It was his own. Mr. Carleton brought it. Hugh opened it, and took out a folded paper, which he gave to Mr. Carleton, saying that he thought he ought to have it.
"Do you know the handwriting, Sir?"
"No."
"Ah! she has scratched it so. It is Fleda's."
Hugh shut his eyes again, and Mr. Carleton seeing that he had settled himself to sleep, went to the window with the paper. It hardly told him anything he did not know before, though set in a fresh light.
"Cold blew the east wind,And thick fell the rainI look'd for the topsOf the mountains in vain;Twilight was gathering,And dark grew the west,And the wood-fire's cracklingToned well with the rest.
"Speak fire, and tell meThy flickering flameFell on me in years pastSay, am I the same?Has my face the same brightnessIn those days it wore ?My foot the same lightness,As it crosses the floor?
"Methinks there are changesI am weary to-nightI once was as tirelessAs the bird on her flight:My bark, in full measure,Threw foam from the prowNot even for pleasureWould I care to move now.
" 'Tis not the foot onlyThat lieth thus stillI am weary in spiritI am listless in will.My eye vainly peerethThrough the darkness, to findSome object that cheerethSome light for the mind.
"What shadows come o'er meWhat things of the pastBright things of my childhoodThat fled all too fast;The scenes where light roaming,My foot wandered free,Come back through the gloamin'Come all back to me.
"The cool autumn evening,The fair summer mornThe dress and the aspectSome dear ones have wornThe sunshiny placesThe shady hill sideThe words and the facesThat might not abide.
"Die out, little fireAy, blacken and pine!So have paled many lightsThat were brighter than thine.I can quicker thy embersAgain with a breath,But the others lie coldIn the ashes of death."
Mr. Carleton had read near through the paper before Fleda came in.
"I have kept you a long time, Mr. Carleton," she said, coming up to the window; "I found aunt Lucy wanted me."
But she saw with a little surprise the deepening eye which met her, and which showed, she knew, the working of strong feeling. Her own eye went to the paper in search of explanation.
"What have you there? Oh, Mr. Carleton," she said, putting her hand over it "please to give it to me!"
Fleda's face was very much in earnest. He took the hand, but did not give her the paper, and looked his refusal.
"I am ashamed you should see that! Who gave it to you?"
"You shall wreak your displeasure on no one but me," he said, smiling.
"But have you read it?"
"Yes."
"I am very sorry!"
"I am very glad, my dear Elfie."
"You will think you will think what wasn't true it was just a mood I used to get into once in a while I used to be angry with myself for it, but I could not help it one of those listless fits would take me now and then "
"I understand it, Elfie."
"I am very sorry you should know I ever felt or wrote so."
"Why?"
"It is very foolish and wrong "
"Is that a reason for my not knowing it?"
"No not a good one. But you have read it now wont you let me have it?"
"No I shall ask for all the rest of the portfolio, Elfie," he said, as he put it in a place of security.
"Pray, do not!" said Fleda, most unaffectedly.
"Why?"
"Because I remember Mrs. Carleton says you always have what you ask for."
"Give me permission to put on your bonnet, then?" said he, laughingly, taking it from her hand.
The air was very sweet, he footing pleasant. The first few steps of the walk were made by Fleda in silence, with eager breath, and a foot that grew lighter as it trod.
"I don't think it was a right mood of mind I had when I wrote that," she said. "It was morbid. But I couldn't help it. Yet if one could keep possession of those words you quoted just now, I suppose one never would have morbid feelings, Mr. Carleton?"
"Perhaps not; but human nature has a weak hold of anything, and many things may make it weaker."
"Mine is weak," said Fleda. "But it is possible to keep firm hold of those words, Mr. Carleton?"
"Yes by strength that is not human nature's and, after all, the firm hold is rather that in which we are held, or ours would soon fail. The very hand that makes the promise its own must be nerved to grasp it. And so it is best, for it keeps us looking off always to the Author and Finisher of our faith."
"I love those words," said Fleda. "But, Mr. Carleton, how shall one be sure that one has a right to those other words those, I mean, that you told to Hugh? One cannot take the comfort of them unless one issure."
Her voice trembled.
"My dear Elfie, the promises have many of them their double stamped with the very same signet and if that sealed counterpart is your own, it is the sure earnest and title to the whole value of the promise."
"Well in this case?" said Fleda, eagerly.
"In this case, God says, 'I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.' Now, see if your own heart can give the countersign 'Thou art my portion, O Lord!' "
Fleda's head sank instantly, and almost lay upon his arm.
"If you have the one, my dear Elfie, the other is yours it is the note of hand of the maker of the promise sure to be honoured. And if you want proof, here it is and a threefold cord is not soon broken 'Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation.' "
There was a pause of some length. Fleda had lifted up her head, but walked along very quietly, not seeming to care to speak.
"Have you the countersign, Elfie?"
Fleda flashed a look at him, and only restrained herself from weeping again.
"Yes. But so I had then, Mr. Carleton only sometimes I got those fits of feeling I forgot it, I suppose."
"When were these verses written?"
"Last fall uncle Rolf was away, and aunt Lucy unhappy and,I believe, I was tired. I suppose it was that."
For a matter of several rods, each was busy with his own musings. But Mr. Carleton bethought himself.
"Where are you, Elfie?"
"Where am I?"
"Yes Not at Queechy?"
"No, indeed" said Fleda, laughing. "Far enough away."
"Where?"
"At Paris at the Marché des Innocens."
"How did you get to Paris?"
"I don't know by a bridge of associations, I suppose, resting one end on last year, and the other on the time when I was eleven years old."
"Very intelligible," said Mr. Carleton, smiling.
"Do you remember that morning, Mr. Carleton, when you tookHugh and me to the Marché des Innocens?"
"Perfectly."
"I have thanked you a great many times since for getting up so early that morning."
"I think I was well paid at the time. I remember I thought I had seen one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen in Paris."
"So I thought!" said Fleda. "It has been a pleasant picture in my imagination ever since."
There was a curious curl in the corners of Mr. Carleton's mouth, which made Fleda look an inquiry a look so innocently wistful, that his gravity gave way.
"My dear Elfie!" said he, "you are the very child you were then."
"Am I?" said Fleda. "I dare say I am, for I feel so. I have the very same feeling I used to have then, that I am a child, and you taking the care of me into your own hands."
"One half of that is true, and the other half nearly so."
"How good you always were to me!" Fleda said, with a sigh.
"Not necessary to balance the debtor and creditor items on both sides," he said, with a smile, "as the account bids fair to run a good while."
A silence again, during which Fleda is clearly not enjoying the landscape nor the fine weather.
"Elfie what are you meditating?"
She came back from her meditations with a very frank look.
"I was thinking Mr. Carleton of your notions about female education."
"Well?"
They had paused upon a rising ground. Fleda hesitated, and then looked up in his face.
"I am afraid you will find me wanting, and when you do, will you put me in the way of being all you wish me to be?"
Her look was ingenuous and tender, equally. He gave her no answer, except by the eye of grave intentness that fixed hers till she could meet it no longer, and her own fell. Mr. Carleton recollected himself.
"My dear Elfie," said he, and whatever the look had meant, Elfie was at no loss for the tone now "what do you consider yourself deficient in?"
Fleda spoke with a little difficulty.
"I am afraid, in a good many things in general reading and in what are called accomplishments "
"You shall read as much as you please, by and by," said he, "provided you will let me read with you; and, as for the other want, Elfie, it is rather a source of gratification to me."
Elfie very naturally asked "Why?"
"Because, as soon as I have the power, I shall immediately constitute myself your master in the arts of riding and drawing, and in any other art or acquisition you may take a fancy to, and give you lessons diligently."
"And will there be gratification in that?" said Fleda.
His answer was by a smile. But he somewhat mischievously asked her, "Will there not?" and Fleda was quiet.
"Friends, I sorrow not to leave ye;If this life an exile be,We who leave it do but journeyHomeward to our family."SPANISH BALLAD.
The first of April came.
Mr. Rossitur had made up his mind not to abide at Queechy, which only held him now by the frail thread of Hugh's life. Mr. Carleton knew this, and had even taken some steps towards securing for him a situation in the West Indies. But it was unknown to Fleda; she had not heard her uncle say anything on the subject since she came home; and though aware that their stay was a doubtful matter, she still thought it might be as well to have the garden in order. Philetus could not be trusted to do everything wisely of his own head, and even some delicate jobs of hand could not be safely left to his skill; if the garden was to make any head-way, Fleda's head and hand must both be there, she knew. So, as the spring opened, she used to steal away from the house every morning for an hour or two, hardly letting her friends know what she was about, to make sure that peas, and potatoes, and radishes, and lettuce, were in the right places at the right times, and to see that the later and more delicate vegetables were preparing for. She took care to have this business well over before the time that Mr. Carleton ever arrived from the Pool.
One morning she was busy in dressing the strawberry beds, forking up the ground between the plants, and filling the vacancies that the severe winter or some irregularities of fall dressing had made. Mr. Skillcorn was rendering a somewhat inefficient help, or, perhaps, amusing himself with seeing how she worked. The little old silver-grey hood was bending down over the strawberries, and the fork was going at a very energetic rate.
"Philetus "
"Marm!"
"Will you bring me that bunch of strawberry plants that lies at the corner of the beds, in the walk? and my trowel?"
"I will!" said Mr. Skillcorn.
It was, another hand, however, that brought them and laid them beside her; but Fleda, very intent upon her work, and hidden under her close hood, did not find it out. She went on busily putting in the plants as she found room for them, and just conscious, as she thought, that Philetus was still standing at her side, she called upon him from time to time, or merely stretched out her hand, for a fresh plant as she had occasion for it.
"Philetus," she said at length, raising her voice a little that it might win to him round the edge of her hood, without turning her face "I wish you would get the ground ready for that other planting of potatoes you needn't stay to help me any longer."
" 'Tain't me, I guess," said the voice of Philetus, on the other side of her.
Fleda looked in astonishment to make sure that it really was Mr. Skillcorn proceeding along the garden path in that quarter, and turning, jumped up and dropped her trowel and fork, to have her hands otherwise occupied. Mr. Skillcorn walked off leisurely towards the potato ground, singing to himself in a kind of consolatory aside
"I cock'd up my beaver, and who but I!The lace in my hat was so gallant and so gay,That I flourished like a king in his own countray."
"There is one of your countrymen that is an odd variety, certainly," said Mr. Carleton, looking after him with a very comic expression of eye.
"Is he not?" said Fleda. "And hardly a common one. There never was a line more mathematically straight than the course of Philetus's ideas; they never diverge, I think, to the right hand or the left, a jot from his own self-interest."
"You will be an invaluable help to me, Elfie, if you can read my English friends as closely."
"I am afraid you will not let me come as close to them," saidFleda, laughing.
"Perhaps not. I shouldn't like to pay too high a premium for the knowledge. How is Hugh, to-day?"
Fleda answered, with a quick change of look and voice, that he was much as usual.
"My mother has written me that she will be here by the 'Europa,' which is due to-morrow. I must set off for New York this afternoon; therefore I came so early to Queechy."
Fleda was instinctively pulling off her gardening gloves, as they walked towards the house.
"Aunt Miriam wants to see you, Mr. Carleton she begged I would ask you to come there some time "
"With great pleasure. Shall we go there now, Elfie?"
"I will be ready in five minutes."
Mrs. Rossitur was alone in the breakfast-room when they went in. Hugh, she reported, was asleep, and would be just ready to see Mr. Carleton by the time they got back. They stood a few minutes talking, and then Fleda went to get ready.
Both pair of eyes followed her as she left the room, and then met with perfect understanding.
"Will you give your child to me, Mrs. Rossitur?" said the gentleman.
"With all my heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, bursting into tears "even if I were left alone entirely "
Her agitation was uncontrolled for a minute; and then she said, with feeling seemingly too strong to be kept in
"If I were only sure of meeting her in heaven, I could be content to be without her till then!"
"What is in the way, my dear Madam?" said Mr. Carleton, with a gentle sympathy that touched the very spring he meant it should. Mrs. Rossitur waited a minute, but it was only till tears would let her speak, and then said like a child
"Oh, it is all darkness!"
"Except this," said he, gently and clearly, "that Jesus Christ is a sun and a shield; and those that put themselves at His feet are safe from all fear, and they who go to Him for light shall complain of darkness no more."
"But I do not know how "
"Ask Him, and He will tell you."
"But I am unworthy even to look up towards Him," said Mrs.Rossitur, struggling, it seemed, between doubts and wishes.
"He knows that, and yet He has bid you come to Him. He knows that; and, knowing it, He has taken your responsibility, and paid your debt, and offers you now a clean discharge, if you will take it at His hand; and for the other part of this unworthiness, that blood cannot do away, blood has brought the remedy
Shall we, who are evil, give good things to our children; and shall not our Father, which is in heaven, give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?"
"But must I do nothing?" said Mrs. Rossitur, when she had remained quiet, with her face in her hands, for a minute or two after he had done speaking.
"Nothing but be willing be willing to have Christ in all His offices, as your Teacher, your King, and your Redeemer; give yourself to Him, dear Mrs. Rossitur, and He will take care of the rest."
"I am willing!" she exclaimed. Fresh tears came, and came freely. Mr. Carleton said no more, till; hearing some noise of opening and shutting doors above stairs, Mrs. Rossitur hurriedly left the room, and Fleda came in by the other entrance.
"May I take you a little out of the way, Mr. Carleton?" she said, when they had passed through the Deepwater settlement. "I have a message to carry to Mrs. Elster a poor woman out here beyond the Lake. It is not a disagreeable place."
"And what if it were?"
"I should not, perhaps, have asked you to go with me," saidFleda, a little doubtfully.
"You may take me where you will, Elfie," he said, gently. "I hope to do as much by you some day."
Fleda looked up at the piece of elegance beside her, and thought what a change must have come over him ifhewould visit poor places. He was silent and grave, however, and so was she, till they arrived at the house they were going to.
Certainly it was not a disagreeable place. Barb's much less strong-minded sister had at least a good share of her practical nicety. The little board path to the door was clean and white still, with possibly a trifle less brilliant effect. The room and its old inhabitants were very comfortable and tidy the patchwork counterpane as gay as ever. Mrs. Elster was alone, keeping company with a snug little wood fire, which was near as much needed in that early spring weather as it had been during the winter.
Mr. Carleton had come back from his abstraction, and stood, taking half unconscious note of these things, while Fleda was delivering her message to the old woman. Mrs. Elster listened to her implicitly, with, every now and then, an acquiescing nod or ejaculation; but so soon as Fleda had said her say, she burst out, with a voice that had never known the mufflings of delicacy, and was now pitched entirely beyond its owner's ken. Looking hard at Mr. Carleton
"Fleda! Isthisthe gentleman that's to be yourhusband?"
The last word elevated and brought out with emphatic distinctness of utterance.
If the demand had been, whether the gentleman in question was a follower of Mohammed, it would hardly have been more impossible for Fleda to give an affirmative answer; but Mr. Carleton laughed, and, bringing his face a little nearer the old crone, answered
"So she has promised, Ma'am ."
It was curious to see the lines of the old woman's face relax as she looked at him.
"He's worthy of you, as far as looks goes," she said, in the same key as before, apostrophising Fleda, who had drawn back, but not stirring her eyes from Mr. Carleton all the time. And then she added to him, with a little, satisfied nod, and in a very decided tone of information
"She will make you a good wife."
"Because she has made a good friend?" said Mr. Carleton, quietly. "Will you let me be a friend, too?"
He had turned the old lady's thoughts into a golden channel, whence, as she was an American, they had no immediate issue in words; and Fleda and Mr. Carleton left the house without anything more.
Fleda felt nervous. But Mr. Carleton's first words were as coolly and as gravely spoken as if they had just come out from a philosophical lecture; and with an immediate spring of relief, she enjoyed every step of the way, and every word of the conversation, which was kept up with great life till they reached Mrs. Plumfield's door.
No one was in the sitting-room. Fleda left Mr. Carleton there, and passed gently into the inner apartment, the door of which was standing ajar.
But her heart absolutely leaped into her mouth, for Dr. Quackenboss and Mr. Olmney were there on either side of her aunt's bed. Fleda came forward and shook hands.
"This is quite a meeting of friends," said the doctor, blandly, yet with a perceptible shading of the whilome broad sunshine of his face. "Your a aunt, my dear Miss Ringgan, is in a most extraordinary state of mind!"
Fleda was glad to hide her face against her aunt's, and asked her how she did.
"Dr. Quackenboss thinks it extraordinary, Fleda," said the old lady, with her usual cheerful sedateness, "that one who has trusted God, and had constant experience of His goodness and faithfulness for forty years, should not doubt Him at the end of it."
"You have no doubt of any kind, Mrs. Plumfield?" said the clergyman.
"Not the shadow of a doubt!" was the hearty, steady reply.
"You mistake, my dear Madam," said Dr. Quackenboss, "pardon me it is not that: I would be understood to say, merely, that I do not comprehend how such a such security can be attained respecting what seems so a elevated and difficult to know."
"Only by believing," said Mrs. Plumfield, with a very calm smile. " 'He that believeth on Him shall not be ashamed;' 'shallnotbe ashamed!' " she repeated, slowly.
Dr. Quackenboss looked at Fleda, who kept her eyes fixed upon her aunt.
"But it seems to me I beg pardon; perhaps I am arrogant" he said, with a little bow; "but it appears to me almost in a manner almost presumptuous, not to be a little doubtful in such a matter until the time comes. Am I do you disapprove of me, Mr. Olmney?"
Mr. Olmney silently referred him for his answer to the person he had first addressed, who had closed her eyes while he was speaking.
"Sir," she said, opening them, "it can't be presumption to obey God, and He tells me to rejoice. And I do I do! 'Let all those that love thee rejoice in thee, and be glad in thee!' But mind!" she added, energetically, fixing her strong grey eve upon him, "He does not tell you to rejoice do not think it not while you stand aloof from His terms of peace. Take God at His word, and be happy; but if not, you have nothing to do with the song that I sing!"
The doctor stared at her till she had done speaking, and then slunk out of her range of vision behind the curtains of the bed-post. Not silenced, however.
"But a Mr. Olmney," said he, hesitating, "don't you think that there is in general a a becoming modesty, in a in people that have done wrong, as we all have putting off being sure until they are so? It seems so to me!"
"Come here, Dr. Quackenboss," said aunt Miriam.
She waited till he came to her side, and then taking his hand, and looking at him very kindly, she said
"Sir, forty years ago I found in the Bible, as you say, that I was a sinner, and that drove me to look for something else. I found then God's promise, that if I would give my dependence entirely to the Substitute he had provided for me, and yield my heart to his service, he would, for Christ's sake, hold me quit of all my debts, and be my father, and make me his child. And, Sir, I did it. I abhor every other dependence the things you count good in me I reckon but filthy rags. At the same time, I know that ever since that day, forty years ago, I have lived in his service, and tried to live to his glory. And now, Sir, shall I disbelieve his promise? do you think he would be pleased if I did?"
The doctor's mouth was stopped, for once, He drew back as soon as he could, and said not another word.
Before anybody had broken the silence, Seth came in; and after shaking hands with Fleda, startled her by asking, whether that was not Mr. Carleton in the other room.
"Yes," Fleda said "he came to see aunt Miriam."
"Aint you well enough to see him, mother?"
"Quite and very happy," she said.
Seth immediately went back and invited him in. Fleda dared not look up while the introductions were passing of "the Rev. Mr. Olmney," and of "Dr. Quackenboss," the former of whom Mr. Carleton took cordially by the hand, while Dr. Quackenboss, conceiving that his hand must be as acceptable, made his salutations with an indescribable air, at once of attempted gracefulness and ingratiation. Fleda saw the whole in the advancing line of the doctor's person, a vision of which crossed her downcast eye. She drew back then, for Mr. Carleton came where she was standing, to take her aunt's hand; Seth had absolutely stayed his way before to make the said introductions.
Mrs. Plumfield was little changed by years or disease since he had seen her. There was somewhat more of a look of bodily weakness than there used to be; but the dignified, strong- minded expression of the face was even heightened; eye and brow were more pure and unclouded in their steadfastness. She looked very earnestly at her visitor, and then with evident pleasure from the manner of his look and greeting. Fleda watched her eye softening with a gratified expression, and fixed upon him, as he was gently talking to her.
Mr. Olmney presently came round to take leave, promising to see her another time; and passing Fleda, with a frank grave pressure of the hand, which gave her some pain. He and Seth left the room. Fleda was hardly conscious that Dr. Quackenboss was still standing at the foot of the bed, making the utmost use of his powers of observation. He could use little else, for Mr. Carleton and Mrs. Plumfield, after a few words on each side, had, as it were, by common consent, come to a pause. The doctor, when a sufficient time had made him fully sensible of this, walked up to Fleda, who wished heartily at the moment that she could have presented the reverse end of the magnet to him. Perhaps, however, it was that very thing which, by a perverse sort of attraction, drew him towards her.
"I suppose a we may conclude," said he, with a some. what saturnine expression of mischief "that Miss Ringgan contemplates forsaking the agricultural line before a great while?"
"I have not given up my old habits, Sir," said Fleda, a good deal vexed.
"No I suppose not but Queechy air is not so well suited for them other skies will prove more genial," he said, she could not help thinking, pleased at her displeasure.
"What is the fault of Queechy air, Sir?" said Mr. Carleton, approaching them.
"Sir!" said the doctor, exceedingly taken aback, though the words had been spoken in the quietest manner possible "it a it has no fault, Sir that I am particularly aware of it is perfectly salubrious. Mrs. Plumfield, I will bid you good-day; I a I hope you will get well again."
"I hope not, Sir!" said aunt Miriam, in the same clear hearty tones which had answered him before.
The doctor took his departure, and made capital of his interview with Mr. Carleton; who, he affirmed, he could tell by what he had seen of him, was a very deciduous character, and not always conciliating in his manners.
Fleda waited with a little anxiety for what was to follow the doctor's leave-taking.
It was with a very softened eye that aunt Miriam looked at the two who were left, clasping Fleda's hand again; and it was with a very softened voice that she next spoke.
"Do you remember our last meeting, Sir?"
"I remember it well," he said.
"Fleda tells me you are a changed man since that time?"
He answered only by a slight and grave bow.
"Mr. Carleton," said the old lady "I am a dying woman and this child is the dearest thing in the world to me after my own and hardly after him. Will you pardon me will you bear with me, if, that I may die in peace, I say, Sir, what else it would not become me to say? and it is for her sake."
"Speak to me freely as you would to her," he said, with a look that gave her full permission.
Fleda had drawn close and hid her face in her aunt's neck. Aunt Miriam's hand moved fondly over her cheek and brow for a minute or two in silence; her eye resting there too.
"Mr. Carleton, this child is to belong to you how will you guide her?"
"By the gentlest paths," he said, with a smile.
A whispered remonstrance from Fleda to her aunt had no effect.
"Will her best interests be safe in your hands?"
"How shall I resolve you of that, Mrs. Plumfield?" he said, gravely.
"Will you help her to mind her mother's prayer, and keep herself unspotted from the world?"
"As I trust she will help me."
A rogue may answer questions, but an eye that has never known the shadow of double-dealing makes no doubtful discoveries of itself. Mrs. Plumfield read it, and gave it her very thorough respect.
"Mr. Carleton pardon me, Sir I do not doubt you but I remember hearing long ago that you were rich and great in the world it is dangerous for a Christian to be so can she keep in your grandeur the simplicity of heart and life she has had at Queechy?"
"May I remind you of your own words, my dear madam? By the blessing of God all things are possible. These things you speak of are not in themselves evil; if the mind be set on somewhat else, they are little beside a larger storehouse of material to work with an increased stewardship to account for."
"She has been taking care of others all her life," said aunt Miriam, tenderly; "it is time she was taken care of: and these feet are very unfit for rough paths; but I would rather she should go on struggling, as she has done, with difficulties, and live and die in poverty, than that the lustre of her heavenly inheritance should be tarnished even a little. I would, my darling."
"But the alternative is not so," said Mr. Carleton, with gentle grace, touching Fleda's hand, who he saw was a good deal disturbed. "Do not make her afraid of me, Mrs. Plumfield."
"I do not believe I need," said aunt Miriam, "and I am sure I could not but, Sir, you will forgive me?"
"No, Madam that is not possible."
"One cannot stand where I do," said the old lady, "without learning a little the comparative value of things; and I seek my child's good that is my excuse. I could not be satisfied to take her testimony."
"Take mine, Madam," said Mr. Carleton. "I have learned the comparative value of things too; and I will guard her highest interests as carefully as I will every other as earnestly as you can desire."
"I thank you, Sir," said the old lady, gratefully. "I am sure of it. I shall leave her in good hands. I wanted this assurance. And if ever there was a tender plant that was not fitted to grow on the rough side of the world I think this is one," said she, kissing earnestly the face that yet Fleda did not dare to lift up.
Mr. Carleton did not say what he thought. He presently took kind leave of the old lady, and went into the next room, where Fleda soon rejoined him, and they set off homewards.
Fleda was quietly crying all the way down the hill. At the foot of the hill, Mr. Carleton resolutely slackened his pace.
"I have one consolation," he said, "my dear Elfie you will have the less to leave for me."
She put her hand with a quick motion upon his, and roused herself.
"She is a beautiful rebuke to unbelief. But she is hardly to be mourned for, Elfie."
"Oh, I was not crying for aunt Miriam," said Fleda.
"For what then?" he said, gently.
"Myself."
"That needs explanation," he said, in the same tone. "Let me have it, Elfie."
"Oh I was thinking of several things," said Fleda, not exactly wishing to give the explanation.
"Too vague," said Mr. Carleton, smiling. "Trust me with a little more of your mind, Elfie."
Fleda glanced up at him, half smiling, and yet with filling eyes, and then, as usual, yielded to the winning power of the look that met her.
"I was thinking," she said, keeping her head carefully down, "of some of the things you and aunt Miriam were saying just now and how good for nothing I am."
"In what respect?" said Mr. Carleton, with praiseworthy gravity.
Fleda hesitated, and he pressed the matter no further; but, more unwilling to displease him than herself, she presently went on, with some difficulty; wording what she had to say with as much care as she could.
"I was thinking, how gratitude or not gratitude alone but how one can be full of the desire to please another a fellow-creature and find it constantly easy to do or bear anything for that purpose; and how slowly and coldly duty has to move alone in the direction where it should be the swiftest and warmest."
She knew he would take her words as simply as she said them; she was not disappointed. He was silent a minute, and then said gravely,
"Is this a late discovery, Elfie?"
"No only I was realizing it strongly just now."
"It is a complaint we may all make. The remedy is, not to love less what we know, but to know better that of which we are in ignorance. We will be helps, and not hindrances to each other, Elfie."
"You have said that before," said Fleda, still keeping her head down.
"What?"
"About my being a help to you!"
"It will not be the first time," said he, smiling; "nor the second. Your little hand first held up a glass to gather the scattered rays of truth that could not warm me, into a centre where they must burn."
"Very innocently," said Fleda, with a little unsteady feeling of voice.
"Very innocently!" said Mr. Carleton, smiling. "A veritable lens could hardly have been more unconscious of its work, or more pure of design."
"I do not think that was quite so, either, Mr. Carleton," saidFleda.
"It was so, my dear Elfie, and your present speech is nothing against it. This power of example is always unconsciously wielded; the medium ceases to be clear so soon as it is made anything but as medium. The bits of truth you aimed at me wittingly would have been nothing, if they had not come through that medium."
"Then apparently one's prime efforts ought to be directed to one's self."
"One's first efforts, certainly Your silent example was the first thing that moved me."
"Silent example!" said Fleda, catching her breath a little. "Mine ought to be very good, for I can never do good in any other way."
"You used to talk pretty freely to me."
"It wasn't my fault, I am certain," said Fleda, half laughing. "Besides, I was sure of my ground. But, in general, I never can speak to people about what will do them any good."
"Yet, whatever be the power of silent example, there are often times when a word is of incalculable importance."
"I know it," said Fleda, earnestly; "I have felt it very often, and grieved that I could not say it, even at the very moment when I knew it was wanting."
"Is that right, Elfie?"
"No," said Fleda, with quick watering eyes; "it is not right at all; but it is constitutional with me. I never can talk to other people of what concerns my own thoughts and feelings."
"But this concerns other people's thoughts and feelings."
"Yes; but there is an implied revelation of my own."
"Do you expect to include me in the denomination of 'other people?' "
"I don't know," said Fleda, laughing.
"Do you wish it?"
Fleda looked down and up, and coloured, and said she didn't know.
"I will teach you," said he, smiling.
The rest of the day, by both, was given to Hugh.
"O what is life but a sum of love,And death but to lose it all?Weeds be for those that are left behind,And not for those that fall!"MILNES.
"Here's something come, Fleda," said Barby, walking into the sick-room one morning, a few days afterwards; "a great bag of something more than you can eat up in a fortnight; it's for Hugh."
"It's extraordinary that anybody should send me a great bag of anything eatable," said Hugh.
"Where did it come from?" said Fleda.
"Philetus fetched it he found it down to Mr. Sampion's, when he went with the sheep-skins."
"How do you know it's for me?" said Hugh.
" 'Cause it's written on, as plain as a pikestaff. I guess it's a mistake, though."
"Why?" said Fleda; "and what is it?"
"Oh, I don't much think 'twas meant for him," said Barby."It's oysters."
"Oysters!"
"Yes come out and look at 'em you never see such fine fellows. I've heerd say," said Barby, abstractedly, as Fleda followed her out, and she displayed to view some magnificent Ostraceans "I've heerd say that an English shilling was worth two American ones; but I never understood it rightly, till now."
To all intents and purposes those were English oysters, and worth twice as much as any others, Fleda secretly confessed.
That evening, up in the sick room it was quite evening, and all the others of the family were taking rest, or keeping Mr. Rossitur company down stairs Fleda was carefully roasting some of the same oysters for Hugh's supper. She had spread out a glowing bed of coals on the hearth, and there lay four or five of the big bivalves, snapping and sputtering in approbation of their quarters, in a most comfortable manner; and Fleda, standing before the fire, tended them with a double kind of pleasure. From one friend, and for another, those were most odorous oysters. Hugh sat watching them and her, the same in happy simplicity that he had been at eleven years old.
"How pleasant those oysters smell!" said he. "Fleda, they remind me so of the time when you and I used to roast oysters in Mrs. Renney's room for lunch do you recollect? and sometimes in the evening, when everybody was gone out, you know; and what an airing we used to have to give the dining- room afterwards. How we used to enjoy them, Fleda you and I, all alone."
"Yes," said Fleda, in a tone of doubtful enjoyment. She was shielding her face with a paper, and making self-sacrificing efforts to persuade a large oyster-shell to stand so on the coals as to keep the juice.
"Don't," said Hugh; "I would rather the oysters should burn than you. Mr. Carleton wouldn't thank me for letting you do so."
"Never mind," said Fleda, arranging the oysters to her satisfaction; "he isn't here to see. Now, Hugh, my dear, these are ready as soon as I am."
"I am ready," said Hugh. "How long it is since we had a roast oyster, Fleda!"
"They look good, don't they?"
A little stand was brought up between them, with the bread- and-butter and the cups; and Fleda opened oysters and prepared tea for Hugh, with her nicest, gentlest, busiest of hands making every bit to be twice as sweet, for her sympathizing eyes and loving smile and pleasant word commenting. She shared the meal with him, but her own part was as slender as his, and much less thought of. His enjoyment was what she enjoyed, though it was with a sad twinge of alloy, which changed her face whenever it was where he could not see it: when turned upon him, it was only bright and affectionate, and sometimes a little too tender; but Fleda was too good a nurse to let that often appear.
"Mr. Carleton did not bargain for your opening his oysters,Fleda. How kind it was of him to send them!"
"Yes."
"How long will he be gone, Fleda?"
"I don't know he didn't say. I don't believe many days."
Hugh was silent a little, while she was putting away the stand and the oyster-shells. Then she came and sat down by him.
"You have burnt yourself over those things," said he, sorrowfully; "you shouldn't have done it. It is not right."
"Dear Hugh," said Fleda, lightly laying her head on his shoulder. "I like to burn myself for you."
"That's just the way you have been doing all your life."
"Hush!" she said, softly.
"It is true for me and for everybody else. It is time you were taken better care of, dear Fleda."
"Don't, dear Hugh!"
"I am right, though," said he. "You are pale and worn now with waiting upon me, and thinking of me. It is time you were gone. But I think it is well I am going too, for what should I do in the world without you, Fleda?"
Fleda was crying now, intensely, though quietly; but Hugh went on with feeling, as calm as it was deep.
"What should I have done all these years or any of us? How you have tired yourself for everybody in the garden and in the kitchen, and with Earl Douglass how we could let you, I don't know, but I believe we could not help it."
Fleda put her hand upon his mouth. But he took it away and went on
"How often I have seen you sleeping all the evening on the sofa with a pale face, tired out, dear Fleda," said he, kissing her cheek; "I am glad there's to be an end put to it. And all the day you went about with such a bright face, that it made mother and me happy to look at you; and I knew then, many a time, it was for our sakes "
"Why do you cry so, Fleda? I like to think of it, and to talk of it, now that I know you won't do so any more. I know the whole truth, and it went to the bottom of my heart; but I could do nothing but love you I did that! Don't cry so, Fleda! you ought not. You have been the sunshine of the house. My spirit never was so strong as yours; I should have been borne to the ground, I know, in all these years, if it had not been for you; and mother you have been her life."
"You have been tired too," Fleda whispered.
"Yes, at the saw-mill. And then you would come up there through the sun to look at me, and your smile would make me forget everything sorrowful for the rest of the day except that I couldn't help you."
"Oh, you did you did you helped me always, Hugh!"
"Not much. I couldn't help you when you were sewing for me and father till your fingers and eyes were aching, and you never would own that you were anything but 'a little' tired it made my heart ache. Oh, I knew it all, dear Fleda. I am very, very glad that you will have somebody to take care of you now, that will not let you burn four fingers for him or anybody else. It makes me happy!"
"You make me very unhappy, dear Hugh."
"I don't mean it," said Hugh, tenderly. "But I don't believe there is anybody else in the world that I could be so satisfied to leave you with."
Fleda made no answer to that. She sat up and tried to recover herself.
"I hope he will come back in time," said Hugh, settling himself back in the easy-chair with a weary look, and closing his eyes.
"In time for what!"
"To see me again."
"My dear Hugh! he will, to be sure, I hope."
"He must make haste," said Hugh. "But I want to see him again very much, Fleda."
"For anything in particular?"
"No only because I love him. I want to see him once more."
Hugh slumbered; and Fleda, by his side, wept tears of mixed feeling till she was tired.
Hugh was right. But nobody else knew it, and his brother was not sent for.
It was about a week after this, when one night a horse and waggon came up to the back of the house from the road, the gentleman who had been driving leading the horse. It was late, long past Mr. Skillcorn's usual hour of retiring, but some errand of business had kept him abroad, and he stood there looking on. The stars gave light enough.
"Can you fasten my horse where he may stand a little while,Sir, without taking him out?"
"I guess I can," replied Philetus, with reasonable confidence, "if there's a rope's end some place."
And forthwith he went back into the house to seek it; the gentleman patiently holding his horse meanwhile till he came out.
"How is Mr. Hugh to-night?"
"Well he aint just so smart, they say," responded Philetus, insinuating the rope's end as awkwardly as possible among the horse's head-gear. "I believe he's dying."
Instead of going round now to the front of the house, Mr. Carleton knocked gently at the kitchen door, and asked the question anew of Barby.
"He's come in, Sir, if you please," she said, opening wide the door for him to enter. "I'll tell 'em you're here."
"Do not disturb any one for me," said he.
"I won't disturb 'em!" said Barby, in a tone a little, though unconsciously, significant.
Mr. Carleton neglected the chair she had placed for him, and remained standing by the mantel-piece, thinking of the scenes of his early introduction to that kitchen. It wore the same look it had done then; under Barby's rule it was precisely the same thing it had been under Cynthia's. The passing years seemed a dream, and the passing generations of men a vanity, before the old house, more abiding than they. He stood thinking of the people he had seen gathered by that fire- place, and the little household fairy whose childish ministrations had give such a beauty to the scene when a very light step crossed the painted floor, and she was there again before him. She did not speak a word; she stood still a moment trying for words, and then put her hand upon Mr. Carleton's arm, and gently drew him out of the room with her.
The family were all gathered in the room to which she brought him. Mr. Rossitur, as soon as he saw Mr. Carleton come in, shrunk back where he could be a little shielded by the bed- post. Marion's face was hid on the foot of the bed. Mrs. Rossitur did not move. Leaving Mr. Carleton on the near side of the bed, Fleda went round to the place she seemed to have occupied before at Hugh's right hand; and they were all still, for he was in a little doze, lying with his eyes closed, and the face as gently and placidly sweet as it had been in his boyhood. Perhaps Mr. Rossitur looked at it: but no other did just then, except Mr. Carleton. His eye rested nowhere else. The breathing of an infant could not be more gentle; the face of an angel not more peacefully at rest. "So He giveth His beloved sleep," thought he gentleman, as he gazed on the brow from which all care, if care there had ever been, seemed to have taken flight.
Not yet not quite yet; for Hugh suddenly opened his eyes, and without seeing anybody else, said
"Father."
Mr. Rossitur left the bed-post, and came close to where Fleda was standing, and leaning forward, touched his son's head, but did not speak.
"Father," said Hugh, in a voice so gentle that it seemed as if strength must be failing, "what will you do when you come to lie here?"
Mr. Rossitur put his hands to his face.
"Father I must speak now if I never did before once I must speak to you what will you do when you come to lie where I do? what will you trust to?"
The person addressed was as motionless as a statue. Hugh did not move his eyes from him.
"Father, I will be a living warning and example to you, for know that I shall live in your memory you shall remember what I say to you that Jesus Christ is a dear friend to those that trust in him, and if he is not yours it will be because you will not let him. You shall remember my testimony, that he can make death sweeter than life in his presence is fulness of joy at his right hand there are pleasures for evermore. He is better, he is more to me, even than you all, and he will be to you a better friend than the poor child you are losing, though you do not know it now. It is he that has made my life in this world happy only he and I have nothing to look to but him in the world I am going to. But what will you do in the hour of death, as I am, if he isn't your friend, father?"
Mr. Rossitur's frame swayed like a tree that one sees shaken by a distant wind, but he said nothing.
"Will you remember me happily, father, if you come to die without having done as I begged you? Will you think of me in heaven, and not try to come there too? Father, will you be a Christian? will you not? for my sake forlittle Hugh'ssake, as you used to call him? Father."
Mr. Rossitur knelt down and hid his face in the coverings, but he did not utter a word.
Hugh's eye dwelt on him for a moment with unspeakable expression, and his lip trembled. He said no more he closed his eyes, and, for a little time, there was nothing to be heard but the sobs, which could not be restrained, from all but the two gentlemen. It probably oppressed Hugh, for, after a while, he said, with a weary sigh, and without opening his eyes
"I wish somebody would sing."
Nobody answered at first.
"Sing what, dear Hugh?" said Fleda, putting aside her tears, and leaning her face towards him.
"Something that speaks of my want," said Hugh.
"What do you want, dear Hugh?"
"Only Jesus Christ," he said, with a half smile.
But they were silent as death. Fleda's face was in her hands, and her utmost efforts after self-control wrought nothing but tears. The stillness had lasted a little while, when, very softly and sweetly, the notes of a hymn floated to their ears, and though they floated on and filled the room, the voice was so nicely modulated, that its waves of sweetness broke gently upon the nearest ear.
"Jesus, the sinner's friend, to Thee,Lost and undone, for aid I flee;Weary of earth, myself, and sin,Open thine arms and take me in.
"Pity and save my sin-sick soul'Tis thou alone canst make me whole;Dark, till in me thine image shine,And lost I am, till thou art mine.
"At length I own it cannot be,That I should fit myself for thee,Here now to thee I all resignThine is the work, and only thine.
"What shall I say thy grace to move?Lord, I am sin, but thou art love!I give up every plea besideLord, I am lost but thou hast died!"
They were still again after the voice had ceased almost perfectly still though tears might be pouring, as indeed they were, from every eye, there was no break to the silence, other than a half-caught sob, now and then, from a kneeling figure, whose head was in Marion's lap.
"Who was that?" said Hugh, when the singer had been silent a minute.
Nobody answered immediately, and then Mr. Carleton, bending over him, said
"Don't you know me, dear Hugh?"
"Is it Mr. Carleton?"
Hugh looked pleased, and clasped both of his hands upon Guy's, which he laid upon his breast. For a second he closed his eyes and was silent.
"Was it you sang?"
"Yes."
"You never sang for me before," he remarked.
He was silent again.
"Are you going to take Fleda away?"
"By and by," said Mr. Carleton, gently.
"Will you take good care of her?"
Mr. Carleton hesitated, and then said, so low that it could reach but one other person's ear
"What hand and life can."
"I know it," said Hugh. "I am very glad you will have her. You will not let her tire herself any more."
Whatever became of Fleda's tears, she had driven them away, and leaning forward, she touched her cheek to his, saying, with a clearness and sweetness of voice that only intensity of feeling could have given her at the moment
"I am not tired, dear Hugh."
Hugh clasped one arm round her neck and kissed her again and again, seeming unable to say anything to her in any other way; still keeping his hold of Mr. Carleton's hand.
"I give all my part of her to you," he said, at length. "Mr.Carleton, I shall see both of you in heaven?"
"I hope so," was the answer, in those very calm and clear tones that have a singular effect in quieting emotion, while they indicate anything but the want of it.
"I am the best off of you all," Hugh said.
He lay still for awhile with shut eyes. Fleda had withdrawn herself from his arms and stood at his side, with a bowed head, but perfectly quiet. He still held Mr. Carleton's hand, as something he did not want to part with.
"Fleda," said he, "who is that crying? Mother come here."
Mr. Carleton gave place to her. Hugh pulled her down to him till her face lay upon his, and folded both his arms around her.
"Mother," he said, softly, "will you meet me in heaven? say yes."
"How can I, dear Hugh?"
"You can, dear mother," said he, kissing her with exceeding tenderness of expression "my Saviour will be yours and take you there. Say you will give yourself to Christ dear mother! sweet mother! promise me I shall see you again!"
Mrs. Rossitur's weeping it was difficult to hear. But Hugh, hardly shedding a tear, still kissed her, repeating, "Promise me, dear mother promise me that you will;" till Mrs. Rossitur, in an agony, sobbed out the word he wanted, and Hugh hid his face then in her neck.
Mr. Carleton left the room and went down stairs. He found the sitting-room desolate, untenanted and cold for hours; and he went again into the kitchen. Barby was there for some time, and then she left him alone.
He had passed a long while in thinking, and walking up and down, and he was standing musing by the fire, when Fleda again came in. She came in silently to his side, and putting her arm within his, laid her face upon it with a simplicity of trust and reliance that went to his heart; and she wept there for a long hour They hardly changed their position in all that time; and her tears flowed silently, though incessantly, the only tokens of his part being such a gentle caressing, smoothing of her hair, or putting it from her brow as he had used when she was a child. The bearing of her hand and head upon his arm, in time showed her increasingly weary. Nothing showed him so.
"Elfie my dear Elfie," he said at last, very tenderly, in the same way that he would have spoken nine years before "Hugh gave his part of you to me I must take care of it."
Fleda tried to rouse herself immediately.
"This is poor entertainment for you, Mr. Carleton," she said, raising her head, and wiping away the tears from her face.
"You are mistaken," he said, gently. "You never gave me such pleasure but twice before, Elfie?"
Fleda's head went down again instantly, and this time there was something almost caressing in the motion.
"Next to the happiness of having friends on earth," he said soothingly, "is the happiness of having friends in heaven. Don't weep any more to-night, my dear Elfie."
"He told me to thank you," said Fleda. But stopping short and clasping with convulsive energy the arm she held, she shed more violent tears than she had done that night before. The most gentle soothing, the most tender reproof, availed at last to quiet her; and she stood clinging to his arm still, and looking down into the fire.
"I did not think it would be so soon," she said.
"It was not soon to him, Elfie."
"He told me to thank you for singing. How little while it seems since we were children together how little while since before that when I was a little child here how different!"
"No, the very same," said he, touching his lips to her forehead "you are the very same child you were then; but it is time you were my child, for I see you would make yourself ill. No," said he, softly, taking the hand Fleda raised to her face "no more to-night tell me how early I may see you in the morning for, Elfie, I must leave you after breakfast."
Fleda looked up inquiringly.
"My mother has brought news that determines me to return toEngland immediately."
"To England!"
"I have been too long from home I am wanted there."
Fleda looked down again, and did her best not to show what she felt.
"I do not know how to leave you and now but I must. There are disturbances among the people, and my own are infected. Imustbe there without delay."
"Political disturbances?" said Fleda.
"Somewhat of that nature but partly local. How early may I come to you?"
"But you are not going away to-night? It is very late."
"That is nothing my horse is here."
Fleda would have begged in vain, if Barby had not come in and added her word, to the effect that it would be a mess of work to look for lodgings at that time of night, and that she had made the west room ready for Mr. Carleton. She rejected with great sincerity any claim to the thanks with which Fleda as well as Mr. Carleton repaid her; "there wa'n't no trouble about it," she said. Mr. Carleton, however, found his room prepared for him with all the care that Barby's utmost ideas of refinement and exactness could suggest.
It was still very early the next morning when he left it and came into the sitting-room, but he was not the first there. The firelight glimmered on the silver and china of the breakfast table, all set; everything was in absolute order, from the fire to the two cups and saucers which were alone on the board. A still silent figure was standing by one of the windows looking out. Not crying; but that Mr. Carleton knew from the unmistakeable lines of the face was only because tears were waiting another time; quiet now, it would not be by and by. He came and stood at the window with her.
"Do you know," he said, after a little, "that Mr. Rossitur purposes to leave Queechy?"
"Does he?" said Fleda, rather starting, but she added not another word, simply because she felt she could not safely.
"He has accepted, I believe, a consulship at Jamaica."
"Jamaica!" said Fleda. "I have heard him speak of the West Indies I am not surprised I knew it was likely he would not stay here."
How tightly her fingers that were free grasped the edge of the window-frame. Mr. Carleton saw it and softly removed them into his own keeping.
"He may go before I can be here again. But I shall leave my mother to take care of you, Elfie."
"Thank you," said Fleda, faintly. "You are very kind "
"Kind to myself," he said, smiling. "I am only taking care of my own. I need not say that you will see me again as early as my duty can make it possible; but I may be detained, and your friends may be gone Elfie give me the right to send if I cannot come for you. Let me leave my wife in my mother's care."
Fleda looked down, and coloured, and hesitated; but the expression in her face was not that of doubt.
"Am I asking too much?" he said, gently.
"No, Sir," said Fleda "and but "
"What is in the way?"
But it seemed impossible for Fleda to tell him.
"May I not know?" he said, gently putting away the hair from Fleda's face, which looked distressed. "Is it only your feeling?"
"No, Sir," said Fleda "at least not the feeling you think it is but I could not do it without giving great pain."
Mr. Carleton was silent.
"Not to anybody you know, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, suddenly fearing a wrong interpretation to her words "I don't mean that I mean somebody else the person the only person you could apply to" she said, covering her face in utter confusion.
"Do I understand you?" said he, smiling. "Has this gentleman any reason to dislike the sight of me?"