MANY weeks now passed on tranquilly and without any marked event. The poor widow Barlow and her family had been frequently visited. Mr. Howard had been liberal in rendering her assistance, and Leila and her cousins had employed many of their leisure hours in working for the children, who were now comfortably clothed, and the elder ones put to school. Matilda had most cheerfully contributed her share, both in money and in work, and Mrs. Roberts gave a favourable report of her general improvement; her constant association with Selina and Leila was certainly producing a favourable effect on her character, but she was still easily misled by bad example, and often unprepared to meet the hour of trial; present gratification was generally yielded to, and though in most cases deep repentance followed, her feelings were as yet stronger than her principles, and the many good resolutions made in the hour of sorrow too often gave way before fresh temptation.
It was now nearly Midsummer; the precious seeds had not only sprung up into three healthy plants, but each plant presented flower-buds of promising appearance. The old gardener, however, would not hear of their being transplanted into separate pots till the autumn, assuring Leila that were he to do so sooner it would prevent the flower-buds from opening, and in every way retard the growth of the plant. This was a disappointment; but she consoled herself by having the flower-pot removed into her own room and placed on a flower-stand before the window, that she might watch the opening of the blossoms, having resolved to gather the first-blown flower for Mrs. Herbert.
Mr. and Mrs. Stanley, with Selina and Matilda, were now passing a few days at Woodlands, and Leila had obtained permission from her papa to invite Lydia Mildmay to spend the following day with them, as it was Matilda’s birthday, and she knew it would give her pleasure.
A brilliant sun awoke the sisters at an early hour, yet they found that Leila must have already visited them, for their pretty white bed was strewed with fresh flowers. The dew of the morning was still upon them, and Matilda thought no flowers before had ever smelt so sweet; she sprang up to rush into Leila’s room to thank her, when her steps were arrested byseeing a little table placed by her bed-side, over which a covering of embroidered muslin was thrown.
“This is Cousin Leila again,” she exclaimed, as she hastily lifted the white drapery, which proved to be an embroidered apron, worked by Leila for this happy occasion. On the table was placed a pretty little writing-desk, a present from her papa and mamma, a case in mother-of-pearl, with pens, pencil, sealing-wax, &c., from her Uncle Herbert, and a beautiful purse worked by Selina. Matilda was in ecstasies; how she got dressed she never very well knew; she had no distinct remembrance but of being half smothered with heat from being closely wrapped up in a shawl and carried back to her room by Nurse, who looked unutterable things. How she longed for twelve o’clock, the hour at which her friend was to arrive; for to show all those beauties to Lydia Mildmay would be such a renewal of her pleasure!
Twelve o’clock came at last; but Matilda was disappointed when Lydia saw her pretty bed, (for Matilda had carefully preserved the flowers upon it,) she only shrugged her shoulders, exclaiming, “How vastly poetical we are.” And though she said all that was civil when she saw the presents, her admiration fell far short of what had been expected; and all, that but themoment before had appeared so beautiful in Matilda’s eyes, fell considerably in her estimation, when Lydia, with an affected air of indifference, observed, “This seems a day for showing presents, so perhaps you would like to see a little trifle which my godmother presented to me some little time ago; at first I thought it rather pretty, though now I don’t think much of it;” and she took from her reticule a beautiful littleetuiof the most finished workmanship. It was a walnut-shell, bound and lined with gold, containing scissors, bodkin, and thimble, with small tablets of mother-of-pearl, and a gold pencil-case with an amethyst top. Matilda gazed in speechless admiration. If Lydia’s intention was to mortify her, she might have been satisfied with the look with which Matilda now contemplated all that had before given her so much pleasure; but after a little time she rallied again, and whispering to Leila that if her presents were not quite so beautiful, they were at least far more useful, she quite brightened up, and proposed that they should go into the conservatory to visit the parrots, and then into the garden.
The day seemed to pass very pleasantly to all; for though Lydia and Matilda were always going off by themselves, the hours never seemed long when Selina and Leila were together. Immediately after dinner the carriage was sent for.Lydia, to convey her home, as there was a large dinner party, and her mamma wished her to be present in the drawing-room. Matilda seemed quite unhappy in parting with her; indeed, having this intelligence communicated to her just as they were sitting down to dinner seemed quite to overset her. She held her hand at parting, and looked anxiously up in her face, then followed her a few steps as she was leaving the room, and for some minutes they whispered together. When Matilda returned, Leila observed that her eyes were full of tears. She went up to her, and took her kindly by the hand, but Matilda hastily pushed her away, and ran out of the room.
“What can be the matter with Matilda?” Leila inquired; “did you observe, Selina, she appeared quite angry with me? Do you think it is only that she is sorry Lydia has gone away, or have I done any thing to offend her? Should I go and ask her, do you think?”
“No, Leila, I think you had better not. You have done nothing to make her angry. I am sure it is not that. Matilda is never the better of being alone with Lydia Mildmay; I am quite sorry now we left them so much together; but I so dislike appearing to watch them; I fear something has happened, for I know the expression of Matilda’s face so well—it was not onlyat the moment of parting she was so much overset. Did you not observe her at dinner?”
“No, I did not look at her much, but I think she was in good spirits then; I remember now she laughed two or three times.”
“Yes, she tried to laugh; but she looked very unhappy; and it was only when she saw me looking at her that she laughed. At one time she kept crumbling all her bread down on the carpet, as if she did not know what she was about, and once or twice she could scarcely swallow. Then mamma said something to her, and she grew very red, and seemed to wish to hide her hands under the table.”
“O I can tell you what made her grow red then. I heard Aunt Stanley tell her that she must have forgotten to wash her hands before dinner; and, to be sure, her nails were quite as black as if she had been grubbing in the earth like little Alfred.”
Selina shook her head. “I don’t understand it,” she said; “but I fear Matilda has done something wrong.”
“Then I am sure it must be Lydia’s fault if she has,” Leila said eagerly: “for Mrs. Roberts says she improved so much of late. I am so sorry I invited Lydia, and papa advised me not; he said he thought we three would be quite happy together. I wish he had said steadily,‘No, Leila, I don’t wish it;’ but he very seldom now tells me I am not to do a thing, as he used to do in the island; he says now that I am older I should learn to govern myself, and that in most cases he wishes only to advise. So it is my fault also if Matilda has done wrong, for I invited Lydia.”
“But, Leila, we must not blame Lydia without knowing. How can we but——” She was interrupted by Matilda looking into the room, she drew hastily back, but on Selina calling to her, she advanced a few steps, hesitated, and looking anxiously in Leila’s face for a moment, again left the room. They both observed that her eyes were swoln with weeping, and Selina, now seriously alarmed, said she must go into the drawing-room, and find out if her mamma was aware if any thing was wrong. She thought now she should speak to her mamma, and she would come up into Leila’s room and tell her what she had heard.
Selina had not been in the drawing-room many minutes when the door opened, and Leila darted in, exclaiming, “Oh! Selina, my flowers, my precious flowers! Clara’s flowers are dying.”
They all followed her into her room—every thing seemed in perfect order, and the flower-pot stood exactly where Leila had placed it;but two of the plants seemed withered, and when Mrs. Stanley touched them they fell from her hand on the carpet, they evidently had been broken off and carefully stuck into the earth again.
“Who can have done this?” Mrs. Stanley exclaimed, and her eyes fell upon Selina, who had become very pale. “Selina,” she said, “do you know any thing of this?”
“No, mamma, I do not.”
“But I see you suspect,” Mrs. Stanley said. “Where is Matilda?”
At that moment Amy entered the room, but seeing it occupied was retreating again, when Mrs. Stanley called to her. “Amy,” she said, “come here. Do you know any thing of this? did you overturn that flower-pot?”
“Miss Leila’s favourite flowers! O no, no, I did not. I was not aware it had been overturned.”
Her look of perfect truthfulness it was impossible to doubt.
When the flowers fell to the ground, Leila had hidden her face on her papa’s shoulder, and was struggling with her emotion; she now looked up, and turning to Mrs. Stanley, she said, “Aunt, there is still one plant left, and it must have been an accident. O don’t say any thing more about it.”
But Mrs. Stanley would not yield to this. “No, my love,” she said, “it is quite necessary that I should endeavour to discover the truth. The overturning of the flower-pot might have been an accident, but the attempt to deceive, the replanting the flowers in the earth, could not have been accidental. Now, Amy, recollect yourself, and tell me if you have seen any one leaving this room lately?”
Amy was silent.
“I insist upon knowing,” Mrs. Stanley said.
“I saw Miss Matilda come out of the room, ma’am,” Amy answered in a trembling voice.
“Was it before Miss Mildmay went home, or after?” Mrs. Stanley inquired.
“It was after, ma’am.”
“And did you observe any thing particular in Miss Matilda’s appearance? Did she look distressed?”
Amy was again silent.
“Speak out, Amy, I desire you,” Mrs. Stanley said.
“Miss Matilda was crying, ma’am.”
“You may go, Amy, and send Miss Matilda to me.”
Amy left the room. Mr. Howard also rose and quitted the room just as Matilda was entering it; she came in trembling excessively, and looking very pale, but the moment Mrs. Stanleyplaced the flower-pot before her and said, “Matilda, do you know any thing of this?” the deepest colour suffused her face, and mounted to her temples. She remained silent.
“You were in your cousin’s room after dinner, were you not?” Mrs. Stanley inquired.
“Yes, mamma.” The words were scarcely audible.
Mrs. Stanley fixed her eyes upon her face. “Matilda,” she said, “I happened to be in your cousin’s room immediately before dinner; I went to look for a book. The flowers then looked perfectly fresh; you must have overturned the flower-pot when Amy saw you coming out of the room this evening.”
Matilda’s agitation increased; she tried to speak, but Mrs. Stanley with difficulty could make out the words, “No, mamma.”
Mrs. Stanley herself now became much agitated. “Oh, Matilda,” she said, “I conjure you to speak out, and tell me clearly what did happen; do not let me have the pain of feeling that my child has not only shown duplicity in the attempt to conceal what at first was probably only an accident, but is now adding falsehood to her fault; tell me distinctly, did you or did you not overthrow that flower-pot and break those flowers?”
There was no answer.
Leila went up to her and whispered, “Matilda, dear Matilda, speak the truth, don’t be afraid; I am not angry, I don’t care now for the flowers, that is, I don’t care very much, I am not so sorry for them now, indeed I am not. But say you did it, O do say it; don’t make God angry with you. O pray that this temptation may be taken from you; He will give you strength.”
Matilda was still silent, but the piteous look she cast on Leila was heart-rending.
Mrs. Stanley again spoke. “Matilda,” she said, “I see it is vain to prolong this scene. Go to your room, and on your knees pray earnestly to your heavenly Father to touch your sinful heart; when you have asked forgiveness of Him, and have resolved to make a full and free confession of your fault, send for me, I will be ready to come to you at any moment.”
Matilda left the room; Mrs. Stanley soon after followed. Selina and Leila were left alone; Selina was silently weeping. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Leila then said, “Selina, we cannot be quite certain that Matilda is deceiving us; Lydia may have done this.”
Selina shook her head. “O that I could think so, but I cannot. I know the expression of Matilda’s face too well. I always know when she has done wrong; and you forget,Leila, that mamma saw the flowers just before dinner, and they looked quite fresh then; and Lydia was not in your room after dinner, you know we were all with her till the moment she went away. When did you last observe them yourself? You must have been in the room when you were changing your dress for dinner.”
Leila looked much distressed as she answered, “Yes, I saw them, and they did look fresh; I remember it, because I observed drops of water on the leaves, and the earth looked wet, and I knew that Amy must have watered them—she often does so when the day has been warm; Amy was very fond of my poor flowers.” She had no sooner uttered the words than she coloured. “It was very wrong in me to say this, and to make you more sorry, for indeed it is not the flowers I am thinking most of now: and you know, Selina, I have still three more seeds to sow. How wise it was of papa to advise me to keep them in case of accidents, and not to risk all at once. O if I would always take papa’s advice, every thing would be well; if I had taken his advice about Lydia, and had not invited her, Matilda would have been with us as usual during the whole time, and this would not have happened. And yet papa says I must learn to judge for myself, I must not lean too much on others; how difficultall this is. Do you think we should go to Matilda now?”
“No, I think mamma wished her to be alone.”
“Then let us go into the garden, I feel so unhappy; I don’t like sitting still.”
The door of Matilda’s room they saw was not entirely shut as they passed.
“Perhaps she might speak to me,” Selina said. She advanced a few steps into the room; Matilda had thrown herself upon the bed. The flowers with which it had been so lately decked now lay scattered on the floor. Matilda evidently saw her, for she looked up for a moment, but she did not speak, and they passed on to the garden.
The whole evening wore slowly away, and no message came from Matilda; every time the drawing-room door opened, Selina and Leila were in anxious expectation—but still no message came. The young people went early to bed: how brightly had the morning dawned upon them, and now all was turned to sorrow. The first thing which struck Leila on entering her room was the muslin apron which she had embroidered for Matilda folded up and laid upon her bed; had she looked into her aunt’s room, she would have seen the writing-desk also returned, and placed upon the table. HadMatilda done this? had she felt that she was unworthy of retaining those gifts which had been given her as marks of love and affection? Leila prayed earnestly for Matilda, but it was long before she could compose herself to sleep; the piteous look which Matilda had cast upon her haunted her imagination.
Meanwhile poor Selina was not less unhappy. On entering the bed-room, she found Matilda seated at the table writing a letter. She looked much fluttered when Selina entered, and hastily threw her pocket-handkerchief over something on the table. Selina felt almost certain it was theetuiwhich Matilda had admired so much. Matilda seemed unwilling to begin to undress; after a short time she said, making a visible effort to speak calmly, “Selina, do go to bed, and go quickly. I can’t come just yet; don’t ask me why.”
Selina began to undress. She then took her Bible to read as usual before saying her prayers. “Matilda,” she said, after a few minutes, “may I read you this text which I have turned up?”
There seemed a silent assent.
Selina read, “There hath no temptation taken you, but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that you are able, but will with the temptation make a way to escape, that you may beable to bear it.” “Yes,” Selina said, “and it is by praying to God that we shall obtain His assistance,” and she knelt down by the side of her bed.
For some time after she had lain down, all was still in the room. Selina had turned her face from her sister, that she might not seem to watch her. After some time Matilda rose; she stood for a moment by the bed, then put something very gently below the pillow; she started when Selina said, “Matilda, I am not asleep;” but she knelt down, said her prayers, and then got into bed.
“How very cold you are, dear Matilda,” Selina said; “and how you tremble. O why will you not tell me all?”
Matilda pressed her hand. “Good night, dearest; try to sleep.”
Matilda seemed more composed; Selina felt comfort, she knew not why. After a considerable time Selina did sleep. She was awakened early by the bright morning sun, but when she opened her eyes she saw Matilda was not there. She called to her, there was no answer. Much alarmed, she sprang out of bed and flew to the window. She saw Matilda fully dressed, standing below a tree speaking to the gardener’s boy; she put a small packet into his hand, and pointed across the lawn in the direction of Mr. Mildmay’s. The packet was larger than a letter, Selina felt sure it was theetui. She retreated from the window, and when Matilda returned, took no notice of what she had seen. At the breakfast-table there was no Matilda with her smiling face. All the morning she continued in her room, seated by the window; she had her work in her hand, but was generally looking out along the approach as if she expected some one. About the middle of the day a servant in livery was seen approaching; he held a letter in his hand; as he stopped below her window, she strained her eyes to catch the address, but could not. Poor Matilda! how her heart beat, and how her colour went and came; but no one entered her room—the letter then could not have been for her. She called to Amy, who said she believed the servant had brought a letter for Mrs. Stanley. At that moment Selina came running in. “Matilda,” she said, “Mrs. Mildmay has written to say that Lydia has lost her ruby ring, and she begs it may be carefully looked for; she returned home, she says, with only one glove, and Mrs. Mildmay thinks she may have pulled it off in the glove, and trusts we may be able to find it.”
Selina looked earnestly at Matilda, but her expression she could not make out; she had brightened up considerably at first, but nowthere was only agitation visible, and she made no effort to assist in looking for the lost glove. It was not to be found in Matilda’s room; the drawing-room and dining-room had already been searched. They now proceeded to Leila’s apartment. Here they were equally unsuccessful: under the bed, under every chair, they searched in vain. Suddenly it struck Selina that it was at dinner, while Lydia was still there, that her mamma had observed that Matilda’s nails were black. There was a small window in one corner of Leila’s room which looked out upon the court; she threw open this window and gazed eagerly out; she saw something lying which might be a glove. Amy ran down into the court, and returned with the glove in her hand. The ring was sticking in one of the fingers, but the pale kid glove was much stained with earth, and could not have been used again. A new light seemed to dawn on Mrs. Stanley; “Amy,” she said, “go to the coachman, and tell him I shall require the carriage as quickly as possible, I must drive over to Mrs. Mildmay’s.” Then turning to Selina, she whispered, “I wish Matilda to return to her room, and let no one question her.”
The hour of Mrs. Stanley’s absence was an anxious hour to all. Selina and Leila were both with Matilda when the carriage was seen returning;when it stopped before the door Matilda seemed scarcely able to breathe. Mrs. Stanley entered and took her in her arms. “My poor child,” she said, “you have been very, very wrong; but, thank God, you have not told an untruth. O Matilda, how you have been injured by bad example, and how far the evil might have spread, had I not discovered Lydia’s artful character! Mrs. Mildmay told me she suspected something was wrong when she found you had written to Lydia, and sent back heretui; and even before I went she had extracted from her a sort of half confession. Unhappy girl! but she now seems completely penitent.” Then turning to Leila and Selina, she continued, “She seemed anxious to tell me all; she said that she had insisted on going into Leila’s room, as she wished to see her books and some pretty ornaments she had observed on the mantel-piece; that when she overturned the flower-stand, Matilda had wished her immediately to confess it, but she would not; that she had stuck the flowers into the earth and watered them, in the hope of keeping them fresh as long as she remained, and that she had bribed Matilda to perfect silence by offering her theetui; that Matilda at first refused, but afterwards yielded, and that Lydia had made her promise that she was to answer no questions, that she was not on anyaccount to say she had not done it. Alas! my child, how you grieved the Holy Spirit when you took that wicked bribe; but deeply have you suffered, and I will inflict no further punishment upon you, than that you should remain in your room during the day. Think deeply of all that has passed, and of the misery you have endured, and pray earnestly to God for his forgiveness, and for strength to resist future temptation. Also you must give me your promise to give up all intimacy with Lydia Mildmay, and never to trust yourself alone with her again, unless in after years I give you leave to do so.”
Matilda threw herself again into her mamma’s arms, but she could not speak. She then slowly left the room.
“Selina,” she said, when soon after she was alone with her sister, “you can never know how unhappy I have been. I cannot tell it you. O it was so dreadful when mamma questioned me, and I dared not tell! And when I thought you all believed I was telling untruths, and that you could never love me again, I thought my heart would break. I did not know what was right and what was wrong, and for a long time I could not pray. But then I did, and God seemed to put it into my heart to send back theetui, and ask leave to tell; and I was a little happier after that. But when you took my hand inbed, and asked me again to tell, I grew worse again. I could not sleep; (only now and then a little;) my best time was when I stood under the tree, and saw the gardener’s boy running across the lawn with my letter, the air was so fresh, and the birds were singing, and the sun made every thing so beautiful. I felt quite happy then.”
The tears were running down Selina’s cheeks.
“I am making you sorry,” she continued; “I will not tell you any more. You know I am happy now, O so happy! and I will not forget this time, I am sure—no, I never, never will forget. Now go, dearest, to Leila, for I think mamma wishes me to be alone; but come in sometimes, with cousin Leila, and just kiss me and go away again.”
FROM this time the improvement in Matilda’s character was much more steady; her warm affection for her sister and Leila daily increased, and she seemed now to have no wish beyond the enjoyment of their society. They were a most happy little trio; but days of trial were at hand, and sorrow about to visit their young hearts in an unexpected form. Charles was now at home for the Midsummer holidays, and had come over to pass the Saturday at Woodlands; he certainly was somewhat taller than before, but Leila seemed rather to think it an improvement, and she met him with all the frank gladness of her happy age. There was so little of the rough school-boy in Charles, and so much of the gentle kind friend, that Leila had learnt to look up to him with a feeling of happy security; he never flattered her in asking advice; she was always sure of hearing the truth from him unbiassed by any previous opinion expressed on her side. She told him that an accident hadhappened to the precious plant intended for him; but she entered into no details, and he promised to be patient, and to await the coming up of the other seeds. They had not been long together when he inquired for his friend Peggy Dobie, and Leila proposed that they should cross the lawn together and visit her at her cottage; they were sure of finding her in her garden, she said, for Peggy had told her that her bees were about to swarm, and that she must watch them closely.
Never had Leila looked more joyous than when she tied on her bonnet to accompany Charles; her cheeks were glowing with health, her eyes bright with intelligence, and the feelings of hopeful, trusting, happy youth were visible in every expression of her sweet countenance.
It had been the loveliest of summer mornings, and at first so elastic was Leila’s step, that she seemed to tread on air; she proposed to lengthen their walk by first mounting one of the high fields from which the view was particularly fine; but by the time they had gained the height, they felt the heat of the sun overcoming, and in descending were glad to avail themselves of the shelter of the wood. The bright sunshine, however, which they had wished to avoid, now suddenly gave way to dark lurid clouds; the airbecame very close and oppressive; there was a dull moaning sound amongst the trees, as if the wind were about to rise, and as they entered the wood the sweet singing of the birds was hushed; they were darting rapidly to and fro amongst the branches in constant uneasy motion, as if danger were at hand. Charles looked anxiously at the great masses of fiery-looking clouds which were now driven along by a strong current of upper air. Leila caught the anxious expression of his face.
“Why do you look so frightened, Charles?” she said. “I like these sudden changes, they are very good; don’t walk so quick,—let us stop for a moment and watch those magnificent clouds.”
“No, Leila, no; let us hasten home; I fear we shall have a storm.”
“A storm!” she repeated; “O do then let us make haste. I am not frightened—that is, I am not much frightened, though a storm always makes me think of melancholy things; but papa, I know, will be anxious about us; let us walk very quick.”
They hastened on, but Leila suddenly paused for a moment to listen to the sound of distant thunder. “The storm has begun,” she said, in a tone of alarm; “that is thunder;” then quickening her steps, she proceeded more rapidlythan before. A second and louder peal succeeded to the first; again and again it lightened, and the thunder seemed every moment to be approaching nearer. Leila trembled all over, and clung to Charles in speechless terror.
“Let us get out of the wood,” Charles hastily exclaimed, “we shall be safer in the open field,” and seizing her arm he hurried her forward.
At that moment the whole wood seemed lighted up as if on fire; the lightning ran along the ground, a great branch from a tree fell with a loud crash at their feet, and Leila screamed, “Charles, where are you, Charles? I cannot see you—I am blind!”
O that moment of inexpressible agony, as he stooped and gazed into her dear face! It was unscathed, but the eyes were shut. “Open your eyes, dear, dear Leila; O do not say you cannot open them. Merciful God, it cannot be!”
Alas! it was too true. She tried in vain to raise her eyelids.
“I shall never see my papa again,” she almost shrieked out, as she sank upon the ground at Charles’s feet. He lifted her gently in his arms, her head fell upon his shoulder; she became still, he thought she had fainted, but soon he heard her whisper, “It is God who has done it. He loves me, I am His child, and He can comfort my dear, dear papa.”
Charles continued to carry her in his arms, but his knees trembled so much he could scarcely get along, and Leila felt a tear drop upon her cheek.
“Charles,” she said, “you are weeping. O do not weep for me; God can comfort me, and hedoes. I cannot tell you what I feel now, it seems as if angels were whispering to me.” Then after a little she said again, “But it is for my papa, my own papa. Charles, do not carry me to him at first; carry me to my own room.”
She was obeyed. He stole up stairs unperceived by any one, and Leila knelt down by the side of her bed and prayed earnestly.
“Now take me to my papa,” she said, as she arose from her knees. “Where are you, Charles?” she exclaimed, as she tried to grasp the empty air.
Charles had been watching at the door; he too had offered up a silent earnest prayer; he was now by her side in a moment, and led her to her papa’s room. She tapped at his door.
“Come in, my little woman,” Mr. Howard said, in a glad voice, but without raising his eyes from his book. “I am so relieved to hear your little tap; I have been seeking you, Leila. Where have you been during this frightful storm? Why don’t you come in, love?”
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“Come to the door, dear papa, but do not open it, till I speak to you.”
Mr. Howard rose. “What pleasant little surprise are you preparing for me, my child?” he said, as he stood with his hand upon the lock.
“Papa, dear papa, it is not a pleasant surprise; but you will try to bear it.”
The sound of her voice startled him, and Mr. Howard opened the door in the greatest alarm. Leila fell into his arms.
“Papa,” she said, as she clung to him and repeatedly kissed his cheek, “papa, you will bear it; God has done it. He knows best. He has struck me blind!”
Mr. Howard groaned aloud; he clasped Leila more closely in his arms—he looked upon her face—he could not speak.
Charles, in a trembling voice, related all that had taken place.
Mr. Howard rallied, and seemed to regain his usual firmness; he turned to Charles,—“Send immediately to Richmond,” he said, “for Dr. B——, and let the coachman get ready to ride to London, I will give him a note. Leila, my own heroic child, I must leave you a moment with Nurse.”
The poor woman and Amy were already in the room, both sobbing bitterly; but upon Mr. Howard speaking aside to Nurse, and tellingher of the necessity there was for self-command for Leila’s sake, she made a wonderful effort for composure, and seating herself on the couch, she took Leila in her arms, and laid her head gently upon her shoulder, as she used to do when she was a little child. Amy stood by her side, her hands clasped together, and with an expression of the deepest woe, while tears still ran silently down her cheeks.
Leila was now quite composed. They heard her whisper, “The worst is over now, my papa knows it all;” and she pressed Nurse’s hand repeatedly, and said she felt better, then drawing Amy towards her, she whispered very low in her ear,—“You will be a good girl, Amy, and not cry, and you will be a great comfort to me—you will lead me every where.”
Charles had himself gone off to Richmond on Leila’s pony, but returned unsuccessful; both Dr. B.—— and another to whom he applied were from home. The agony of suspense to all was very great; and though Charles strove hard to restrain his emotion, the tones of his voice betrayed his feelings to Leila every time he tried to address her.
Mr. Howard spoke to him aside—he thought it better he should return home. It was a great trial to him, but he instantly obeyed, and stole out of the room without even a word of adieu,he felt that all additional agitation must be carefully avoided.
As he went out Leila raised her head and listened. “Some one has left the room,” she said, “it must be Charles. Where has he gone to?”
Mr. Howard explained that he had returned home, he thought it better he should do so.
“Ah, papa, I know why: it is because I agitate myself so much. I know it is very wrong, and I will try to be quite calm, and to comfort you more, papa; but I cannot always do it, though sometimes for a moment it seems quite easy, and I only feel that God has done it for my good, and has sent me this great trial because he loves me and wishes to make me better, and that perhaps he has shut my eyes on the world that I may think more of my beautiful home in heaven; for, papa, do you not know how much I had begun to love the world; the love of it was creeping into me, and you did not know it; ever since we came into it I have loved it every day more and more—the people, the flowers, this house, every thing. Yes, I have loved the world better than the island, where I thought so much more of God. And I used to like so much to hear Bill and Susan call me their little mistress,—all this was very wrong, and I dare say this is why God has shut it all out, the trees,the green fields, the beautiful flowing river, and even your face, my own papa—and forever!—oh, that is the part I cannot bear.”
“Hush, my child, my own Leila;—do not say there is any thing you cannot bear. He who has sent the trial will give you strength. Remember, we are told, that ‘If we endure chastening, God dealeth with us as with sons, for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not?’—and though for the present it is very grievous to you, He will, when His own righteous purposes have been fulfilled, bring to your heart that sweet peace ‘which the world cannot know;’—but, my child, you are exciting yourself in talking too much, and I am most anxious that you should keep very quiet now, and try to get a little sleep.”
“Well, papa, I will. Do you remember that day, papa, when you said to me, ‘Leila, remember, duties are ours, but events are in the hands of God?’ I am glad I have thought of this now, for it comforts me—it tells me it is my duty to be patient and to trust it all to God—now I will try to sleep.”
She did try, but soon she started up again, and clasped her papa’s hand more tightly. “Papa,” she said, “there is something I wish to say to you; and then I think I could sleep;—will you write to Aunt Stanley, and tell herevery thing, and beg her to come here to-day as soon as possible, and bring them all with her. I shall be better when I have seen them all”—(she stopped and shuddered)—“I shall be better when they are here, I mean; and bid aunt tell Selina not to be very sorry, and to remember how God comforted her when she was dumb, and gave her strength to bear it; and He is giving me strength also, dear papa.”
Mr. Howard seated himself at the table and began to write, and before he had finished his note Leila was asleep—it seemed a troubled sleep, she started often, and called out repeatedly, as if in extreme terror, for the shock on her nervous system had been severe; but before she awoke to perfect consciousness again, her uncle, aunt, and all of them, stood gazing upon her. They all struggled hard to control their sorrow, but it was Matilda’s and Alfred’s sobs that awakened Leila. I will not further distress my young readers by dwelling on this scene. Leila herself was the first to obtain composure, and after some time she was able to converse calmly with Selina.
She showed so much unwillingness to part with them again, that Mr. Howard arranged that they should all come over for some weeks to Woodlands, Leila having promised that she would be satisfied with exactly as much of thesociety of her cousins as was thought good for her; but the knowledge that they were in the house, she said, would be the greatest comfort to her; and it was further arranged that Selina was not to go home that evening, but remain till the others joined her.
This mournful day wore heavily on, and still Dr. B—— had not arrived. It were difficult to say what they all expected would be the result of his anxiously expected visit; but when at last the sound of horses’ hoofs was heard upon the gravel, the agitation of the whole party was extreme. Mr. Howard became very pale, and withdrew his hand from Leila’s that she might not be aware how he trembled; but she had heard the sound, and seemed aware of his motive, for she said, “Do not be afraid of me, papa; I know what Dr. B—— will say, and I can bear it; hold my hand again, it makes me feel strong.”
Dr. B—— entered; the look he cast on all around was full of deep sympathy, for Charles’s note had made him aware of what had happened. His eyes rested mournfully on Leila, who lay on the sofa looking pale and agitated; but as he approached, she hastily brushed a tear from her long, dark eyelashes, and the brightest colour dyed her cheeks. He paused in evident emotion; then seating himself byher, he looked at her attentively, took the hand Mr. Howard had been holding, and felt her pulse; her hand was deadly cold; again all colour had now left her cheek, and she lay like a bruised lily, shrinking from his touch.
“Try to compose yourself, my dear young lady,” he said gently; “I am not going to hurt you; but it is necessary that I should examine your eyes more closely.” As he spoke, he turned her face more fully to the light. Mr. Howard was bending over her. Dr. B—— gently raised one of her eyelids, and Leila, in a voice of rapture, exclaimed, “My papa, I see him?”
Who can express Mr. Howard’s feelings at that moment. “Thank God!” the kind-hearted physician exclaimed, “the sight of the eye in this dear child is not destroyed;” and on examining the other, the result was equally satisfactory. “This is not so bad as we dreaded,” he said; but he whispered something to Mr. Howard, and seemed about to quit the room. He had asked to speak to him alone.
Leila had not caught the words, but she suspected something; and springing up she said, “Do let him tell me every thing, papa, I am quite able to bear it. Does Dr. B—— think I shall still be blind?—do let him speak out the truth.”
Mr. Howard assented. The good doctor was much affected. “My dear young lady,” he said, “I hope and trust that you will not always be blind; but I am not prepared to say that you certainly will recover the power of raising your eyelids—there have been frequent instances of the nerves never recovering their powers; but you are young, and in good health; your well-turned mind, and your power of commanding your feelings, (and I am sure from the highest motives,) is much in your favour, and with God nothing is impossible. And now I will take my leave for to-day. I have only one caution to give, and I address it to all,—agitation of every kind must as much as possible be avoided.”
It was no unnecessary caution, for the lively joy expressed by Matilda and Alfred when Dr. B—— pronounced his opinion, Leila felt more difficult to bear than their former sorrow; and Mr. Howard now expressed a wish, which was immediately complied with, that Leila should be left alone with him for the rest of the evening.
Before night the oculist from London also arrived. He confirmed all that the physician had said; he could pronounce nothing positive as to Leila’s recovering her sight, but he had hope; and he enforced still more strictly, if possible,that every thing should be done to strengthen her general health, and agitation and excitement of every kind carefully avoided. “Don’t let any one be with her,” he said, “who is likely to agitate her; there is an old woman in the passage in such a state of distress; she is clamorous for admittance, but it must not be yielded to.” This was spoken aside to Mr. Howard, but Leila caught the words, “old woman.” “It is Peggy Dobie,” she said, “my dear Peggy; oh, papa, let her come in for a moment, only one moment, papa, and then I shall keep myself quite still, and not be agitated again.”
Mr. Howard thought she ought to be gratified; he knew better than the oculist the command which Leila could maintain over herself: he spoke to Peggy himself—she came in, knelt down by Leila’s bed, took her hand, and with a voice which trembled with emotion, she said, “My dear, dear bairn, your poor old Peggy will pray for you, and there is a merciful God above.” Her voice sank to a whisper; she seemed unable to add another word; but Leila seemed calmed and comforted. Poor Peggy left the room, but she lingered till a late hour in the house, and was back again in the first dawn of the morning.
The sad news had spread rapidly through the village: Leila was so beloved by old and young,that the inquiries during the whole day had been numerous. The children of the village, as well as her little scholars, came in troops, and Amy had many a sorrowful scene to go through with them. Nurse sat by Leila’s side during the whole night, and Mr. Howard visited her every hour. Her sleep was very broken, and next day she was so feverish that no one but her papa and Nurse were allowed to see her—not even Selina; but by another day, the feverish symptoms entirely left her; she felt weak and easily fluttered, but was generally quite calm, and at times even cheerful. For some days Matilda, though in the house, was only allowed to come into the room at short intervals. Matilda had not sufficient control over her feelings, and the warm expression of an affection, which was now greater than ever, was too much for poor Leila. She was desired to be as much as possible in the open air, and she was carried out every day into the garden, and sat for hours in the shade, taking a little turn now and then, leaning upon her papa. The first time she went out was a great trial to her, and for some time she wept silently; then taking her papa’s hand as they sat together under a tree in the garden, she said:—
“Papa, I have made you more sorry, but it is over now; it was just at first—indeed I could not help it, for the air brought to me the sweetsmell of the flowers which I can no longer see, and from the feeling on my eyelids I know the sun must be shining gloriously. O, how I used to like to gaze on the rising sun, and to watch the soft grey of the morning fading before his golden light! and it brought grand feelings to my mind, and good feelings too, papa, for it made me think of Him who is more glorious than the sun.”
“Yes, my child, but that feeling can still be yours, and even in a higher degree, for this trial may lead you to raise your mind more constantly to Him in whose presence there is everlasting light.”
“Yes, papa, I know it, and I will pray for this. Do you remember the text in Isaiah which says, ‘I will bring the blind by a way that they know not, I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight; these things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’ And God may do this to me, papa; He may open the eyes of my mind, and make it all more light to me. And I have many pleasures yet, you know: I have you, papa; and that is more than a pleasure, it is my happiness. O you don’t know what I feel when you are near me; I am not melancholy then; indeed I am never so melancholy as I thought I should be;I know when it is light and when it is dark quite well; and once you know I saw your face for a moment; I think I should be quite happy if I got leave to see you for a moment every day, but Dr. B—— says I must not—why, papa?”
“Because, my love, nothing must be done to increase the injury on the nerves; therefore you must not try to force your eyelids up.”
“Well, papa, I will try to be patient; but I may hope not to be always blind. You know Jesus Christ opened the eyes of many that were blind: He was full of pity, and I may pray to Him to open my eyes,—that is, if He thinks it good for me.”
“Yes, my child, such prayers, leaving all to Him, cannot fail to be acceptable in His sight. He has loved you, Leila, from your birth, with more than an earthly love; and never more, I feel sure, than at this moment, when you are bowing meekly to His will. His deathless love is around, and above you, even now; He can wipe all tears from your eyes with a hand that never comforted in vain; He can give you happy dreams of green pastures and still waters, and brighter and brighter hopes of that dear home, where no darkness, no grief, no fear can enter; only the eternal shining of a light divine, and joy unspeakable! Now, sweet one, we mustwalk a little, I must not talk to you too much.”
“But, papa, such talk as this!”
“No, not even such talk as this; I must not strain your mind in any way, my Leila.”
“Then, papa, take me to the bee-hives, I think I should like to hear the bees humming.”
MORE than a fortnight had passed away, and Leila’s general health was greatly strengthened, though she had had many agitating scenes to go through. The meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Herbert and Mina had at first affected her much, but she had now great pleasure in their society, and they came frequently, and spent the whole day, for Leila clung more to Mrs. Herbert than ever. It was a great pleasure to her to lie on the sofa with her knitting, and to listen to general conversation; and Mr. Howard was most desirous in every way to promote her cheerfulness. Charles’s visits had been almost daily; though he had been permitted to see Leila only for a few minutes at a time. He was now, however, frequently allowed to lead her on Selim for a short ride, and Leila assured her papa that each time she felt her courage increase so much, that she was sure before long she should be able to ride out with him as usual.
“Yes, papa,” she said, “you must not bemelancholy about me, for I am not unhappy. Nurse sometimes thinks I am, but indeed I am not; she fancies it, I believe, because I do not speak so much now; I like to think and be still; you know, papa, my world is more within me now—I do not see its beautiful sunsets, its woods, its flowers; its broad river with its green banks, which I used to love so much; and so I picture them in my own mind, and seem to dream of them, though I am awake. It is that which makes me often still, papa; and I like those dreams, they make me happy now.”
“Yes, my own Leila, I can understand all this; but those day-dreams must not be too much indulged in; there might be danger then of your finding your pleasures in life more in reverie, than in useful exertion and in active duty; for you must not fancy, my dear child, that you have not the same duties to perform now as you formerly had; as your health strengthens, I should wish you to return as much as possible to your former habits.”
“But, papa, I can do so little now.”
“Not so, my love; in a very short time you will be surprised to find how much you can do, and how independent you have become. Do you remember, at first you were afraid to move across the room, and now you seem to walk fearlessly over almost every part of the house.”
“Yes, papa, I am not the least afraid now, and since I have been blind, God seems to have opened my ears more and more; before, I always knew your footstep, and it made me glad; but now, I know the step of every one in the house, and yours though ever so far off; and when you are quite still, I know your breathing, and I like to listen to it so much. O, I have many pleasures—why do you sigh, papa?—you must not do that, it makes me sorry; Selina often sighs when I talk to her, and even Matilda; and sometimes when Matilda begins to laugh, she stops herself quite suddenly—I wish she would not, I like to hear her laugh. Papa, I have never heard you laugh sincethat day; my own papa, you must try—you must be merry with me again;”—and she held out her hand.
Mr. Howard pressed it fondly. “My Leila, my precious one!” was all he could say.
“Yes, your precious one; how I like you to call me that! Come, let me sing to you; now don’t say, ‘Another day, Leila, not now,’—for it is not to be another day, I am quite able for it now—so let your precious one have her guitar again.”
She rose to search for it in its accustomed corner: Mr. Howard had had it removed, but he placed it in her hands again, and she seated herself by his side, and began to singone of his most favourite airs. At first her voice was weak and tremulous; but gradually it acquired more firmness, though there was so much of unusual melancholy in its rich and liquid tones, that filled Mr. Howard’s eyes with tears. She evidently found it a great effort to continue, and her next choice was a more lively air.
“Now, papa,” she said, as the second song was ended, “I hope I have cheered you again; I should not have tried to sing that melancholy song.”
Alas! dear child, she could not see that her second attempt had only increased Mr. Howard’s agitation; but hastily brushing his hand across his eyes, he said, in a steady and even cheerful voice, “No more at present, my sweet child; but now every day you shall sing to your papa as usual, and cheer him as you have ever done; but what does Amy want?—this is the second time she has looked into the room.”
“Oh, I know,” Leila answered. “Yes, Amy, I am coming presently—I know, papa, what she wants; at this hour she always takes me to visit my pets, and they are getting quite fond of me again, which makes me so happy. At first they did not like me so much, because I was blind; they fluttered about, and seemed afraid of me—not Dash nor Selina, they werealways kind; Selina seems getting quite young again, for she frisks about me always, jumps up when I am passing by, and purs so loud, that I am afraid she will make herself quite hoarse; and as to Dash, you don’t know what a dog he is—wherever I am now, he lies outside the door, and the moment I go out he follows; he does not think it is enough that I should be alone with Amy, and looks at her she says quite suspiciously;—when you are there he does not follow me quite so close, but when I am alone with her he is touching me the whole time. Yesterday he pulled me aside by my dress; Amy said it was because there was a stone in my path, and he was afraid I might strike my foot against it; and another day he seized a large branch of a tree in his mouth, (which had fallen down,) and threw it aside with such indignation, and looked at her quite angrily, as if she were leading me into danger. Poor Dash, he does not know how very kind Amy is to me, papa; I cannot persuade her yet to return to her own room at night; she still lies on that little hard mattress at the foot of my bed, and when I tell her not to do it, it makes her sorry.”
“Yes, my child, I know she does; and I am sure she prefers doing so.”
“I think so too, papa, and for many days I am sure she never slept, for always when Iawoke I found her standing by my bed, ready to give me my lemonade, or to rub my feet, or do whatever I wished, to make me sleep again. Papa, if this trial had not come to me, I never should have known the love that is in many hearts for me; I cannot speak about Selina, I cannot tell you what she is to me; and Matilda, so gentle to me and so kind; and Mrs. Roberts also; then Mrs. Herbert, Charles, and Mina; but it would take me all the day to tell you of all the kindnesses to me,—and I am forgetting that Amy is waiting, for I could chat away with you, papa, for ever; but now I must go and chat a little to my parrots, or they will be quite jealous. And then Amy has to give me my lesson of flowers; she is teaching me to know them all by the touch, for you know it is better to be prepared for whatmay be. I hope you are not looking melancholy because I am saying this. Good-bye, dear papa.” She was gone, or a long and deep-drawn sigh would have reached her ear.
Weeks and months passed on, and though Leila had no fixed complaint, her health was not what it had been before, and the prospect of her recovering her sight seemed gradually to be becoming more uncertain. It was well for her, dear child, that she could not see the mournful looks with which her papa often now regardedher, as she, with increased anxiety to acquire habits of independence, performed her daily duties.
It was evident that Leila was preparing her mind to meet, not only with resignation, but with cheerfulness, what but a few short months before would have weighed her to the ground. How deeply had she felt poor Susan’s state; how often had she looked at the sightless eyes of the blind girl, and said to herself, “How can she bear it? O any trial but this!” And this trial was now hers; it came upon her in a moment. Suddenly was the whole face of nature shut out from her sight; yet, after the first natural anguish was over, there came also to her young heart that faith, that reliance, which shed peace and light on her darkest moments.
Her little scholars now came to her as usual; they daily read the Bible to her, and also other books suited to their age, and in this occupation she took much interest. Susan also came frequently, and either Selina or Matilda read to her while Leila listened.
“I wish Susan were nearer us,” she said one morning to Selina, as Susan left the room; “how kind in you both to take such pains with her; she says it is her happiest time when she is with us; and do you know what I have been wishing for a long time, and making a little planin my own mind about? I have been wishing that we could find a house in our village for Susan’s mother, and then poor Susan would come oftener, for she would not have so far to walk; and yesterday I spoke to papa about it; he said he did not quite see how it could be managed, but that he would turn it in his mind. When papa says he will turn it in his mind, he is sure to turn and twist it into the right thing.”
“But how,” Matilda inquired, “can Uncle Howard twist Susan’s mother and all her five brothers and sisters into a house in the village, when there is not one empty, and all the people quite healthy, not the least likely to die? He must twist them out first, and that would not be civil.”
“I don’t know, Matilda, but I am sure my papa will not do any thing unkind, and yet I think he will manage it; I knew by the sound of his voice that he thought it possible, and I have been thinking a great deal of all I could do for Susan to make her happier; for she has not all my comforts and pleasures, and she has not a Selina and a Matilda to be eyes to her, and to make every thing cheerful to her, and even light; for when I am with you, I scarcely feel that I am blind at all.”
Selina sighed deeply, but did not answer.
“Now, why do you sigh, Selina? that mustnot be. Do not pity me; you must get reconciled as I am doing—you must, both of you, help me to be cheerful; and you, Matilda, must try to laugh a great deal more than you do now, for I like so much to hear you merry. And look, Selina, what a pretty nosegay I am tying up for you; is it not very well arranged for a little blind girl? Amy says I am improving every day now; you see I arrange the green leaves and the different colours of the flowers, so as to have a grand effect. At first they used to be all higgledy piggledy, as Peggie Dobie would say. What excellent words Peggie Dobie has; don’t you thinkhiggledy piggledydelightful? I am sure any one must know it means confusion. And I shall teach Susan to make nosegays, for I hope there will be a garden to the cottage.”
“And what would Susan do with so many nosegays?” Matilda inquired.
“Perhaps she might sell the nosegays at Richmond, and make a little more money for her mother, which would make her so happy. She might sit under the trees on the terrace early in the mornings before she came to us, and she could knit all the time, and be as busy as if she were at home. I daresay every one would like to buy nosegays from a blind girl, I am sure I should; and I think Nurse would perhaps allowme to give her my second best bonnet, to keep the hot sun off her eyelids; I am sure it must be looking very old now, though I am afraid Nurse does not think so, for she makes me stretch out the strings every day, and says it is wonderful how long things will look respectable with proper management.”
“Yes,” Matilda said, “and you are so terribly conscientious, Leila, and stretch away so every morning, that I am afraid your strings never will look disrespectable; if I were you I would begin to crumple them a little now. Do begin to-morrow.”
Selina looked up. “How you talk, Matilda; you know very well you would not do so now.”
“Then you do think me a little improved, Selina?”
“Not a little, but a great deal improved.”
“O, I am so glad; and you, Cousin Leila, should be glad also, for it is all owing to you. When I saw you so good and patient, and trying always to bear your trial so well, I prayed a great deal to be made good and patient too, for you know I have my little trials; always the holding up my head, and the never putting my elbows on the table, or being the least comfortable, all those hundred little botherations that used to put me wild; I do think I bear them a little better now. But you will be rewarded forbearing your great trials as you do, for I am sure God must love you so much; that very soon now He will open your eyes, and you will see as well as we do. O what joy then—what joy!”
“Hush! Matilda, hush! do not say it,” Leila hastily answered. “God does love me, I feel He does, for He gives me sweet, peaceful feelings now, and makes me happy; but His ways are different. He does what is best for me, and I am making up my mind, for I feel as if I were to be always blind. Selina knows it, for I have told her; and now that I have told you, I shall be happier. I wish I could speak about it to papa too, but I can’t just yet. Don’t cry, Matilda, don’t, my own dear Matilda.” She threw her arms round her and kissed her fondly. “Now there is a dear one; you will be good, you will be patient, and say it is all quite, quite right. You know, Matilda it must be so.” Her soft soothing voice was silent; she gently disengaged herself from Matilda, and left the room.
And it was really so; Leila had struggled hard with herself, and had all but conquered. She now strongly felt that entire dependence on her heavenly Father’s love which she had so fervently prayed for; the idea that she was to be for ever blind had taken strong possession ofher, and she was resigned. Yet one earthly wish was still unsubdued: it was to gaze once more upon her father’s face. “Yes,” she said to herself, “once, only once again, and then I feel I shall be able to say from my very heart, ‘Thy will be done.’ ”
But how was this to be accomplished? She felt she could never tell her father that she wished to see him for the last time; she could never give him that bitter pang. And there were other difficulties. She could see him only when looking down upon him; how was this to be managed? She thought of it constantly; no way presented itself. Yet time pressed, for she felt as if every day her eyelids were getting more stiff and depressed; in fact, the struggle in her mind was affecting her general health. Circumstances, however, favoured her unexpectedly. Mr. Howard had spent a whole forenoon in London; Leila had for hours expected him, and he returned fatigued and dispirited. He had been to arrange a consultation for the following day with regard to Leila’s health, which was now daily giving him much uneasiness. Leila immediately became aware that he was out of spirits.
“Dear papa,” she said, “I am sure you are feeling unwell, you have over-fatigued yourself. Do let me take care of you and make you better.You shall lie down on the sofa, and I will sing you to sleep. Sleep is the very thing you want. Now, there is a dear papa, stretch yourself out; now then let me arrange the pillows comfortably.” She passed her little hand below her papa’s head, and raised it gently, “There now,—so; is not that comfortable? Now I shall take my guitar, and sing you a sweet lullaby; but you must shut your dear eyes first. Are you shutting them, papa?” She passed her hand across Mr. Howard’s eyes. “O you naughty papa, they are wide open.”
They were indeed open, they were earnestly fixed upon the pale countenance of his child. Softly drawing down his eyelids, she drew a chair close to the sofa, and striking a few chords, she began to sing in a sweet low voice, and after a little while Mr. Howard dropped asleep. Leila was immediately aware of this; she continued singing for a few minutes, as she watched his regular breathing; by degrees her voice sunk to the lowest whisper, then altogether ceased. For a moment she bent over him and listened. “Now is the time,” she said; and mounting upon the chair on which she had been seated, she gently raised her eyelids, and stood gazing down upon him.
Was she looking upon that much loved face for the last time? She felt as if it were so.“O my Father in Heaven,” she said, “give me of thy strength! I thought I had been resigned; O pardon a poor weak child, and make me strong!”
A deep sigh awoke Mr. Howard; he opened his eyes. Was it a deep spirit from a world unseen, who stood gazing upon him with a look of more than earthly love, or was it indeed his child? He started up, and Leila threw herself into his arms.
“Forgive me, dearest papa,” she said, “I could not help it; once more to see your face, papa, only once more;” then gradually becoming more calm, she entered fully on the subject, and poured out all that had been so long struggling in her heart. “And now, papa, I feel that God will strengthen me to be resigned. You know He says,—‘When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the fire kindle upon thee.’ And has it not come true with me, papa? He saved me in the waters, and in the fire; and shall I not trust in Him? I feel now as if He did not mean to open my eyes, but it must be right.”
Mr. Howard did not attempt to conceal from Leila that of late he too had felt less sanguineas to her recovering her eyesight, but still he said that he felt it a duty to employ every human means; and he informed her of the meeting he had appointed for next day. She struggled to conceal her emotion from him; but it was evident that this intelligence made the effort still more difficult.
The consultation took place as had been appointed, and the result was more favourable than either Mr. Howard or Leila had dared to hope. The physicians by no means despaired of Leila recovering the power of raising her eyelids. They thought that the weakened state of her general health, and the excitement of her too sensitive mind in the continual effort she had made to conceal her feelings, had probably hitherto retarded her recovery. They recommended her instantly being removed to Brighton, with only her papa and Selina, and that sea-baths and galvanism should be tried. Poor Matilda! what a trial was this separation to her. How often did she resolve to bear it heroically, and how often did her good resolutions give way to tears and lamentations! In vain Selina reminded her that she had resolved to bear her trials well. “My little trials,” she answered, “but a great trial like this! No, no, Selina; how can you be so unreasonable?I said nothing about a great one, and I am not like Leila, or you, I must cry, and I should.”
Yet even in her most sorrowful moments Matilda kept constantly saying she felt sure Leila would get quite well. She had always thought so, and now she saw those excellent wise physicians thought so too, and Leila would return to them seeing as well as she ever had done.