carpet, and not be able to find you.”
Alfred now did not know whether to laugh or cry, but unfolding the paper, he carefully laid before Mrs. Roberts what appeared to be a very small, shapeless particle of brown earth—it certainly had no resemblance to a spider.
“That is the body,” he said, in a mysterious whisper, intended only for the ears of Mrs. Roberts; “and now,” he continued aloud, “do you think I can do any thing to revive it? If I were to put it into a cup of warm water, perhaps——”
Matilda laughed. “Perhaps its legs would grow on again, you mean. Well, Alfred, this certainly would be a wonderful water-cure; you should set up an establishment and call it the warm water-cure for making legs and arms grow on again. You would make a fortune; for Iheard mamma say the other day, that this seemed to be the age for believing in every sort of wonderful cure that could be invented, the more improbable the better.”
“How you run on, Matilda,” Mrs. Roberts said; “you should be aware Alfred cannot enter into all this sort of thing—you forget the difference of age between you;” then turning to Alfred, she continued,—“No, Alfred, it would not do to put this spider into water. This is what is called a wolf-spider, and were you to put it into warm water, you would certainly kill it; at present I do not think it is dead.”
Alfred’s countenance brightened.
Mrs. Roberts continued,—“Give me that sheet of white paper.” She placed the paper on a small work-table in a sunny corner of the room, and laid the spider upon it.
“Now keep quiet, all of you,” she said, “and we shall see what it does.” In a few minutes the spider unfolded its legs, and running across the paper to the edge of the table, it shot out a slender thread from its body, by which it swiftly descended to the ground.
Alfred clapped his hands, exclaiming,—“Alive, and I did not kill it, and it has got all its legs again; how very wonderful! But where did the thread come from by which it got down so very quick? Mrs. Roberts, do tell me!”
“It spun the thread from a sort of gluey substance which is contained in the flasks in its body. Each spider has four of those flasks or bags of gum, and from each tube communicates with what is called its spinneret, and with the gluey substance which passes through these tubes, it spins its thread with these spinnerets; it is very wonderful, but too difficult for you to understand at present. That thread which appeared to you so fine is composed of many finer threads, which make it stronger; just as in cords of equal thickness, those which are composed of many smaller ones united are greatly stronger than those which are spun at once; but where has the spider gone to now, Alfred? Yes, I see it; don’t touch it;” and Mrs. Roberts took a cup in which she carefully caught the spider without touching it, and having placed this cup in a saucer full of water, she desired them to watch its further proceedings. The spider ran repeatedly to the brim of the cup descending on the other side, but was always stopped by the water which surrounded it. Sadly perplexed by this unexpected obstacle, after having ran round and round by the edge of the water several times, it stood still, and raised its two fore-legs in the air.
“It is trying,” Mrs. Roberts said, “to ascertain from which side there is a current of air tocarry its thread to some object to support it, the opposite rim of the saucer, for instance.”
“Oh, how very curious!” they all exclaimed. But this world of waters seemed quite overwhelming to the poor spider, who could feel no current of air, and it was returning hopelessly into the cup when Mrs. Roberts said,—“Now you shall see it throw its little silken bridge across, and get free from this sad imprisonment;” and she blew very gently in the desired direction.
The spider instantly descended again to the edge of the water, and shot out a thread, which it fixed to the cup at one end, while the other end floating in the air, also became fixed to the brim of the saucer. It first pulled this thread with its fore-feet, as if to ascertain its strength, then passed swiftly along it, spinning another floating thread as it went, lest the first should not be sufficiently secure to ensure its safety, and arriving safely on the brim of the saucer, descended the other side, and once more scampered off.
“Well done, you clever creature,” Matilda exclaimed; “how I wish I could sometimes escape from the school-room as cleverly.”
Leila glanced towards Mrs. Roberts half afraid.
But Mrs. Roberts only smiled. “You are asad girl, Matilda,” she said; “there is much folly bound up in your little heart, but I don’t despair of you; the time will come, and I trust ere long, when you will not find the school-room such an imprisonment.”
Matilda looked gratefully at Mrs. Roberts, and sudden in all her impulses, she jumped up, and kissed her hand; then turning round, she said,—“But, Leila, you have expressed no surprise at all those wonderful things! I do believe you knew about them before, though you did not say a word.”
“Yes,” Leila answered, quietly; “papa told me a good deal about spiders in the island.”
“Out with it, then,” Matilda said, impatiently; “do, Leila, tell us every thing you know; how odd you are; when I know any thing I am dying to tell it. What more did your papa say about them?”
“He showed me a water-spider, sailing in its curious little raft, and watching for its prey; and a mason-spider, living in a beautiful nest, lined with a sort of orange-coloured silk, which it had spun itself, and with a little door to its nest with a spring hinge, which shuts of itself when the spider goes in. And he did a curious thing about the eggs of the wolf-spider; he took away the bag of eggs, and then the little spider carried off the bag belonging to thelarge spider; and they had such a fight about it.”
“Oh! do tell us more about that,” Matilda said, eagerly. “I should like so to hear about the fight; and so the little spider carried off the bag of eggs belonging to the big spider—that was most excellent!”
“And most just,” Selina observed.
“Now, Selina, that is so like you; how can you expect a spider to have a sense of justice, and it is natural for spiders to fight, I dare say; indeed it is natural for other people also sometimes, and just because they have a sense of justice. But, Leila, do tell us all about it.”
Leila coloured; “Mrs. Roberts could explain it much better,” she said.
“No, my dear, I don’t think I could; you will do it more simply, because you will tell only what you understand yourself; but stay, did you not say, Alfred, that you saw a great many spiders under the stones in the garden? perhaps, Leila, you might find some with a bag of eggs—take this tumbler to catch them in—bring two, if you can find them, a larger and a smaller, and put this paper over the glass, that they may not escape. Matilda, I see you are eager to go also—you may accompany Leila; but allow her to catch the spiders—great care must be taken not to injure the bags.”
They were off in a moment, and soon returned with two spiders in the tumbler.
“Now we shall see it all,” Matilda said, “you can’t think how cleverly Leila caught them; she is an excellent spider hunter. Now, Leila, begin; do try to make them fight.”
Leila lifted the smaller of the two spiders very gently, and took up a needle.
“Stop, stop,” Matilda exclaimed; “are you going to stick a needle in its body? I don’t want to see that.”
“No, no,” Leila answered; “don’t be afraid; I am only going to take off the bag, and the bag is not a part of its body, though it looks like it—it will easily come off; the spider glues it on, and it can easily do so again, after we have seen them fight.”
She then very dexterously disengaged the bag of eggs without breaking it, and put it on the table. The spider, instead of running away, as it otherwise would have done, showed the greatest anxiety to regain it. She slowly wandered over every corner of the table, crawling over books, work-boxes, &c., &c., as if in search of something; then, having at last discovered the lost bag behind Selina’s work-box, she suddenly made a rush towards it, and having seized it with her upper pair of jaws, she ran off with it, carrying it as a cat often does its kitten.
“O look!” Matilda exclaimed, “she is stopping behind your writing-desk, Leila; she thinks she has got into a cunning hole, where no one will see her—what is she about now?—she is pushing the bag between her legs, and I do believe she is glueing it in—yes, indeed, for there she is scampering off again, and with her bag just as it was before; she will be off the table in a moment.”
But Leila caught the spider, and taking the bag from her again, she put her under the tumbler where the larger spider was:—“Now,” she said, “if they are the same as the spiders in the island, she will fancy the bag of eggs of the other spider to be her own, and she will fight for it;” and hardly had she spoken, when both spiders were struggling and fighting violently for the possession of the bag—they reared themselves up, extending their front legs in a threatening attitude, and showing their angry feelings in the most evident manner. In the struggle the other bag of eggs became detached from the larger spider, and the little one, after making the most violent efforts to seize it, finally succeeded; the larger spider having rolled over, the other one scampered off with the bag, and Leila having raised the tumbler to permit its escape, it was presently again on the table—it passed its own bag of eggs on its way to the window, but tookno notice, seemingly quite satisfied with its stolen treasure. The other spider was now also set at liberty, and having, after running about some time, discovered the other bag of eggs, it was making a dart towards it, when Mrs. Roberts took the bag up, and having pricked it with a needle, instantly a multitude of young ones ran out, and climbing up on the old spider, almost covered her—she remained quite still, apparently overwhelmed (as well she might be) with the burden of such a family.
“Poor thing!” Selina observed; “she will never be able to manage so many little ones.”
“Oh, she will get a governess,” Matilda said; “and I only hope she may get as good a one as Mrs. Roberts.”
Mrs. Roberts shook her head but could not help being amused:—“You are an odd girl, Matilda,” she replied; “but you had better take the spider down into the garden again, it will be more likely to find a governess there, who will understand the nature of the charge.” She gently lifted the spider, placed it in the glass, and gave it to Matilda—then added, “You will be the better, all of you, for a little fresh air in the garden: I have a letter to write, which has been too long delayed, but I shall join you there as soon as I have finished.”
CHRISTMAS had now passed: on the morning of that day they had all attended church, then walked to a pretty, small village on the property, to visit several of the cottagers; Mr. Howard having, the day before, sent money and a supply of blankets and of coats to those that required such assistance. In the evening a mutual exchange of gifts took place at Woodlands, which greatly interested the young people; but the day was on the whole a trying one to Leila; she had not regained her former spirits, and it seemed as if those particular days to which she had looked forward with the most pleasure, seemed still more to recall the memory of her late trial. A short time after Christmas, the expected party assembled at Woodlands. The Selbys were the first to arrive. Captain Selby was delighted to see again his little fairy queen, as he called Leila. Louisa seemed improved, taller, and with more animation of manner; and the meeting between Leila and her was mostaffectionate on both sides. Louisa was soon taken to the conservatory, followed by Selina and Matilda; Louisa stealing many a look at Selina, who had long been a subject of much interest to her, though not unmixed with dread, lest she should too entirely usurp her former place with Leila; but the kind reception she met with greatly reassured her. She struggled with her natural timidity, and Matilda did much to establish something like ease between the parties: she eagerly introduced Louisa to all her former favourites amongst the pets; and seemed most anxious to draw her attention to one of the parrots in particular.
“How this one must have grown,” Louisa observed; “I scarcely remember it: what a pretty bird!”
The parrot instantly flew to the side of its cage, exclaiming, “I am Louisa’s pretty bird, take me home—pray take me home!”
Matilda clapped her hands. “That is just what I wanted it to do—yes, it is for you; Leila has taught it to say that—it is to be your parrot.”
Louisa was still holding Leila’s hand, and trying to thank her, when Leila was called away. The Herberts had arrived. She found Mina eagerly watching for her at the drawing-room door, all her usual shyness having given waybefore the interest of the moment. The meeting between them was of the most affectionate nature; but no one till that moment had suspected the depth of feeling with which Leila had looked forward to seeing Mrs. Herbert again. “Mamma, mamma!” she exclaimed, as clasped in Mrs. Herbert’s arms, she hid her face on her shoulder, and struggled to retain her tears. Mrs. Herbert was much affected, and no real mother could have more fondly returned her caresses; but seeing the struggle Leila was making to restrain her emotion, she called her son Charles to her side, and putting Leila’s hand in his, she said with a cheerful voice,—
“I must not forget my dear child has also a brother to receive, who longs to know her.”
But Leila was disappointed; Charles was not such as she had expected to have seen, and looking up in his face she said hastily, “You are too tall to be my brother.”
The bright, sparkling look of pleasure with which he had approached to meet her, faded before this reception; he too was disappointed, but he only said with much gentleness, “That is a fault I cannot change; I can only try to make you forget it.”
And he did manage to do so in a wonderfully short space of time, for he had a good deal toovercome. Leila had expected to have seen a little boy such as Alfred, and had been thinking a great deal of her little brother, and how she would watch over him, and keep him out of scrapes; she was quite bewildered when she saw before her a youth apparently about sixteen, and it was not in the first moments of disappointment, that his slight graceful figure, his beaming countenance, and deep blue eyes, so full of sweetness and animation, had any charm for her; but before the day was over she had told Mina in strict confidence, that she did not think Charles nearly so tall as she had done at first, and that she did not know why it was, but she was not half so frightened for him as she expected she would have been; and the pleasant surprise of next morning still further promoted intimacy between them. Leila was called to the window by Selina to admire a beautiful small Arabian pony, which Charles was leading up the approach towards the house; the side-saddle and embroidered saddle-cloth seemed to say it was intended for a lady’s use; and what was Leila’s astonishment and delight, when she found it was a present from Mr. and Mrs. Herbert to herself; the beautiful saddle-cloth the work of Mrs. Herbert and Mina. Leila had no words to express what she felt; for to learn to ride, to have a pony of her own, to accompanyher papa in his rides, had long been the earnest wish of her heart. Charles was immediately constituted riding-master to the whole of the young party; a busy time he had, and with strict impartiality did he fulfil his appointed duty; one point of difference only did he insist on, he particularly requested that Leila alone was to speak to the pony and caress it, and it was only to be from her hand it was to receive a piece of bread on the commencement of its daily labours, and also at their close. Selina had communicated to Charles the sad story of Peggy Dobie and the faithful Dash; of all Leila had suffered, and was still suffering, from their loss; and he felt that could she become attached to a new object, it might in some degree interest her mind: but though Leila soon became fond of her pretty Selim, no new favourite could fill Dash’s place to her;hecould never be forgotten.
Many days passed pleasantly away, varied by rides, and walks, and reading aloud. In the evening there generally was music. Mrs. Herbert had a fine voice, which had been much cultivated, and Charles and Mina did great credit to her instructions; the young people thought there could be nothing more beautiful than the trios Charles and Mina sang with their mamma Mrs. Herbert had proposed to have a singingclass, and to instruct the whole group; but Leila alone had become her pupil. Louisa had very little genius for music; so little, that her mamma did not wish her to give much time to its cultivation. Selina had been forbidden to attempt singing for some years, her voice, even in speaking, being still weak; and Matilda, Mrs. Stanley said, was, from her habits of inattention, too far back in more necessary studies to be allowed this indulgence.
Leila made considerable progress; from her having practised the guitar so much during her residence on the island, she had acquired rather unusual proficiency on that instrument, and her voice and taste being naturally good, Mrs. Herbert found her both a willing and a successful pupil. Matilda had often entreated her mamma to allow her also to learn the guitar, for Matilda was ever eager for something new, always sure that what she had no knowledge of would be much more easily acquired than that which she was then studying; but Mrs. Stanley had always steadily refused this request, though, at the same time, assuring Matilda that, as soon as by steady and continued application, she had made that progress in her other studies which her years and natural good abilities admitted of, she should have every indulgence in the cultivation of her musical taste. It had been quite a trial to Matildawhen first told that she was not to be allowed to take advantage of Mrs. Herbert’s kind offer of instruction; and her temper had been on the point of giving way, but a look of entreaty from Selina had arrested the angry words upon her lips; she had hastily quitted the room, and in a very few minutes had returned with all her usual liveliness and good-humour.
Mrs. Herbert had considerably regained her health and spirits, and with the tranquil gentleness of past sorrow there was a warmth of affection and winning sweetness of manner which each day endeared her more and more to Leila, who never was happier than when, with her own transparent openness of character, she was pouring all her thoughts, feelings, and wishes into Mrs. Herbert’s willing ear.
“I have never told you,” she said one morning, as they sat alone together, (she on a low stool looking up into Mrs. Herbert’s face,) “I have never told you how very sorry I was afterwards for having made that rude speech to Charles when I first saw him; but I was so very much disappointed, I could not help saying it; I had been thinking so much of having a little brother, and of how kind I should be to him, and how he would grow up to love me. And when I saw that tall Charles, I couldscarcely keep from crying, for since my great trial of poor Peggy Dobie, and my dear, dear Dash, I don’t know why it is, but so often I am ready to cry when any thing like another trial comes to me—but this has not turned out a trial after all.”
“So you are getting reconciled then, my love, to Charles being tall, and don’t wish so much now that you had a little brother rather?”
“No, indeed I don’t—I like it much better; for Charles is so kind, and takes such care of me, and he is so fond of Mina; he is an excellent brother; and don’t you think he is an excellent son too? He often looks at you just as I do at my papa. I am sure he is thinking then that you never can know how much he loves you. I dare say Charles never does any thing very wrong; only a little wrong, I suppose, for papa always says no one is quite perfect.”
Mrs. Herbert smiled. “No, my dear Leila, I do not say Charles is by any means perfect; he has faults, still I may say that he is one who has never yet given us cause for serious uneasiness.
“I was sure of that,” Leila answered, “for he always looks as if he could not bear to vex any one; I often wish to ask him to forgive me for what I said: but I don’t know why, I often feel a little shy with Charles, though I like somuch to talk to him. I hope it will go off in time, for I should like to be able to tell him every thing I think, just as I do to you; if he had been a little boy I would not have cared to do this, I would only have said little things to make him laugh and to amuse him; so, as Nurse always says, every thing in this world turns out for the best, if we would only remember this, and not fret. But,” she continued, “when I said just now that I told you every thing, I forgot that there is one thing I cannot tell you.”
“And what is that?” Mrs. Herbert inquired. “Why should you be afraid to tell me every thing?”
“I am not afraid,” Leila answered; “but it is not the right time yet to tell. Perhaps I shall be disappointed myself, and then I need not tell you, for it would only make you sorry; but if it comes up it is for you. Now I must go to the conservatory; I go there every morning alone, but don’t ask me why I go.”
Leila stood in the conservatory, earnestly contemplating a flower-pot she held in her hand, till startled by a voice behind her.
“How now, lady bright, gazing on brown earth, and so many beautiful blooming flowers around you?”
She looked up; it was Charles who had enteredthe conservatory unobserved, and was bending over her shoulder.
“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I am so happy, so very happy; so thankful.”
“Thankful,” he replied; “thankful for small things indeed, for I can see nothing.”
“Nothing! look again, Charles; only look here—don’t you see?”
“No, I see nothing, and unluckily I have not got my spectacles at hand.” But observing Leila’s heightened colour, and the expression of her face, he added in quite a different tone, “Yes, I do see two tiny little green leaves just peeping above the brown earth; but they will require all your tender care to rear them. Why are they so precious to you, Leila? But do not tell me if you would rather not.”
She lifted her eyes to his face. “Yes, I should like to tell you—” she hesitated, then continued in an agitated voice, “it is seeds from the flower I planted on Clara’s grave, and perhaps more will spring.”
Charles’s colour mounted to his forehead; he took her hand. “Oh, Leila,” he said, “dear Leila, how I have longed for this moment, how I have wished you to talk to me of Clara. Clara, my own sweet sister, my lost Clara; I seem to see her still, how lovely she was!”
“You knew her then,” Leila said eagerly;“you remember her; but how—were you not in England?”
“No; from our being up the country and in a good climate, I was nearly ten years old before it was thought necessary to send me to England; never can I forget the first time I saw Clara. I was taken into the room where mamma was lying on her bed, so pale, so beautiful, only the slightest tinge of colour in her cheek. Clara and Mina lay on each side of her; she took my hand, a bright flush came into her face for a moment, ‘My little son,’ she said, ‘may God watch over you and preserve you to be a protector to your sisters; if these dear ones live to be sent home to England, you will be already there. Promise me that when you are together, you will watch over them, and always endeavour by your own example to teach them to love and serve their heavenly Father. May you never, dear Charles, forget this moment; may my earnest request be always remembered, when you yourself are tempted to do what is wrong.”
“And were you sent away from them immediately?” Leila inquired. “How melancholy this must have been for you!”
“Oh no, not immediately; Clara and Mina were three years old before I left India. They could talk and run about. In the cool seasonI used to make them run races in the garden with each other. They often laughed so at my constantly mistaking one for the other, for I never could distinguish them, till mamma put a small gold chain round Clara’s neck.”
“Was it this?” Leila said, as she took a chain from the folds of her dress, and gave it into his hand.
“Yes, the very same; but there was no locket suspended from it.”
Leila touched the spring, it opened.
“My own mamma,” he said, “and how beautiful! and those laughing eyes—yes, I remember how she used to look in that way, when she was playing with us all. And this was Clara’s locket—my own dear sister, and now, alas! only one remains to me.”
Leila coloured. “Then you will not have me for a sister,” she said, in a low-toned voice.
Charles’s countenance brightened, as in his usual lively manner he said, “I thought I was too tall to be your brother.”
“Oh, don’t, don’t say that,” Leila exclaimed; “you don’t know how sorry I was afterwards, and how often I have wished to ask you to forgive me. Will you?” and she put her hand into his. “Yes, I see you will, I see it in your eyes. I always know when people are loving me again by their eyes.” Selina’s voice washeard calling her; she ran off, but returned for a moment to say, “Do not tell mamma about the seeds; it is to be a surprise to her. I have planted four, and if more spring, I should like so much to give you one also.”
TO pay frequent visits to the village had of late been a great interest to the young people; they had become acquainted with many of the cottagers, and Leila had already begun to have a lively interest in their children. As the party were now to leave Woodlands in a few days, she proposed one morning that, as the weather was uncommonly fine, they should cross the fields, under Charles’s escort, and pay a sort of farewell visit to some of the cottagers. The cold had been so severe in the night, that the grass still felt crisp under their feet, though the sunbeams glanced brightly on the scarlet berries of the holly, and on the slender branches of the forest trees, feathered white by the hoar-frost. At the village they were welcomed by old and young, for the kind, frank manners of the young people had made them general favourites; many of the children ran forward to meet them, but they missed one little girl whom they had in former visits particularly distinguished.Her mother’s cottage stood at the end of the village, and they found Dame Burton standing at her door, looking anxiously in the direction of the road. She invited them as usual to enter, but added, “I am rather out of sorts, young ladies, at this moment, for I am fearing my little Lizzy is getting into idle ways. Not a sight can I see of her, all the other children in the village home from the school, and she still loitering on the road. If I had not had the dinner to get ready, I would have been off to seek her myself, and would have sent her home in a hurry; but her father will be in to his dinner, and she will get it from him I am thinking.”
Leila instantly proposed that they should return by the road; “As Charles is with us, I don’t think papa will be displeased,” she said, “and we can tell him why.” Then turning to Dame Burton, she added, “We shall be sure of meeting your little Lizzy if we go by the road, and we shall send her home to you very quick; but I hope you won’t be angry with her this time, for you know when it is an interesting play sometimes one forgets. I forget very often myself, though I am so much older than Lizzy.”
The young people proceeded on their way, talking and laughing merrily; Charles protesting“that if they met the little truant, the unworthy little Lizzy, he would send her home in a hurry; he would give it her, her father’s anger would be a joke to his.”
Leila looked up in his face in astonishment.
“Never mind him,” Mina exclaimed, observing Leila’s face of perplexity; “never mind him—don’t believe a word of it, he’s only saying it in fun; Charles is not the least bit ill-natured. If we meet Lizzy I know the sort of thing he will do, he will tap her kindly on the back, and say, ‘Now there’s a good girl, run home as quick as you can.’ That’s the sort of way he will scold.”
“Is it, my little wise sister?” Charles replied, laughing. “Well, well, you will soon see the contrary; you don’t know what an angry man I can be; Leila has never yet seen me in one of my right towering passions, it will frighten her out of her wits.”
“How merry we all are,” Mina said, “and how happy we have all been, and now in three more days it will all be over!”
“Oh, Mina!” Louisa exclaimed, “do not speak of it; I have been thinking of it all the time, though I have been trying to laugh. I have never been so happy before, and now I may never see you all again. You will all be meeting often, but I shall be far away. You knowin two months we are going abroad. I used to like the thoughts of it so much; now I cannot bear it. And you, Leila, you will be growing up, and so many to love you, you will forget me.”
“Never, Louisa, never; you were my first friend, you will always——” She was interrupted at this moment by the loud screams of a child; they seemed to proceed from a lane, which, a few yards further on, branched off from the road. The screams were continued with increased violence. They caught sight of a little girl struggling to get free from a large dog, which seemed dragging her along by her clothes.
Leila sprang forward. “Don’t be frightened, Lizzy, don’t; we shall protect you.”
At the sound of her voice the dog let go its hold with a joyful bark of recognition, and the next moment was leaping upon Leila with frantic joy.
“Dash, my own Dash!” she cried, as throwing her arms round his neck, she almost stifled the faithful animal with her caresses. “But how is this? Is it my Dash? is it really true? how did it happen? Lizzy, what is the meaning of this? how did he come here? where did you find him? Oh! tell me; but how thin you are, my Dash; how changed—oh, he has beenstarved! how dreadful! But, Lizzy, run home to your mother; don’t delay a moment longer—she is sorry you have been so long away; and let us get home also as quick as we can, that we may get food for my dear Dash. What joyful news for papa, and for Nurse, and Amy. Poor Peggy! Oh, if Dash could speak!” She turned to regain the road, but Dash would not allow this; he began to pull Leila up the lane by her clothes, in the same way he had been doing to the little girl.
“Don’t oppose him,” Charles said; “there is something under all this, we had better follow as he leads.” They quickened their pace, but saw nothing. Dash now frequently ran on a little way before them, returned again and took hold of Leila’s dress as before, looking up in her face, as if encouraging her to go on. A sudden thought seized her; she darted forwards—she ran on a considerable way—suddenly she saw a figure lying stretched on a bank by the side of the lane; in the next moment she was kneeling by Peggy Dobie’s side!
The others came up. They found Leila clasping Peggy’s hands and sobbing violently.
“Her eyes are shut,” she said; “she does not hear me; oh, Charles, tell me, is she dead? Can we do nothing?”
Dash began at this moment to lick Peggy’s face, she opened her eyes. “Am I dreaming,” she said, in a low faint voice, “and am I still in the land of the living? surely it is the faces of my own dear bairns that I see; but it canna be. Na, na, it is a vision o’ the night, and it will leave me with the light o’ morning as it has ever done afore; but it’s morning now. Where am I? how has all this come about? oh! for a drop o’ water and a morsel o’——” Her eyes closed again—the momentary exertion was too much.
Charles, who had been rubbing her cold hands, sprang to his feet. “It is food she requires,” he said; “she is starving. I see a house near, I will be back in a moment.”
He flew off. He returned, followed by the farmer to whom the house belonged. Charles held a bowl of milk to Peggy’s lips—she seemed unable to swallow.
“No, no, mister, that won’t do; this is a bad job; there has been both cold and hunger here; it’s brandy she must have, and that instantly. Heaven grant it may not be too late; I have my doubts.”
“No,” Leila cried, “don’t say it; we have found her again—she must not die!”
But the farmer was gone. He returned again in a few minutes with the brandy and a thick blanket. With Charles’s assistance he poured a little brandy and water down Peggy’s throat,and wrapped her in the warm blanket. “These poor thin rags,” he said, “are not for such cold as this, the poor creature is half frozen; but she is coming about again, her lips are not just so white; she will do yet; and, by good luck, I see one of my carts coming from the field; we shall have her into it and home in a jiffy. Hollo, there! Joe, my man, here’s a bye-job for you.”
Peggy was lifted into the cart, Selina and Leila also getting in and supporting her in their arms. It was in vain Charles insisted on taking this office on himself, they would not hear of it; it seemed as if it were quite necessary for them to hold Peggy fast, as well as see her, to convince them that the scene before them was not a joyful dream. But Dash also appeared resolved to make one of the party in the cart—he leaped in, stretched himself on Peggy’s feet, and to move him was impossible.
“Let him lie there, he will do much good,” the farmer said; “he is a wise animal, and I am thinking it is to his good offices that there is the breath of life in this poor creature. Where is she bound for, young ladies?”
“To Woodlands,” Leila answered.
The cart proceeded, followed by the others; when they arrived at the lodge, Bill’s astonishmentwas great, and his joy also, when he heard the wonderful news, for he had taken the greatest interest in Leila’s distress; he called instantly to Susan to accompany them, and taking the key, which was still in his charge, they took their way to Peggy’s cottage, Charles having been sent on to the house to request the attendance of Nurse. “Her papa,” Leila said, “had gone to London with her Aunt Stanley; but Nurse, she was sure, would be of great use, and might bring with her whatever she thought necessary for Peggy,” who still remained in a state of stupor.
The fire was kindled, and Peggy laid upon her bed when Nurse arrived, who, after giving her a small portion of nourishment, stood by the bed-side holding her hand and gazing anxiously upon her.
“How wonderful are the ways of Providence,” she said. “To think of Peggy being restored to us again, she that we mourned as sleeping under the salt wave!”
Peggy opened her eyes. “And wherefore did ye pit me there?” she said, with a faint smile. “Na, na, it was nae just sae bad as that, though it’s been out o’ perils by sea and perils by land that the Lord has delivered me, praise be to His holy name; but, oh! it’s a deliverance past my weak comprehension, I cannamake it out; but it’s all His blessed work, and it’s a reality—it’s no’ a dream.”
“No, Peggy, it’s not a dream,” Matilda said, eagerly. “See, we are all around you, and now Cousin Leila will be happy again, and merry as she was before.”
“And did the dear bairn grieve sae for me? Oh! what it is to hear the voices of ye all again, and to see your faces glinting down on me like the blessed sunbeams on my withered heart; it was for this I prayed and for this I toiled, as my puir blistered feet can testify; but it is a strength that I have nought to do with that has brought me to see this day; and now that the life seems in me again, in a measure, I would fain ken where I am. Is it your house, Mistress Nurse, that they have brought me to, and I making sae free, lying in your ain bed, wi’ thae bonnie genty white curtains, and all sae clean and comfortable about me, and never sae much as a word o’ thanks? you will think I hae left my manners in the sea—but we will no speak o’ that awfu’ element.”
“But, Peggy,” Selina whispered, “it’s not Nurse’s house—it is your own; and Cousin Leila told her papa every thing she thought you would like.”
“Yes,” Matilda added, “and there are peatsin a box behind the door; and you have not seen the kitchen yet, with the walnut-tree table, and cupboard, and the cuckoo clock—all is for you—it is your own house.”
“My own house,” Peggy repeated, as clasping her hands together in deep emotion, she added, “O what am I, that such blessings should be showered upon me, when He whom I serve ‘had not where to lay His head!’ O my bairns! help me to praise Him, who has brought me out o’ much tribulation, for my mind’s weak and head sair confused. Could you no’ tak’ the book—it’s the Psalms o’ David that could speak weel for me at sic a moment.”
“No, Peggy,” Nurse said; “that must not be: God looks to the heart. He knows all your gratitude to Him—but you are more exhausted than I ever saw mortal being, and it’s peace and quietness you want; you must try to sleep, and the young ladies will be gude bairns, (as you call them,) and go quietly home—they will come to see you again to-morrow, when you will be more able to speak to them of your mercies, for, surely, it has been a great deliverance.”
“And may I not stay with Peggy?” Leila said.
“No, Miss Leila, no; Peggy will be better alone with me; and as she will require a little nourishment now and then, and it will need myexperience to know how much, I will watch by her till the evening; I am sure my master will spare me on such an occasion; and you may say, that if it is his pleasure to allow Amy to step down when I leave, and stay this first night with Peggy, I think it is all she will require.”
On the young people getting up to take leave, a painful struggle took place in Dash’s upright mind, and for some moments he stood irresolute. Between the dear young companion of his palmy days and the friend of late misfortunes the line of duty was difficult to discern;—but this friend was no longer perishing with hunger and cold, she was now in the land of plenty and almost smothered with blankets; so Dash wagged his tail to Peggy and darted after Leila. It was not easy to say which was most light of foot, as they bounded along—Dash capering and frisking in renewed health and spirits, and Leila as if she trod on air, so impatient was she to tell all to her papa; but Mr. Howard was already in possession of the joyful intelligence, as immediately on his return from London, he had been informed by Charles of all that had taken place, and of Nurse having been sent for, and they now met both on their way to Peggy’s cottage; but on hearing Leila’s account, Mr. Howard thought it better to delayhis visit till the next morning, and retraced his steps with the rest of the party.
As they entered the house, Leila lingered behind for a moment. “Charles,” she whispered, in an agitated voice, “if you had not told us to follow Dash, Peggy would have died. Charles, if you had been a little boy, you would not have said that.” The bright colour which before had animated her face had faded, she was pale and trembling; Charles was alarmed.
“You are ill, Leila!” he exclaimed; “the agitation of all this has been too much for you.”
“No, I am not ill,” she said quickly; “but I must go to papa.” She passed him hastily, and entered the library. Mr. Howard looked up—her appearance alarmed him.
“Has any thing happened?” he inquired; “Leila, my child, why are you so pale?”
Leila threw herself into her papa’s arms. “Nothing more has happened, papa; but I don’t know what is the matter with me; it is joy—but it is too much happiness—how can I ever thank God enough for all that He has done for me!—He has given me so many blessings. He sent me the trial, but He has taken it away from me again, and gives me more than ever joy—tenfold joy, papa—what can I say to Him—what can I do?—surely, I am most ungrateful—my heart is very full, but I feel as if I could do nothing.”
“You can give your heart more entirely, my love, to Him, who has given so much for you; you can think of Him, love Him, walk with Him, and make Him more and more to you an all-sufficient Saviour.”
“But, papa, what frightens me is this; I have more blessings here than I had in the island—friends, and beautiful rooms, and fortune, and every thing I could wish for—but it does not make me give my heart more to God. I used to think of God more in the island, when I saw His beautiful world all around me; here it is beautiful also, but so many pleasures, and so many people to love, take up my heart; perhaps it would be better for me if I had trials.”
“My dear Leila, you must beware of the error of believing, that were your situation different, you would be better than you are now; the fault is in yourself, not in the circumstances which surround you. You think it would be better for you if you had trials; you have a trial at this very moment—the trial of prosperity, and it has often been found more difficult to bear than the heaviest misfortunes. Remember the words of your blessed Saviour, that ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdomof God.’ The possession of riches often tends to increase pride and self-indulgence; they expose you to flattery and to many temptations to pleasure, which make the self-denying principles of Christ more difficult to follow; it is not money alone, that is here meant, but all the sinful vanities of a worldly life.”
“Well, papa, and is not this just what frightens me? Would it not be better for me to have no money, and to live in some quiet place like the island, where we should have nothing to tempt us off?”
“No, my dear child, had it been so, we should have been continued there; but the Bible does not tell us to renounce the world, but to overcome the world. We are to live in it, but not to be led by it. If we have the advantages of fortune and station in life, we have also greater responsibilities—we are responsible for the example we set to those who look up to us, and for the use we make of those riches which are intrusted to us, and for which, as faithful servants, we must one day give an account.”