CHAPTER XIII.
RECONCILIATION AND HAPPINESS.
THE carriage was already at the door, and Miss Howard drove hastily to Mr. Lambert's residence. She was informed that he was stronger, had taken more nourishment, and was again asleep. The valet came from the chamber where the sick man had been carried and gave her the sealed envelope; and with this in her hand she started for Mrs. Douglass's boarding-house, scarcely daring to read the words, lest she should unfit herself for the exciting scenes she must expect. After a cursory glance at the page she thrust it back into the envelope, and endeavored to form some plan by which she might best convey to her invalid friend the wonderful discovery she had made.
Early as it was, Mrs. Cheriton had taken her boy for a walk. Mrs. Douglass sat reading by the window. She greeted Miss Howard with a smile and then, noticing her flushed face, asked,-
"Are you well, dear?"
"Can you bear good news, Mrs. Douglass?"
"Good news seldom hurts any one."
"Have you ever thought that your husband might be living near you?"
"I know where he lives; I learned it by accident while in the country and found it impossible to remain away."
"And that explains your sudden return and your watching so constantly from the windows?" Marion's tone was full of wonder.
"I never told you his name. How did you find it out?"
Marion then related all that had passed, and ended with giving the paper which the sick man had dictated when he thought himself dying.
Mrs. Douglass's countenance expressed the deepest feeling, but she braced herself against giving way to her excitement.
"I have been praying earnestly that I might be prepared for this discovery, should it take place," she said. "I will go with you and assure him of my entire forgiveness. Juliette knows nothing of her father's desertion, and she need not be made acquainted with the discovery."
"Oh, Mrs. Douglass, I am sure he will never part with you again."
She shook her head, rose, and put on her bonnet and shawl.
Marion saw that, while she was making a great effort to appear calm, her hands trembled so much that she could not tie the bonnet-strings. Unobserved by the lady, she wrote with pencil on a piece of paper:—
Dear Mrs. Cheriton,—
I have taken your mother with me. Please remain
at home with Geenie till I call or send for you.
MARION.
This she left in plain sight on the table.
On their way little was spoken until they approached the door, when Marion said,—
"I hope the doctor will be there. I dare not take you to Mr. Lambert's room without his permission."
The servant who opened the door stared at the new-comer, and said to Miss Howard,—
"Mr. Lambert is too ill, ma'am, to see visitors."
"Yes, I know. This lady is going with me to the parlor to see the doctor."
She gave Mrs. Douglass her arm, and found from the manner the lady leaned against her that she could scarcely support herself.
The valet came at once. "Mr. Lambert is awake," he said, "and has been calling for you."
"I cannot leave this lady alone. Is the doctor here?"
"He's just going, miss. I hear him coming downstairs."
"Ask him to come here."
"Dr. Danforth, this is my friend, Mr. Lambert's wife. Can she see him?"
"Go and tell him she is here. He is as impatient this morning as ever old Mr. Regy was."
The doctor tried to smile, but looked anxious.
"I thought you would never come," said the sick man in a petulant tone. "I might have died without ever asking her to forgive me."
"Would you like to see her now?"
"Would I?" He gave a scream which speedily brought the valet to his side.
"Get me up! Bring my clothes! Where is she? Don't let her go! I'll be ready in a minute."
The valet was thunderstruck, and looked at Miss Howard helplessly.
"Mr. Lambert," said Marion, in an authoritative tone, "if you don't lie down and be calm I'll take Mrs. Lambert away again. There, that is right!" as he assented like a penitent boy.
"You must be calm, for her sake. She is an invalid, and has been for years."
"Will you explain to her why I can't go to her? It's my place. Are you sure she'll forgive me?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Now," said Marion, addressing the valet, who stood in open-mouthed wonder, "you may go to the parlor and ask the doctor to assist Mrs. Lambert up the stairs."
The sick man quickly covered his face, and she heard him whispering a prayer for help. "For his sake and for your own, be as calm as possible," said Dr. Ross, leaving the lady at the door and motioning the servant to retire.
Marion only waited to see the long-deserted wife glide quickly to the bedside, and then she, too, left them alone. The meeting was too sacred for any eye but the omnipresent One to witness.
Marion Howard was blessed with an excellent constitution, but of late her keen sympathy with her friends, her frequent visits to her mission scholars, in connection with the arrangements she was making to leave, in addition to her own numerous cares, the purchase of her trousseau, etc., had taxed her strength to an unusual degree. Now that the wife was restored to her husband, Dr. Danforth insisted that she should go home and take some rest.
"I will, as soon as I have brought Mrs. Cheriton and her boy." She had scarcely finished her sentence before a sudden attack of dizziness made her clutch at a chair for support.
"You must return, and at once," he said. "I will do all that is necessary. I prophesy that this discovery will be the most effectual remedy for Mr. Lambert."
Marion found it most prudent to yield, and hastily leaving word that Mrs. Cheriton was to be sent for, she left the doctor to make all needed explanation for her sudden departure. The next morning, in consequence of a telegram from Dr. Ross, Mrs. Asbury made her appearance, and coolly remarked that she had come to stay till her niece was able to return with her.
On a bright October morning let us take a peep at Mr. Lambert and his now united family. They have left the grand house in the city to spend the autumn months on his farm in the country. To see our friend now we should not imagine him to have been so recently one of Dr. Danforth's sickest patients. His heart and his conscience at rest, his countenance grows daily more serene, while he declares he feels as young and fresh as he ever did. His wife, Mrs. Douglass no more, moves quietly about, keeping within sight of the husband from whom she has been so long separated. She is making a study of his character eccentricities and all, and has already gained such an influence over him that his eye turns naturally toward her for approval. Many times in a day he asks for and receives a full assurance of her entire forgiveness. Many hours are passed in recounting the events which have occurred since they last met, the keen disappointment he experienced when at last, unable longer to endure the suspense, he wrote a friend in Madrid for news of her, and learned that it was supposed she was deceased, and had been for many years.
The ring once wrested from her finger by her unnatural brother was restored to its old place, it having been taken from the prisoner just before his execution. As they looked at it and called to mind all the wonderful providences which after so many years had brought them together, their hearts were filled with new gratitude to their Heavenly Father, who had out of these afflictions led them to a knowledge of Himself.
Toward his beautiful daughter, Juliette Cheriton, Mr. Lambert exhibited a ludicrous respect, mingled with an unbounded admiration. He found it extremely difficult to convince himself that she in reality was his child. He watched her stealthily, blushing like a boy when caught doing so. On the subject of her husband he was at first reticent. It was, however, the occasion of reviving his old habit of grumbling when he heard a wish expressed that Mr. Cheriton would return, that there might be a complete union of the family. He rushed about the room growling,—
"He'd better not, the villain; I'd soon settle him. Let him stay away! I'll let him understand I don't intend to leave her a penny."
In the mean time he lavished every indulgence upon her. She had a pony carriage for her exclusive use. Her purse was kept filled to overflowing. If it had been possible to spoil her he would have done it. How often in these days her mother thanked God that her daughter had not been brought into such temptations to worldliness until she had learned to place her affections on objects higher and more enduring.
For his grandson Mr. Lambert felt such intense pride that he needed constant checks in order that the boy need not take advantage of the foolish fondness bestowed on him. If Mr. Lambert had never had a master before, he had one now, and as we enter the house this bright autumnal morning, a sight meets us which is proof of the fact.
A wide hall runs directly through the old-fashioned dwelling, and racing back and forth through this hall is our old friend, dressed as his double, Mr. Regy, his long white hair floating behind him, as he obeys the whip of his young driver, and canters, trots, or walks in obedience to the orders of his grandson.
"Get up, horse; go faster, grandpa!"
Geenie in his voyage of discovery has resurrected many old and once familiar objects, and among them Mr. Regy's dress.
"What's this? Who wears this?" he shouts, holding up the wig and beard to view.
Being obliged to confess that he has sometimes worn these singular articles, the boy demands that they be at once used by his horse; and the owner, never dreaming that it was possible to refuse, donned them, and with a pair of worsted reins round his body proceeded to jingle the bells, running and cantering, to the perfect delight of the young driver.
Well for all concerned it was that Mrs. Cheriton had learned from sad experience that if she wished her son to love and respect her she must enforce obedience to her own commands and to the commands of God. Mr. Lambert, though he often pleaded that the child's wishes, however unreasonable, might be gratified, and was once or twice detected in comforting him with confectionery under his disappointments, yet acknowledged that his daughter's discipline was necessary and must be maintained.
A most ludicrous scene had once taken place between Eugene and his grandfather, which those who saw it never forgot.
The boy had disobeyed, and his mother placed him in a room by himself to reflect upon his fault, for which he was to be punished. He was sitting soberly in the chair where she had placed him, when, hearing a sound from the adjoining room, he went in and found his grandfather weeping.
"What are you crying for, grandpa?" he asked, quickly.
"I don't want your mother to whip you, but she must; yes, it's right for her to do it."
"Don't cry, grandpa; I don't mind. She doesn't hurt me any; she only tickles me a little. 'T isn't nice for a big man like you to cry."
"Eugene, come here," called his mother, taking his hand to lead him back to his chair. She repeated what she had heard to her mother, saying,—
"I had as much as I could do to keep from showing my amusement. Father looking so penitent, and Eugene comforting him."
CHAPTER XIV.
CHRISTMAS DAY.
IT is Christmas day. The chimes in the spire of the new church are playing sweet melodies; and the Sunday-school children, whose gift the chimes have been, are gathering together from all quarters of the town to practise with their teachers the Christmas carols they are to sing.
This is the first service in the beautiful new church. It is to be publicly dedicated to the worship of God on the next Sabbath, but for weeks the workmen have put forth all their energies to have it ready for a service on Christmas day. The choir have been practising, too; and it is rumored new organist is expected, although his engagement does not commence till the first of January.
The sleigh-bells jingle merrily, for the ground is covered with snow. Even now, an hour before service, several stalls in the neat row of horse-sheds are occupied. Now here comes Farmer Rand, smiling and nodding, and shouting his Christmas salutations to young and old, as he drives his old horse up the ascent, through the gate close to the nicely shovelled flagged walk to the front. The good farmer has a precious load to-day, and he is very careful of it. Yes, that is Lucy, his old woman, so wrapped up in shawls and buffalo-robes—with a hot brick in her great yellow muff, and another at her feet, which just now are cased in a pair of her husband's blue socks—that she finds it almost impossible to alight from the sleigh.
For weeks the good woman has been nursing her strength for this great and joyful occasion. For days she and her man have watched the signs of the weather, have even prayed that, if it was God's will, it might be so propitious as to make it safe for her to go up to the house of the Lord and join with His people in their anthems of praise to the new-born King.
Fortunately the sexton has recognized the farmer, and runs quickly to offer his services it helping her to the porch. One and another come forward to greet her and express their pleasure at seeing her here. The children, even, gather round her pew and say,—
"Merry Christmas, Miss Rand! How do you like the new church?"
Yes, on this natal day of the world's Redeemer every face looks joyful, every voice responds heartily to the kind wishes of his neighbor. It is evident that a great wave of love and good-will is flowing through all their hearts as they suddenly pause and listen to the children's joyous tones chanting the strains the angels sang, "Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth, good-will to men."
The service is to commence at eleven. The hand on the new and elegant clock, a gift from the Pastor, points to five minutes before eleven; the children have finished their practising and gone quietly to their seats at one end of the organ loft. The slips are all full. There is a hush. There comes the pastor and his bride, not a stranger, but known and loved by all. Pausing for an instant to show her into the pew, the first one selected in the house, he passes on up the aisle into the study at the side of the pulpit. Ethel, the only other occupant of the slip, causes a smile by her obsequious attentions to the bride. She takes a hymn-book from the rack, and, though unable to read a word, opens it and passes it, gets as near Marion as possible, and finally, with a burst of affection, seizes her hand.
And Marion, her beaming face radiant with happiness, stands up with the congregation, while the choir sing the famous old fugue,—
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around."
Recalling all the goodness of the Lord to her during the last year, the answers to her prayers, the many friends, who, one year ago, were without Christ, now with Him, the happiness to which she may look forward with the chosen companion of her life, her heart swells with gratitude to the good Father who has directed her path in such mercy, and to the dear Saviour whose advent they are so joyously celebrating. She thanks God, and takes courage to go on laboring to bring those about her to a saving knowledge of His love.
Her husband, glancing at her from the pulpit, sees that her eyes are filled with tears, and he, too, thanks God, as he says to himself, "They are happy tears."
As long as we are the inhabitants of this earth, we must expect occasional clouds with our sunshine. Disappointments are the lot of mankind, and certainly neither Mr. Angus nor Miss Howard expected to be exempt from them. The plan from the first had been to have the wedding the week before Christmas, and a reception or housewarming at Ingleside the following Monday. But, from one cause and another, the new house was not finished, and this plan had to be postponed.
It was Marion's preference to defer the wedding till such time as the house was considered fit for occupation. Such a pressure was, however, brought to bear on her, that she yielded to the wishes of her friend. He brought so many arguments to prove that the plan he now proposed was even better than the original one, that the few weeks before entering on the duties of housekeeping would give her just the leisure necessary for the formation of some of their new plans, etc., that, with a hearty laugh, she replied,—
"I see that you intend to have your way, and as I believe that God intended the husband to be the head of the family, I suppose I may as well begin my obedience now. So on the week before Christmas the wedding shall be."
I am very sure if my reader had not seen Mr. Angus since I first introduced him he would not recognize him now. Then he was bowed down with grief, not only for himself, but for one whom he had every reason to suppose was cherishing as toward her brother such anger in her heart as would cut her off from Divine forgiveness. He was, or felt himself to be, alone in the world. He had no right to form a tie which would make another the sharer of such a burden as his. To be sure, he had brooded over that one scene in his past life until he had become morbid, and perhaps had not relief come to him he might have become unfit to preach the gospel of glad tidings to his fellow-men. When he walked, his eyes were cast down to the ground, while sighs were much more frequent with him than smiles.
Now how different. He walked erect, with elastic tread, his eyes met yours with a frank smile. One could scarcely be with him five minutes without being drawn to him by a certain magnetism. You felt that his heart was at rest, and more, you could not fail to be sure that he was grateful for God's goodness, that he was literally obeying the Divine injunction, "Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again, I say, rejoice."
Mr. and Mrs. Asbury cordially extended an invitation to the young couple to remain with them till spring. The gentleman even urged the necessity of having his niece close at hand until certain building plans, etc., were complete. But this needs explanation.
It was not probable that such grateful friends as Mr. and Mrs. Lambert would allow so grand an occasion as Miss Howard's marriage to take place without some act expressive of their deep affection and respect. Now that Mr. Lambert had a wife and daughter with whom he could consult, he spent much time in the discussion of what would be the most acceptable wedding present. Once, hearing the word "jewelry" from his daughter, he shouted,—
"Jewelry! Would she like diamonds? I'll buy up a case of them."
"I said I was sure she would not care for jewelry."
"What shall it be, then? Not that anything we can do will ever prove to her our sense of her goodness and faithfulness to us; but it must be something to show her that I value my family, owe to her my finding them."
One day, before she left the city, Marion accepted an urgent invitation to pass a day at the country home of her friends. She also was requested to bring Esther and Neddy Carter with her. During the day, the young lady, wholly unsuspicious of the object of the visit, frankly narrated her own and Mr. Angus's plans for the good of the town. Among other things, she said that there was no library for free circulation, adding, "One of my most-cherished plans is to build a neat and attractive house,
with two large rooms, one for a library of well-selected books, the other a reading-room for both secular and religious papers, and also some of the best magazines. But we can't do everything in one year."
Mrs. Lambert had suggested to her impulsive husband that it would be more delicate not to allude to the subject of a wedding gift, but here, he thought, is just the way to please her. He rushed from the room, motioning his wife to follow, and after sundry antics, such as would have better befitted Geenie's years, he drew a blank check, and with his fingers on his lips, held it up before his astonished companion.
"It's for the library," he said, putting his lips close to her ear.
She nodded approval with a cordial smile, but pointed to the blank space.
"Let her fill it up. Will ten thousand do? It must be nothing mean."
"Suppose we wait a little and try to ascertain the probable cost."
"No, I can't wait! I want it off my mind. If you don't want to see old Mr. Regy," with a comical grin, "you'll help me now."
She put her hand lovingly on his shoulder, which never failed to calm his impatience, and asked softly, "Why not, then, let her fill it up, as you suggested?"
"So I will!" He held the check toward her and motioned her to give it.
"No, my dear, generous husband, that pleasure belongs to you; I can see just how her eyes will sparkle and those pretty dimples begin to play."
He flatly refused. "No," he said, laughing, "if I were to attempt it I should be old Regy again in a minute."
She sat down at his desk and wrote,—
Dear Friend,—
We have tried in vain to think of a gift for your
approaching marriage which will in any measure suitably express
to you our appreciation of your invaluable friendship.
Your remark just now in regard to a library and reading-room
has suggested the idea of giving to you funds sufficient for that
worthy object and letting you use them as you think proper.
JULIETTE D. LAMBERT.
M. R. LAMBERT.
She gave it to her husband to read and sign, enclosed the blank check, and carried it into the next room and gave it to Miss Howard.
With what astonishment and delight the young lady read it, the embraces and thanks which followed, I must leave my reader to imagine. In the midst of the excitement which followed, Mr. Lambert, who had chosen to remain behind, raced from one end of the room to the other, where he was found by Eugene holding on to his sides and making the most strenuous endeavors to restrain his laughter.
In consequence of this generous gift, a lot of land was purchased, not far from the public school, and the town at a public meeting, called for the purpose, added to the library lot a large field formerly used for pasturage. This was to be fitted up for all sorts of games and athletic sports.
Mr. Lambert and his family went to Grantbury, and insisted that the library building be two stories, the upper story to be finished off into a hall for concerts, school exhibitions, etc. The eccentric old gentleman was very angry when it was proposed to name this "Lambert Hall," in token of gratitude to the giver.
"I've nothing to do with it," he insisted. "Put it Howard Hall or Angus Hall, if you please. It's nothing to me, any way."
"Except that your name stands at the bottom of the check for the cost," replied Marion, with an arch glance in his face.
"Things have come to a pretty pass—wedding present—chose that rather than diamonds."
He was growling away in the genuine old style, when Geenie made them all laugh heartily by calling out,—
"Grandma, did you bring Mr. Regy's wig? He has come back again."
CHAPTER XV.
OUR INGLESIDE.
ESTHER COLE had received two letters, or rather notes, from her husband since the one she wrote him; but now months had passed without a word in answer to her regular weekly letter. Mr. Angus was greatly interested in the young wife who was so patiently enduring her trials, and insisted that she ought to be allowed to follow the dictates of her own conscience in regard to her connection with her husband.
Day after day Esther looked for a letter, but looked in vain. At length, pitying her too evident disappointment, Mr. Angus wrote to the chaplain of the prison, making inquiries in regard to the man. The letter, about which he had said nothing, was answered immediately, and contained a slip cut from an Auburn paper. Joseph Cole, with three of the worst prisoners, had escaped from their confinement early one dark night. They had nearly killed a watchman who ran to give notice, and had so far escaped justice.
The chaplain added that the criminals had been subsequently traced to New Orleans, where a gang of roughs had been seized for arson and murder. On the trial it was proved that the younger and apparently the most hardened had a number of aliases, but that his real name was Joseph Cole.
"My poor, trusting Esther!" exclaimed Marion to her husband, "this will end your faith in your husband's reformation. This will settle the question of your return to him."
But greatly to her surprise, and to the surprise of all Esther's friends, though she mourned so deeply over Joseph's sins that her cheeks grew colorless and her eyes looked into yours more wistfully than ever, she yet held fast to her belief that God had power to touch the hardest heart, and that in answer to her importunate prayers He would, in His own good time, lead him to penitence and a godly life.
"Whether he ever comes back to me or not is of little consequence, ma'am," she said, as Marion was trying to comfort her. "I don't think I shall live many years, but, oh, I do long for him to know how God can comfort people! What would I do now, ma'am, if I were without Christ, as I once was? If poor Joe only had Christ, he would be happier than he ever was in his life, even though he is in his cell."
The last was said with a piteous sob, which went to the listener's heart far more than the loudest wails.
And here we must leave our humble friend. We know that God did fill her heart with such thoughts of Himself, of His pitying tenderness toward all His creatures, that she was comforted under the bitterest sorrow a Christian can be called to endure,—the unworthiness of those we love. We leave her to the gracious sympathizing Saviour.
Glancing forward a few years, I am sure the reader will be pleased to learn that Neddy Carter is fulfilling the promise of his childhood. Meeting him in the street, one would never imagine that he is indebted to artificial supports for his ability to go from place to place, while his clear, brown eyes, looking you so straight in the face, his open brow, and abundant, wavy locks, interest the most casual observer.
If he were asked, "Who is the happiest youth in this great city?" he would, without hesitation, answer,—
"It would be hard to find a happier boy than I am since my mother goes with me regularly to church."
He is and will be for years to come a protégé of Mr. Lambert, who has given over a sum of money to proper guardians for the purpose of educating him.
The library building is finished, the shelves are lined with books selected by the pastor, who is the chairman of the library association, and a company of ladies and gentlemen appointed for the purpose. The hall above, forty feet by sixty, is fitted up with a curtain, foot-lights, etc., but can never be used except with the consent of Mrs. Marion Howard Angus. After many discussions, the name "Howard Hall" is conspicuous over the desk, but our old friend Marion is eager to assure every one who points to it that it is a memorial, not to herself, but to her father.
A very pleasant circumstance in connection with the library is that Mary Falkner, now confirmed in health and activity, was unanimously chosen librarian, with a salary large enough to support herself and her mother.
One more scene, and I have done.
Accompany me, dear reader, up this smoothly gravelled walk to the elegant mansion at the summit of Church Hill. Notice as you pass that luxurious vine winding itself so lovingly around the pillars. The slip from which it has grown was brought by Mr. Angus from the old Ingleside homestead.
Although it is June, the mornings are cool, and as we push open a French window and step in from the wide, uncovered piazza, we see an open fireplace, with a few embers smouldering away on the high brass and irons. There is an air of refinement and cosey, homelike comfort about the room that we would like to describe, but something of still greater interest attracts us.
Sitting on a low chair near the fire is a young girl, whom we soon recognize as the little Ethel we loved so dearly. As we have seen her so many times, she is still hovering over a cradle, but this time the occupant is a living, breathing, cooing, jumping, heart-winning baby.
At this moment the little one is sleeping. Ethel gazes lovingly at the fair countenance, the rosy lips moving in pleasant recollection of the sweets it has tasted, the long, curly lashes resting on the plump cheek, and acknowledges to herself that live babies are a great improvement on dolls.
Now voices are heard in the hall. Just as a lady and gentleman enter, a carryall drives to the door. The gentleman has on his arm sundry wraps, an afghan, a tiny cap being daintily held on his outstretched fingers. There is a new expression on his features, and we can scarcely believe that this tall athlete, this noble-looking man, with a smile on his lips, which looks as though it belonged there, is the same gentleman whom we first knew as Harold Angus.
But how shall I describe our Marion? The eyes are as bright, the dimples still in view, but the whole face is flooded with a new light. It is the mother love.
She takes little Stella from the cradle, uttering those soothing sounds which even the youngest babies so well understand, and dresses her for the ride, Ethel, meanwhile, looking on in wondering admiration.
They are going to the station to meet their dear friends, Dr. and Mrs. B-, from the Home for the Sick, and when they have driven around the town, intend to bring them home for a quiet Sunday.
And this is our Ingleside.