"My good aunt has taken great pains to let it be known that we are really related to the Duke of Hamilton; poh! poh! that is so foolish! We are truly altogether American, and what care we for noble birth!
"Last Sunday, in company with Lady Alice, I visited one of the Ragged Schools in M—— Lane. I had no conception before of the place. A very large room, crowded with children; some clad in rags and filth, others were civilized; but there was a look of sensuality among them that was so revolting. It was a pleasant sight to see so many of the higher classes, filled with the spirit of the loving Master, seeking these degraded children. I was surprised to see the Lady Alice take her seat so humbly among a company of such rough, half-clad girls; and pleased to see the look of grateful respect that rested upon the face of more than one, as they listened to the instructions of their gentle teacher.
"'Do you teach here weekly, Lady Alice?' I asked as soon as she had done. 'That is my privilege, Miss Hamilton, when I am in London,' was the modest reply.
"'Could you not find a position among some not quite so degraded?'
"'Yes; but then so few comparatively are willing to come here; and then you know, Miss Hamilton, that our Master did not scorn the lowest sinner.'
"I was silent, for Lady Alice had set me to thinking.
"Suddenly, I was surprised by the sight of a familiar form; at first, only the back; but I could not be mistaken—he turned, and it was indeed Roland Bruce! How did he ever come here?
"He advanced, and extended his warm, strong hand; the touch was magnetic—how it revived the dear old days around Woodcliff! How strong it seemed! Just like the staff of my childhood; not only the staff, but the sceptre to which I willingly bowed. He inquired how I came here, and I told him.
"'Did I not promise you that I would visit such places?'
"He looked so pleased, and then told me why he was in England, and that he expected, ere he returned, to visit Scotland.
"The earl's family attend the church under the ministry of the Rev. Mr. B——, not for its grandeur, but purely for the simple evangelical preaching of its earnest pastor; but my aunt goes with the Duke of D—— to a more fashionable church, where the elite attend, but where there is little but the form of piety.
"It is a great privilege to attend upon such a ministry as Mr. B——'s, for it draws my thoughts away from earth.
The earl's family are all members of the Church of England. Last Sunday, all four partook of the communion. I felt so lonely, so conscience-stricken when they all arose and left me in the pew. After church, Lord N—— said to me with such real concern upon his fine face—
"'I am sorry, Miss Hamilton, to find that you are not a follower of the Redeemer; why is it so?'
"I could not answer for one minute, but at last replied—
"'I ought to be, I know; but I am so unworthy, so worldly!'
"'So am I unworthy, Miss Hamilton; but Jesus is all my righteousness. I cannot bear to see you, one so'—and he stopped; 'I cannot bear to see you any thing but a Christian.'
"'Thank you, Lord N——; how is it that, surrounded by so much to draw the heart from God, your family are all so different from the rest of the world?'
"'In the world, but not of the world, Miss Hamilton, is my answer; and all the difference consists in this—that by the grace of God only, we are what you see.'
"What a lovely specimen of piety in high life is here! 'Tis true, that not many of the great ones of the earth are called to be children of the kingdom; but there are some.
"Lord N——'s remark has led me back to the days of former seriousness. Am I grieving the Spirit of God by my worldliness? 'Ye cannot serve God and mammon' is the Saviour's teaching; may I feel its power.
"The earl's family are going down to Parkhurst Manor, their country-seat, and have invited us to accompany them. Aunt Matilda would rather stay amid the dissipation of London life; but I am weary of it, and so glad to go into the country; and then it will be better for papa, dear papa! I wonder if he is any better.
* * * * * *
"Parkhurst Manor.—What a charming home! The entrance to the mansion is through a splendid park of trees of ancient growth, and the grounds most beautifully kept; the smooth green grass, the branching elms meeting over the avenue which leads to the house, forming such a cool, green arbor; the sporting deer meeting us everywhere, some looking at us with a startled look in their soft, brown eyes, and others so docile that they walked close by the side of the carriage; but the smile of the honest gatekeeper at the Lodge was the best welcome, as he opened the gate, taking off his hat, and saying—
"'You are welcome back to the manor, my Lord.'
"'Thank you, James; I hope you are all well at the Lodge.'
"In another minute, two rosy little girls ran across the road, and, dropping a courtesy before the carriage, said—
"'Welcome back, my Lady, we are so glad to see you; is Lady Alice there?'
"The young lady smiled upon the little things, and replied—
"'Come up to the Hall to-morrow, I have something for you, my little girls,' and the carriage drove on.
"The house is a large and elegant mansion; I scarcely know of what style of architecture, but much of it is ancient; the wings are of more modern style, the windows all opening out on to the lawn. From the second story, verandahs surround the mansion, filled with most rare and exquisite flowers. The grounds are laid out with the utmost taste in winding paths; at the back of the house is a calm lake, on which float a number of graceful swans; pavilions, rustic seats, and rural bridges over several small streams which flow through the grounds, and shrubbery of the choicest kind adorn the walks; in fine, nothing is wanting to make this another Eden of delight. I revelled in the sights and sounds around me with inexpressible pleasure; but the sweetest sight of all was the meeting between the parents and their dear children, who came running to greet them; two sons, the one nineteen, the other seventeen, with two younger girls, so artless! so simple hearted!
"'Dear papa! dear mamma! you have come at last! Now, it is dear old Parkhurst! You have come to stay, have you not, mamma?' and the little Ladies Julia and Mary seized their dear mother's hands, as if afraid that she would run away again. Sweet, precious picture of domestic bliss!
"The children were not in the habit of sitting at the table; but this was a holiday, and all assembled that evening around the family board, as a great treat, in company with their tutor.
"But, although brimful of joy, the little girls knew how to be quiet, and contented themselves with looking at their beloved parents and dear brother and sister; and the young men joined very modestly, but seldom, in the general conversation. I sat near the little girls, and once I heard them whisper to each other about the books which mamma had promised, and the dolls from Lady Alice.
"The countess glanced kindly, but reprovingly, at the children, as she said—
"'My little girls are forgetting mamma's rules at the table; there must be no whispering.'
"'Excuse us, dear mamma,' replied the Lady Julia, 'we were wondering about the books and dolls.'
"After supper, a bell summoned us to evening worship in the chapel, whither the countess led the way, and the tutor, who is a young clergyman, conducted the devotions, while Lady Alice presided at the organ. Thanks for the return of the parents were included in the service, and, at the close, the dear children were dismissed with a loving kiss from both parents.
"Happy household! trained thus from infancy for Heaven, what a calm and holy atmosphere prevails everywhere at Parkhurst! The echoes of sweet Sabbath chimes ever softly ringing, and sanctifying the simpler acts of its daily life. I am so glad to be here; such a contrast to many of the gay and worldly families of London, where all seem bent upon ignoring entirely their immortality.
"The next morning after our arrival, the family carriage and three fine horses were drawn up before the door.
"'We want to show you some of the beauties around Parkhurst,' said the earl, 'and concluded that the young people would prefer the saddle. I presume that you ride, Miss Hamilton; we English people are famous riders.'
"Lord N——, Lady Alice, and I mounted; papa and Aunt Matilda occupied the landau with the earl and countess. We had a most delightful excursion among the green lanes of 'old England,' breathing the cool morning air. It is, indeed, a garden of sweets; the high cultivation everywhere, the country residences, the rural cottages, all with their flowers and trees, and the reverence with which the family of the earl was everywhere greeted, made this ride highly gratifying. I find a most regular, systematic household, the heads of the family each having especial hours of retirement; the children their periods of study, recreation, and out-door exercise. After morning worship, the family scattered to their several avocations.
"'You are at home, Miss Hamilton,' said Lady Alice, leading the way to the library; 'I read two hours daily, a course laid down by my former tutor, and I presume that you would like to do the same. Mamma visits the school-room daily, and makes inquiries of the tutor about the children, but she does not interfere; she has one in whom she places perfect confidence, and she aids, not thwarts, his plans for their improvement; the exercises of the school-room are no more disturbed than if they were all away at school. Mamma is too sensible for that.'
"We chose our books, took our seats at separate tables, and enjoyed two delightfully private hours—'tis true that Lord N—— knocked at the door, and just peeped in once.
"'No admission, brother,' said the Lady Alice, with an arch smile; 'we are very busy now; you know that we all read at this hour; go get your books, like a good boy,' and springing from her seat, she opened the door wide, threw her arms around her brother's neck, and kissed him, saying, 'now go, Alfred.'
"'This is the way she rules me, Miss Hamilton; I dare not disobey my precise little sister; so adieu, ladies!'
"Two hours at the piano closed the studies of the Lady Alice. I observed a harp in the drawing-room, and while she was occupied in the music-room, I took advantage of the time, to refresh my almost forgotten pieces. I had brought some new music with me, and was glad to find that I had so much leisure.
"'I suppose that I may venture to intrude,' said Lord N——, at the close of my practice; and another hour was spent in entertaining my young host, who is a passionate lover of music, and who accompanied me with the flute.
"Out on the verandah, Lady Alice observed, 'There come my little girls from the Lodge,' and running to her room, she brought out several books, and a new dress for each. Little Mary and Bessie Bond were modest children, and as they dropped a courtesy to their young lady, she handed them the gifts which she had brought.
"'Thank you, Lady Alice, you are very good,' said the elder.
"Dinner at five, where a select number of friends joined our party. The breakfast costume is simple lawn or muslin wrappers, with a pretty cap for the countess; but the dress for dinner was more elegant—rich silk dresses, with low neck and short sleeves, hair handsomely arranged, with rich head-dresses for the elder ladies, simpler for the young, and a moderate addition of fine jewelry.
"There was much more ceremony at this meal, though nothing was oppressive; it was felt to be the etiquette of high-bred English life. The conversation was general, improving, entertaining; personalities were strictly avoided, and it was evident that the earl had gathered around him a party of pleasing, intelligent, refined English people; even two or three frivolous young ladies were held in check by the general tone of sentiment.
"We walked in the Park after dinner, and the game-keeper amused us highly by a summons to his feathered charge. Making a certain call, in a moment crowds of rooks were seen emerging from their own domicile, which was quite a large building for birds only. They clustered around him, on his head, his shoulders, his hands, and wherever they could obtain a footing, while crowds congregated around his feet, making their own peculiarly coarse, unpleasant cawing; indeed, there seemed to be quite a familiar intimacy between him and his dark-feathered favorites.
"At another call, the deer came bounding towards him; it was such a pretty picture of the power of kindness over the dumb creation; it pleased me especially, for I do so love the world of animals. I found that I might pat the gentle fawns, and by a few kind words draw them towards me, rubbing their pretty heads against my hands, and looking up in my face with their confiding, soft brown eyes. I thought of the time when 'the wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion, and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.' Happy period of millennial blessedness! for then the fiercest will have parted with their savage nature. This day was a pretty general picture of the daily life at Parkhurst Manor—so domestic! so purifying! so elevating! Then the sweet worship of the chapel! By what holy ties does this family seem bound together! thus privileged to worship God as one family. It has its soothing effect upon my spirit—everything here draws one upward, even surrounded as we are by wealth and elegance. God is in all, and over all. This is the perfection of human life.
* * * * * *
"Yesterday was Sunday at Parkhurst—what a holy day! The children take their meals with us on that day. No late hours on that sacred morning—so quiet, so refreshing was the sweet early morning hour!
"The earl paused after the blessing was asked—
"'Now, my children, for our texts.' The father and mother reverently repeated theirs; Lord N——, and Lady Alice followed, then each of the children repeated seriously the Sunday text. It was a touching lesson; this reverence for God's holy word! This was practical obedience to the command which says,
"'And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shall talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.'
"As I listened, I could easily understand how much they must learn in a whole year.
"'Our children are very anxious to remember all these texts, Miss Hamilton,' said the earl; 'they also learn a daily text with their instructors, and once a month repeat all to me; all who remember them perfectly, are rewarded with a handsome book; you have no idea how their library grows in this way, and what a stock of Scripture knowledge they obtain.'
"Soon upon the quiet Sabbath air, stole the sweet chimes of the village-bells; and when we started, in every direction might be seen the villagers in their best attire, crowding to the house of God. It was a pleasant picture to see the dear children of the Manor in their simple white dresses, straw-hats, and white ribbon, with the daintiest little rosebuds for face trimmings; and the lowly, gentle reverence with which they all joined in the service of the Church of England, did touch my heart so deeply. Then so many of the earl's tenants were there, and all his domestics excepting such as were positively necessary at home, who took their turn at the afternoon-service. The services were delightful in that quiet country church, and the sermon earnest, faithful, Christlike. After church, the family of the earl remained a short time; many of the parishioners received his friendly greetings, and the kind salutations of the good countess; but it was not for this that they remained. The earl took my hand, and led me to that part of the church where a marble slab pointed out the final resting-place of the earl's family.
"Among other inscriptions, I read: 'Sacred to the memory of Augusta, eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of N——, aged eighteen—Asleep in Jesus.'
"The parents stood awhile in silence by the vault; the mother wiped a silent tear, and the earl, turning to me said,—
"'My dear Miss Hamilton, I brought you here to impress the lessons of mortality; there is much around you, my dear young lady, to draw your thoughts to earth; but here you see the young, the gifted, the rich, the beautiful must lie down at last in the silent grave; let this moderate your estimate of the things of time and sense, and teach you to set your young affections chiefly on things above. The dear one who lies there had early learned the lesson; she was a Christian, she died in the Lord, and we shall meet her again.'
"We turned away; I can never forget that impressive lesson. We returned with serious thoughts to the carriage, and I felt 'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'
"The conversation at dinner turned upon the subject of the sermon; it was cheerful, subdued, befitting the sacred day. No Sunday rides, no Sunday visiting, but all breathed of holiness and heaven.
"After dinner, we all assembled in the drawing-room, and before evening worship, all joined in singing hymns, and other sacred music.
"Lady Alice played, Lord N—— accompanied with the flute; and all, old and young, father, mother, tutor, governess, and children joined in the sweet hymns.
"As we sang, I thought—what memories are here for these dear children! Even though they may lose these precious parents—will they not follow them always 'to keep their souls from blight?'
"Sweet Christian Sabbath! I never spent such before.
"It had added another step to the family-ladder, and hung another link to the golden chain; by one mounting upward, and by the other united, to the family of the redeemed in Heaven. Its holy chants, heavenly hymns, and solemn prayer seem here to go with us through the cares and trials of the Mondays and Tuesdays of this mortal state; until blotting out all earthly days, the earthly and heavenly Sabbath glideth into one—one eternal day of holy rest.
"And thus it seems at Parkhurst—the spirit of the Sabbath is with us all the week.
"On Monday, I observed an unusual number of persons coming up the avenue, generally of the poorer classes.
"Curiosity led me to ask Lady Alice, 'What brings so many to-day.' 'If you will come with me, I will show you, Miss Hamilton,' and she led me to her mother's small room, where, seated at a table, she seemed awaiting her visitors.
"On the table stood a writing-desk, and by her side a pocket-book, evidently containing money.
"'Sit down, Miss Hamilton,' said the countess.
"Each one had her tale to tell, of sorrow, difficulty, or poverty. The countess listened patiently, kindly to all, gave judicious Christian advice, and bestowed upon a certain number her weekly allowance for the aged, the sick, the struggling with life's cares and toils.
"I could not describe the deep respect which I felt for this lady in high rank, so surrounded by temptations to selfishness; turning aside so humbly, so gently, to listen to the tales of sorrow and privation, from the humble poor. They evidently regarded her as a superior being, and I could but say 'What has grace wrought!'
"Upon inquiry, I find that this is the habit of the countess, on every Monday morning, to meet the women of the neighborhood, while her husband appoints another day to meet the men for the same purpose.
"What an influence must this exert for good! I find that even the children have their Saving Fund from which to draw for their charities; for during the interview, Lady Julia entered modestly, and said,
"'Dear mamma, here is our money for the little girls,' and the good countess smiled upon her daughter, as she replied,
"'Mrs. McBride and Mrs. Rhyle want Sunday dresses for their little girls, that they may go to Sunday-school, and this is just enough, Julia.'
"The child looked very happy as she tripped away, and Mrs. Rhyle said, 'What a sweet young lady she is!'
* * * * * * *
"Yesterday, the good pastor dined with us; the conversation was all about plans for good among the people; and it could scarcely be seen which was most interested, the good pastor, or the noble earl, in their benevolent schemes.
"The wife was an interesting English lady, and much of the side talk between the mothers, was about the dear children of the Parsonage; for the good countess loved the gentle wife of the humble pastor, and knew that this was the subject that pleased her most.
* * * * * * *
"I have such a pleasant room adjoining the Lady Alice, both opening to a verandah, where we spend much of our time among the flowers. My room is daily supplied with the most exquisite, which Betty, my English maid, brings every morning, with 'the compliments of Lord N——.' She always seems amused; but it is just politeness, and as such, I receive them.
"But lately, I have been a little disturbed; Lady Alice sometimes throws out gentle hints, and Lord N—— is more than polite, I fear; I should be so sorry, for I do esteem him so highly.
"This morning he was passing under the verandah; looking up, he said, smiling, 'May I join you, sister?' and receiving permission, he came up through a back staircase, and joined us on the verandah.
"'You look very much like Flora, Miss Hamilton, among these flowers; they are so bright, and you so much like their queen.'
"This was the first direct compliment that Lord N—— ever paid me, and I know that I blushed. I did not reply, for I am awkward at answering compliments. I simply turned the subject, but he selected a moss rose-bud.
"'Will you wear my flower, Miss Hamilton?' he whispered, in a lower tone.
"I knew not what to say.
"'With pleasure,' was my reply, 'if you will give the same to Lady Alice.'
"'Then you will seem like sisters; thank you, Miss Hamilton.'
"I had not perceived the use that he might make of my answer, and I was therefore silent.
"Lady Alice was greatly pleased when she placed her bouquet in the bosom of her dress; I was rather annoyed when I looked at mine—she whispered,
"'Would, dear Madeline, that it were so.'
"I must be circumspect; not for worlds would I wound the hearts of these dear friends.
"They are dear as valued friends, for they have been a great blessing to me; I must pay them with truth and candor; and yet this passing fancy of mine may only be the result of personal vanity; I will banish the whole from my memory, ashamed that it ever entered my foolish brain. Aunt Matilda does annoy me, she says so many silly things when I am alone with her; if she continues to talk so about Lord N——, it will destroy all our friendly intercourse, and I shall have to go back to London. I am so afraid that she will make her fancies plain to the family, and that would be more than I could endure.
"Yesterday we had company to dinner; the conversation turned upon England and America. One gentleman was evidently prejudiced, and spoke disparagingly of our country. I felt the blood rise to my face, for he did not speak the truth. The good earl came to the rescue.
"'Have you ever been in America, Sir Edward, or met many of its people?'
"'I have not,' was the reply, with some embarrassment.
"'Then, I think, sir, that you should withhold your judgment with regard to our American cousins; some of the most intelligent, frank, and gentlemanly persons that I have ever met, have come from that country.'
"'I have read travels, my lord, and have received my impressions from such writers as Dickens, Mrs. Trollope, &c.'
"'Indeed, Sir Edward, I never was more heartily ashamed than when I read Dickens's book; after receiving so many hospitalities, to return them with such prejudiced accounts of his sojourn,—I for one do not believe them; I have met some of the American clergy, and authors, and other distinguished men, and, as a true and loyal Englishman, I can say that I have never met more refinement, intelligence, or sterling worth, than among the Americans.'
"'Thank you, my lord,' I replied, for I could no longer keep silent; 'it has always seemed so strange that there should be any rivalries between us, for are we not the same people? the same language, the same descent, and the same religious faith? For my part, I am willing to acknowledge the great debt we owe to England. From her, we have our finest authors, the very gems of literature; from her, the noblest specimens of philanthropy and genius; and from her, our Christian faith, and the very formulas in which we worship God.' I blushed, and drew back, for I had not been aware how long a speech I was making, until I saw the look of approbation in the earl's countenance, and the warm glow upon Lord N——'s.
"'These are noble sentiments, Miss Hamilton,' said the good earl. 'I was always sorry for the obstinacy of George the Third; for through him we lost those colonies which are now merged into so great a nation.'
"'But perhaps,' remarked my father, 'we might not have been what we are, if we were still under monarchical rule; our free institutions have spurred on enterprise of every kind, and started us as a nation far ahead in many things.'
"'I am a true, staunch Englishman,' replied the earl, 'and am not willing to own that anything can be better than the mild and beneficent rule of our gracious Queen Victoria, under the good constitution of old England. I think you Americans are too fast, and are growing to be so large, as almost to become unwieldy; this is what I fear for America; her very freedom may be abused.'
"'We are a driving people, my lord, fast in every way; in enterprise, in business, in habits of living; in fine, I fear, with you, too fast; too reckless in modes of making money; and in many quarters I see signs of corruption, which must bring upon us God's judgments; I fear, my lord, sometimes for the future of my beloved country, for God rules among the nations, as well as among individuals.'
"'May God preserve America to be a bright example of a fine, intelligent, and virtuous people,' said the good earl; 'and now, Mr. Hamilton, let me give you a toast—
"'America, the stalwart child of Old England—may they go side by side, in all that is good, and great, and glorious!'
"And then my father responded,
"'Queen Victoria, and the realm of Great Britain—may she long be spared to bless her great dominions.'
"Both toasts were drunk standing.
"Sir Edward sat rather silent for the rest of the meal, and the good earl patted me kindly on the head in the drawing-room, and said,
"'Yours is a warm and noble heart, Miss Hamilton; may it find its mate in good old England.'
"What does the earl mean? I hope nothing with reference to his son; I should be truly distressed.
"Another bunch of flowers from Lord N——; they are very, very sweet; but I laid them by the side of the old withered sea-weed, and their charm was gone.
"Ah, Roland! do you cherish the little shoe and the child's picture yet!
* * * * * * *
"My father is worse, I see it daily; he is losing his spirits, and the earl seems distressed.
"Am I to lose my father, my dearest earthly tie? He sent for me to-day to come to his room. He looked so sad, sitting in his large easy chair. He took me on his lap, as when I was wild little Mad-cap. 'Madeline, my daughter, I sent for you, because I have much to say. I am not so well, my child; indeed, the signs in my case warn me that I have not much longer to live. I have arranged everything for you; you are left independent, with none to trammel you, and the power to choose your own guardian. I can trust you, Madeline, in all things; I could have wished to leave you under the care of a wise and faithful companion, worthy of my daughter; but that is a subject in which I shall not bind you; you are free to choose there wholly for yourself. I shall not live, Madeline, to cross the ocean.' O, how my heart sank! I bowed my head on his dear shoulder, and wept convulsively. 'Do not speak so, dear papa, I cannot bear it,' was my answer.
"He smoothed my hair, impressed warm kisses on my cheek, and soothed my troubled spirit with kind and loving words. 'And now, Madeline, with regard to higher subjects, I would say that my residence in this holy family has not been in vain. I have long been in the habit of reading the Scriptures; the good earl has manifested the deepest interest in my spiritual welfare; he visits me every evening in my room; and it is owing to his influence that I have been led to consider the need of preparation for another world. I have renounced all dependence upon my moral life, and look only to the Blessed Saviour for salvation in the world to come. It is my desire, Madeline, to testify my faith in His atoning sacrifice next Sunday, in the village church, at the table of our Lord; are you not ready, my darling, to accompany me in the solemn act?' I could not answer my father, for mingled feelings of joy and sorrow filled my heart; floods of happiness at the humble declaration of his faith, and unspeakable sorrow at the thought of parting from one so beloved. I promised my dear parent to think upon the subject, for I had lately longed for the blessed privilege.
"I sought the room of the countess, and confided to her the subject of our conversation.
"'Would you like to see our pastor, Miss Hamilton?' was the kind suggestion, and the good lady sent for her faithful guide.
"He was so good, so gentle, so Christ-like that I could easily tell him the whole history of my inner life.
"'Are you resting wholly, my dear Miss Hamilton, upon the merits of the Redeemer for salvation?'
"'Wholly, entirely, my dear sir, from the bottom of my heart I can say, "None but Jesus."'
"'Are you willing to devote yourself, soul and body, to your Master's service, my child?'
"'That is my desire, and has long been the language of my heart.'
"'Then come, and welcome, to the table of the Lord, my dear child; Jesus will not reject such as you.'
* * * * * * *
"Last Sunday, for the first time, by my father's side, I bowed at the table of my Lord and Master; received the emblems of His dying love, and promised to be His forever. O, what a precious privilege! And then by the side of my dear father. Now we are one in the most sacred of all bonds. After church, the countess pressed a warm kiss upon my cheek, and said, 'One in Jesus, dear Madeline;' the Lady Alice pressed my hand in silence; and Lord N—— looked so very happy.
"Bless God for this sweet sanctuary of a Christian home! My father says that we must go back to London; and when we reach there he will tell me why, saying, 'Trust all to God, dear Madeline; whatever he wills is right.' Aunt Matilda is pleased with the idea; for the quiet of country life does not suit her. She is only sorry at leaving Lord N——, but says that 'he will soon follow us.' I wish that she would not talk such folly, nor such nonsense about old Lord C——, who was really quite devoted to aunty when in London."
CHAPTER XXV.
PARTING FROM ENGLISH FRIENDS.
The noble park and green lanes of Parkhurst, with all its elevating joys, were soon to be exchanged for private lodgings in a crowded city; and Madeline's spirits sank as she contemplated a return to London with her beloved parent; for she could no longer blind herself to the fact that day by day he was fading from her sight.
Standing alone, on the evening before her departure on the verandah, where she had spent so many happy hours, she was indulging in mournful reveries; she should probably see this beautiful park, this happy home, these charming scenes no more.
While musing thus, Lord N—— passed under the verandah.
"May I come up, Miss Hamilton?"
"If you wish, my Lord; I am alone, and would be glad to see you."
The step of the young man was not gay and joyous as on other days, and Madeline perceived that he wore a serious, saddened countenance.
"You leave us, to-morrow, Miss Hamilton; may I ask a place in your remembrance?"
"I shall never forget the pleasant hours at Parkhurst, Lord N——, or the dear friends that I have made in this happy home."
He was silent for one moment, and then with deeper feeling said,
"But may I not ask a particular place in your remembrance, a nearer, dearer than a passing acquaintance, that will be forgotten in a day?"
"I do number you, my lord, among my most valued friends; and I shall never forget you personally."
"Ah, Madeline! the memory will not be to you what it will ever be to me—the one green spot in life, which I shall cherish so fondly."
She bowed her head, and was silent; for painful emotions were stirring in her heart, and tears were crowding beneath the drooping eyelids.
"Madeline, we may not meet again; I cannot let you leave us without asking, is there any hope that I may obtain the rich love of your noble, fresh young heart?"
She turned a frank look upon the young man, while her eyes swam in tears, as she replied,
"I cannot deceive you, Lord N——; my deepest respect and warmest friendship are yours, but my love I cannot give."
"Why, Madeline? does another possess that which I would make any earthly sacrifice to obtain?"
"That is a delicate question, Lord N——; my hand is free, but my heart has long been" (and she blushed as she uttered the words) "interested in another. I never knew until to-day how much, how deeply. This is a painful confession, but due to you, my lord; for had it not been so, I could not have been insensible to worth like yours."
He bowed over the fair young hand extended in friendship, and replied—
"May you be happy, Madeline! happy in love as pure, as devoted as mine. I will not say that my heart is broken; that is the language of a silly, brainless man; nor will I say that my hopes are crushed, for God our Father rules on earth, as well as in Heaven, and his will is not what I had hoped. I submit, I trust, with patience, and by-and-bye, I doubt not, will see the reasons why I have been disappointed in my first affection."
"He will guide you, I doubt not, my lord, in all the events of life; and one so benevolent, so useful, so noble as you, cannot be unhappy; for there is too much in this wicked world for Christians to do, to spend their lives in vain regrets."
"We are one in Christian hope, Madeline, and that is a comfort; one in all schemes of good for our fellow-men."
"Will you pray for me, Lord N——? Sore trials are before me, and I need a Saviour's grace to sustain me in what is surely coming."
"You are before me morning and evening, Madeline; and, though separated by the wide ocean, I shall remember you whenever I bend the knee to my Father in Heaven."
"We shall be friends, Lord N——," continued Madeline, as she extended her hand.
"Yes, Madeline; after a while, true and faithful friends. I shall rejoice when you are happy, and be sad when you are afflicted."
They were not aware of the passage of time until Lady Alice was heard calling, "Madeline, where are you? Papa and mamma sent me to look for you. Come to the drawing-room, we must have some music to-night," and she ran hastily up to the verandah, and drew away her young friend, saying—
"Brother, I think you are very selfish; we want Madeline to-night, as it is her last evening at Parkhurst."
Lord N—— did not answer, and Madeline followed Lady Alice, deeply pained at the disappointment which she knew would fill all that family circle.
She took her seat at the harp, but begged to be excused from singing, for she could scarcely trust her voice to speak.
Lord N—— seated himself at a distant window, shading his eyes with his hand. Lady Alice stood by her side, and Madeline played in her most touching style many of her beautiful pieces.
"Some of your sacred music, Miss Hamilton," said the earl, "for that suits the tone of our feelings," and she played some exquisite variations from the hymn, "I would not live alway."
Every heart was full; silence reigned among them.
"Now, one hymn of hope, Madeline," said the countess, and all the group joined in the sweet words—
"How firm a foundation! ye saints of the Lord!"
and, supported by the others, she too poured forth her wondrous notes in strains of melody, while the rich chords of the harp accompanied the choir of voices.
They parted sadly that night, and the next morning early, left with feelings of deepest sorrow the sweet shelter of Parkhurst Manor.
"We shall see you in London, Madeline," said Lady Alice, "for you will need us, dear."
A great change awaited our young friend; quiet lodgings and the rooms of an invalid were exchanged for the spacious accommodations and elegant ease of the home they had left. Aunt Matilda was sadly discontented, and shrewdly suspected what had taken place at Parkhurst.
"Madeline, I have a right to know; I am sure that Lord N—— loves you deeply. Have you rejected him? Are you such a blind, silly girl?"
"Do not ask me, aunt; surely I have a right to some privacy of thought and action."
"You cannot deny it; you have rejected one of the first offers in Great Britain, and you are just a fool, and nothing else, Madeline Hamilton!"
"Would you have me give my hand without my heart, Aunt Matilda?"
"A fiddlestick for a heart, Madeline, when a coronet was laid at your feet, to turn away—I know what for; I am so ashamed for you, that I cannot utter all I think. Now I am sure that you love that beggar-boy; for nothing else could make you reject such a splendid match as the son of an English earl."
"Spare me, dear aunt, and let us talk of something else; when dear papa is so ill we have enough to think about."
She could not forgive her niece, and seldom exchanged any thing but the merest words necessary for daily duties—cold, constrained, often harsh. She took the first opportunity to acquaint Mr. Hamilton with the facts of the case. He was both surprised and grieved, for he had seen with pleasure the growing attachment of the young nobleman.
"Madeline, how is it that you rejected Lord N——? Few young ladies would turn away from such an offer. I had hoped that his goodness and mental worth, not to speak of his lovely family, would have certainly won your heart."
"Do not let us talk about it, dear papa, I do not love Lord N—— as I should a husband; he is a dear friend, but nothing more."
"I cannot account for it, Madeline, unless your heart is previously occupied; if so, should you not tell your father?"
"I am bound to no one, dear papa; just let me wait upon you, and administer to your comfort, that is all I ask."
"Remember what I have said, Madeline; it would have made me very happy if you could have accepted this young man, not on account of his noble birth, or wealth, but just for his modest, manly piety and worth. But in this matter you must choose for yourself, and God will bless my daughter."
After a consultation of eminent physicians, the painful alternative was proposed to Mr. Hamilton. When they had gone, he sent for his daughter. "Madeline, you remember that I told you in all things we must trust in God; you have now great occasion for that holy confidence. I have never told you until now the nature of my disease. It has been a long and painful process that has brought me to the crisis; an operation is necessary, my child;" observing Madeline's pallid face, he continued, "do not be alarmed; all is in the hands of a wise and gracious God. It may be successful, or I may sink under the operation; but nothing else can be done, and we must prepare our minds; it will be speedily over, there will be no very long suspense. Be the end what it may, I trust that I am prepared; my hopes are all upon the 'Rock of Ages.'"
"When will it take place, papa?" asked the trembling girl.
"In about ten days," was the answer; "and now, darling, we will talk no more about it; to-morrow will be Sunday; you must go to church, Madeline, and have prayers offered for me; Aunt Matilda will stay with me."
It was a season of sweet and holy refreshment to the young pilgrim, for she needed the heavenly manna for her weary, anxious spirit. Passing out of church, what was her surprise to see Roland, the friend of her youth, standing at the door in company with two gentlemen; the one elderly, of noble presence, and the other a young gentleman, of whom she had no remembrance. Roland advanced, extended his hand, and said—
"How is it that you are here alone, Miss Hamilton?"
"My father is very ill; my aunt is staying with him, and he sent me to have prayers offered for him. I need them, oh, how much! remember me, Mr. Bruce."
Madeline was pale and worn, and Roland was touched by the expression of deep sorrow upon her fair young face. He took the little hand as in days of yore, and said, in low tones—
"Do you dream, Miss Hamilton, that I can ever forget you at a throne of grace? You are always remembered there and everywhere."
Roland then hastily introduced his friends, but Uncle Malcolm had recognized the young lady that he had once met before in a carriage. A glance at the earnest gaze of Roland, and at the downcast blush of Madeline, caused a smile to flit across the face of the good man, as he remembered the days of his youth, and the sweet blushes of Mary Gordon in the first days of their innocent, unhappy love.
"Where are you staying, Mr. Bruce?" asked the young lady; "I may need your presence ere long."
Roland gave his address, and they parted.
"Well, Roland Bruce!" said Edmund, "of all the sly fellows that I have ever met, you exceed—here have I been prating to you of Madeline Hamilton's beauty, and behold, she is an old acquaintance!"
Roland smiled, as he replied, "Yes, I knew her in America, ever since she was ten years old; and I am therefore somewhat acquainted with the young lady."
"And why, then, do you not visit your old friend?"
Roland's countenance fell, and drawing himself proudly up, he replied, "We will change the subject, if you please, Edmund."
When Madeline returned, she sought her father's room.
"Papa, I met Roland Bruce, to-day, at church; he seemed so concerned to hear that you were sick."
"What is he doing in London, Madeline?"
"He is in attendance upon a young man whose studies he is directing."
"I should like to see him, Madeline; he is a noble fellow, and has been a kind friend to my little girl; I do not think that he was very well treated by your aunt; but as eternity approaches, my daughter, the distinctions of life melt away. I did not want to dismiss him from our house—send for him to-morrow, and tell him to bring his friend, Mr. Graham, with him."
On the morrow, a few lines summoned him to the sick room, but without Mr. Graham. Shocked at the change in Mr. Hamilton, he took his withered band, and seating himself by his side, he said, "These are hours of weakness, dear sir, and need a strong support."
"They are, Roland; I feel flesh and heart failing, but I can say God is now the strength of my heart—your dear patient sister was the little messenger that brought the first whispers of the Spirit, Roland; I never forgot her dying words."
For a minute, the brother was silent; but seizing the pale hand, and pressing it warmly, he replied,
"Oh! Mr. Hamilton. What joyful news! my little Effie! was she, indeed, the messenger to you? wonderful are the ways of God!"
"Yes, Roland, and I have always wanted to tell all that those words have done for me. I felt that her faith was real; from that day, I have been reading my Bible with earnest prayer, and it has revealed to me a Saviour, all-sufficient for the darkest hour, all-merciful to the greatest sinner—will you pray with me, Roland?" and the young man bowed down by the side of Madeline, at her father's bed-side, and poured out an earnest, heartfelt prayer.
"There will soon be a painful trial, Roland; will you be with us when the day arrives?"
"I promise, Mr. Hamilton;" and Roland retired.
He was frequent in his visits to the sick-room, introducing, also, Uncle Malcolm, whose strong, fervent faith, and Scriptural wisdom, was an unspeakable blessing to the suffering man.
"To-morrow is the day, Roland; bring your friend;" and Mr. Hamilton pressed the strong hand of his young friend.
What was Roland's surprise, to see Madeline pale, composed, and steadfast, by the side of her parent's bed, awaiting the physicians.
"Can you bear this trial, Miss Hamilton?" was Roland's whispered inquiry.
"I cannot leave my father; who else should sustain him but his own daughter? I have prayed for strength; it is mine, Roland;" for in the deep feelings of the moment, she dropped the ceremonious title which she had used of late.
The surgeons arrived—instruments were prepared; the sufferer calm and tranquil; Madeline heroic as a loving woman should be; Roland, full of sympathy for her; Malcolm strong, tranquil, prayerful.
"My daughter, is it not too much?" whispered her father.
"For you, my father? can anything be too much? I can bear all;" and she kissed the dear face with steadfast lips.
Close by her father's side, with restoratives in her hand, she remained throughout the whole painful trial; cold, and pale as marble.
Roland stood near her, and Malcolm on the other side, with eyes closed, and heart uplifted to God in prayer.
"It is all over," said the principal surgeon.
"How?" whispered Madeline, to Roland.
"Safe, Madeline! It has been successful."
The tension had been too much; the strong heart of love gave way to the woman's weakness; the reaction was too great; and Roland, perceiving her falling, lifted her tenderly in his arms—the first time that he had pressed her form so closely since the days of childhood; imprinting one warm, pure, and tender kiss upon the sweet, pale face, he laid her quietly upon the couch in the next room. Aunt Matilda was there in anxious suspense.
"Is it over, Mr. Bruce?" asked the lady.
"All is well, madam, thus far, but Miss Hamilton needs your care;" and he bathed the face of the unconscious girl with the cologne that he had brought from the next room.
"I will perform these offices, sir; you are not needed here,"—and dismissing him haughtily from the room, she proceeded to loosen the clothes, and apply restoratives. The fainting was deep and long, and hastily she called a physician from the next room.
Yielding to remedies, in a few more minutes, some gasping words, and a heaving of the chest, indicated returning consciousness.
The eyes unclosed—"How is my father, sir?"
"Quite composed," was the reply; "he needs perfect quiet; do not see him just yet; there must be no emotion; when you are entirely restored, you can attend him."
"When can you pronounce him out of danger?"
"We cannot tell for twelve hours what will be the result."
Madeline lay quiet for another hour, her lips moving constantly in prayer; at length she arose. "I am better, aunt; give me a glass of wine; I must return."
"I am afraid, my dear child, that it is too much."
"No, aunt, I cannot stay here—see! I can walk firmly; I am perfectly restored;" and she passed quietly into the next room. Stooping over her father, she pressed one long, loving kiss upon his dear face.
"Do not speak; I shall not leave you, dear papa, again."
Malcolm watched with deep interest the strong love that filled the heart of Madeline; and coming to her side, he said,
"My dear young lady, is your strength equal to this great demand? I am ready to stay, and Roland will aid me."
She smiled as she replied,
"But you are not his daughter, his Madeline."
Mr. Hamilton slept apparently in perfect peace. Madeline watched him with untiring patience and hope. Whenever he stirred, she was directed to administer, in small doses, the stimulants that were ordered by the surgeons.
"What is the danger?" inquired Madeline; "he seems so quiet."
"The want of reaction; sinking of the vital powers, my dear young lady."
"Is there any reaction yet?" asked she, with a trembling voice.
"None whatever," replied the surgeon, as he sat holding the pulse—"but it may come yet; there is a great difference in constitution."
Mr. Hamilton was evidently in a state of insensibility, which Madeline mistook for sleep.
"You had better administer the wine, my dear," was the surgeon's direction.
"Will it not disturb his sleep, sir?"
"Not at all, my dear child."
And Madeline from time to time offered a tea-spoonful of wine to the exhausted man, only a part of which he appeared to swallow.
Hours rolled on—Roland saw the quiet agony of the devoted daughter, as no symptoms for the better appeared.
"Shall I take your place, Madeline, for a few minutes?" whispered Roland, as he beckoned to Mr. Graham to lead her to an open window; and while she stood there, leaning upon the shoulder of this good man, Roland continued watching, and dripping the wine drop by drop.
Mr. Graham whispered—"Luik unto the Rock that is higher than we, dear Miss Hamilton," for he saw what was approaching. "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother; trust him, my dear young friend;" and while she leaned so confidingly upon the strong man, he whispered earnest words of fervent prayer for the dear father stretched upon that bed of languishing, and for her so soon to be bereaved, that she was comforted and strengthened. "Take me back to my father's side, Mr. Graham. I must not leave him."
The twelve hours had passed—no signs of returning consciousness had yet appeared.
The surgeon beckoned to Malcolm Graham to come into the next room.
"It is all over, sir—there is scarcely any pulse—he may recover consciousness, but he is passing away. God help the daughter; you must prepare her."
Madeline had seen the signal. "Let me go, Roland; I must know the worst;" and hastily she followed Mr. Graham. He was standing by the side of the mantel-piece, with his head bowed upon his hands, and strong emotion was shaking his frame. He perceived Madeline. Taking her by the hand, he led her kindly to the couch—they were alone. Placing his fatherly arm around her, he said with a caressing voice, "Lean on me, my child;" and he tenderly smoothed the soft brown hair, that lay dishevelled around her face.
"God is trying ye, my dear; ye hae lately given yoursel' to him; ye and yer dear father. He is going to tak' him first; can ye say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken awa', blessed be the name o' the Lord?'"
Her head sank lower, lower; she had fainted—Malcolm laid her down tenderly as a woman, and knelt by her side, administering restoratives, chafing the cold hands, and lifting up his heart in prayer.
She opened her eyes—a sweet, sorrowful smile passed over her face, as she whispered, "It is a hard trial, but the Lord's will be done; my father is a Christian, and I can say now, he is thine; take him, dear Lord, to thyself; but O, Mr. Graham! this human heart! How lonely will it be! My father was parent, mother, brother, friend!"
"Comfort will come, my dear child, if ye are ane o' the Saviour's fold; he is afflicted when ye are sad, has borne all yer sorrows, carried all yer griefs."
"Now, let us return, Mr. Graham," and Madeline took her place again by her father's side.
A few more silent hours passed—about midnight, there was some motion visible in the form that lay there so deathly still. Slowly he unclosed his eyes, and raising his hand, said,
"Where is my daughter, my Madeline?"
"She is here, dear papa," was the quick response.
"Kiss me, darling; I am in the midst of the dark valley, just passing over, Madeline; but 'his rod and his staff, they comfort me.'"
She stooped over the dear parent; he folded her fondly to his heart; then held her off; looked at her one minute with unutterable love; then pressed upon her cheek the cold kisses of lips that were chilled in death.
"You have been a comfort to me always, Maddy; you will meet me, darling, in the better world; be true to your dear Saviour, Madeline."
"Do you suffer, dear papa?" was the affectionate, anxious question.
"Not at all; perfect peace! perfect peace! God be praised!" and in another minute, the spirit of Lewis Hamilton had departed to its rest.
"Tak' her, Roland," said Mr. Graham, as he saw the drooping form of the afflicted daughter. Tenderly he led her to the adjoining room, and whispered words of Christian sympathy and love, in her hour of sore trial. Aunt Matilda had remained in the room with her brother, until the last moment, and had then sought her own room.
"O, Roland! you know what I have lost," said the poor girl.
"Yes, Madeline, but think of his everlasting gain;" and Roland sat with Madeline's dear hand clasped in his, as in the days of yore.
* * * * * * *
Lady Alice had heard of the bereavement, and accompanied by her brother, she sought the house of the mourner, at the earliest period after the funeral was over. Roland was there, and Lord N—— needed none to tell him of the deep love that dwelt in the heart of Roland Bruce for the orphan girl. But there was something in the humble, deferential manner of the young man, which led Lord N—— to wonder if he were really an accepted suitor.
And for Roland himself—when the first hours of sorrow had passed, and all were trying to return to their accustomed pursuits, more than ever did he feel the vast difference between himself, the poor young lawyer, just launching upon the theatre of life, and the rich young heiress of Woodcliff, the idol even in noble circles.
What could Madeline ever be to him, but the sweet child that he had trained, the young girl that he had watched so carefully, and the noble woman whom now he reverenced? He was allowed access to the house, because Aunt Matilda had now no authority over Madeline, and independent as she always was, she would not allow dictation here; but only as a friend he came, and Madeline felt that it was so. Once more she sought the house of God, where she had been accustomed to worship. Clad in deep mourning, she took her seat among the worshippers, and listened to the Gospel message, with a full and trusting heart.
It was a communion season, and as she bowed around the chancel, she did not perceive, until she was returning to her seat, that Lord N——, Roland, and Mr. Graham had all knelt at the same table. It was a very sweet and soothing thought that here they could all hold blessed communion with their common Saviour; and though Uncle Malcolm and Roland were of different sects from herself, they were all one in Christ Jesus, "one faith, one hope, one baptism."
Lady Alice was about to return to Parkhurst; but ere she went, she came to bid farewell to Madeline, who was soon to return to America.
"I am sorry, dear, that you cannot be my sister, but I shall always love you; it is a great disappointment to us all, but especially to my dear Alfred. I have brought you our likenesses, Madeline, with our hair woven on the back; you can cherish us as friends, dear."
"You do not blame me, Lady Alice, I hope; I esteem your brother more than any one that I have met in England; and for yourself, dear friend, I shall love you always, just as if you were my sister—you will promise to write frequently, will you not? I have something for you, Alice," and Madeline brought out a lovely miniature, a perfect likeness of herself.
"Thank you, Madeline; I never saw any thing more beautifully painted—now, farewell! be sure to write often; but be assured that I do not blame you; for as I am sure that you must love another, I have nothing more to say; nothing else could prevent you from loving my dear brother."
And thus they parted, these two young girls who had learned to love each other so well.
Lord N—— came also ere he left the city.
"I may call you Madeline, may I not? for I am trying to school myself to look upon you as a dear friend; I could not let you go without a farewell, sad though it may be."
"I am glad to see you, my lord, and hope to hear of your welfare through your dear sister."
"I think that I have seen my rival, Madeline, in the young man that I have met here; and I do not wonder; that noble brow, on which sits enthroned the lofty intellect, the only signet of true nobility, and that manly form, I could not but admire, while I dare not, as a Christian, envy."
"You are mistaken, Lord N——; Mr. Bruce is but my friend."
"He will be more, Madeline, before many years; and may God bless you both, I shall ever pray. Farewell! dear Madeline, for I may say that in parting," and he wrung the fair hand, on which he printed a warm farewell kiss, and was gone.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FIRST LINK LOST AND FOUND.
With a sad heart, Madeline turned her face homeward, for no kind father would brighten Woodcliff again. Uncle Malcolm accompanied them to the steamer, which was to sail for Liverpool on the ninth of September. Malcolm had become deeply attached to the noble youth who was to be the companion of their voyage. Laying his hand upon Roland's shoulder, he gave him his blessing, and placing a packet in his hand, said, "Dinna forget, Roland, this is but your first visit; I maun see ye again, my son," and turning to Madeline with a moistened eye, he added,—"Farewell! my dear young leddy, ye will na neglect my boy, my Roland, I am sure; may God forever bless and comfort ye wi' his choicest gifts."
Madeline bowed her head over the warm and honest hand, as she replied,
"Roland has been my friend and brother ever since I was ten years old; such friendships are not soon forgotten, Mr. Graham."
Bidding Miss Matilda and Edmund a courteous farewell, he took leave of Mrs. Douglass cordially, and left the vessel.
Their passage must necessarily be a sad one; for on board were the remains of Mr. Hamilton, and they could not but be solemn in the presence of the dead. When fairly out at sea, Roland opened the packet placed in his hand by his good friend, and found to his surprise, a scrip containing shares in the Bank of London to the amount of six thousand pounds, accompanying which was the following note:
"To Roland, from a friend that loves him well, assured that he will be a good steward of his Father's gifts." Examining his trunks, he perceived that there was one more than he had brought, with his name on it, and a key hung to the strap—what could it mean? On unlocking it, he found a set of valuable law-books, a full suit of handsome black cloth, a complete set of shirts, neckcloths, gloves, hats, in fine, all that a gentleman needed; and, in addition, a small case which, on opening, contained a very valuable gold watch; and another, with Uncle Malcolm, Mrs. Lindsay, and Annot's pictures.
He was overpowered with gratitude, first to the God of his fathers, and then to the noble friend whom he had raised.
"Looking aloft!" whispered Roland, with a full heart, "I know now my mother's meaning; O, what a legacy she left her son on that death-bed! From what depths of poverty have I been raised! To what a post of honor and prosperity! To God alone be all the glory! When she bade me trust Him, I did not know the noble friend that was then awaiting for me among my native hills, I did not then know Malcolm Graham; but God knew where he was, and led me to him. May he give me grace to be a faithful steward of His many gifts."
Aunt Matilda was still very haughty to Roland, and distant to Mrs. Douglass; for she could not brook the companionship of the "common class," as she styled these, after the society of nobles; she was rather more condescending to Edmund Norris, for she had learned that he belonged to the upper circles of New York.
Madeline was much alone, and, in her deep mourning dress, forbade any approach to light or trifling intercourse.
One evening, having sought a secluded part of the vessel, Roland followed her, and found her looking down into the deep and solemn ocean.
"May I intrude, Madeline?" for they had both agreed to drop the formal titles of ceremony.
"You are welcome, Roland, welcome always; for I spend many sad hours in this lonely vessel, and can never forget the sacred relics that are with us."
"That is a solemn thought, Madeline, but do not let us think of the silent dust; let us look upward to the blessed rest of the immortal part."
"How grandly sublime, Roland, is this rolling ocean! so deep! so vast! so boundless! It reminds one of eternity. I never look down upon its dark waters without hearing from its dashing waves the murmurs of another world; how many have sunk in this deep abyss, and passed hence to their eternity!"
"Do you remember, Madeline, how we used to listen to its music at Woodcliff, when we were boy and girl? What fancies we used to have!"
"Yes, truly! we were singular children, Roland; I was a giddy little kitten; but no one knows what deep and solemn thoughts used to visit me even then;" and turning a bright glance upon Roland's face, "I think the first that I ever remember was from words uttered by you, the boy-sage, as I think now that you always were."
Roland felt his heart throb with emotions of delight at these tender reminiscences, and replied,
"Then you still remember, Madeline, the intercourse of those childish days."
"Remember, Roland! Yes; they will be remembered in the world to come; for your words, your mother's, and dear Effie's are the only ones whose impressions have ever influenced my life."
"What a blessed thought, Madeline! that dear Effie should have so impressed your dear father."
"Yes, Roland, it was a call of mercy; but I knew nothing of it then."
"God leads us by a way that we know not, Madeline; what a blessed thing it is to trust Him! When my mother first taught me these talismanic words, I did not know their power; but I have learned since what they mean. 'Looking aloft,' upward in all things, in sorrow, in perplexity, in adversity, in prosperity, for guidance, for blessing, for comfort; I can trust Him for everything now. When, with her weak and trembling voice, she bade me in that hour of affliction, 'Look aloft,' when my boyish heart sank within me at the prospect of being all alone, I did not know, Madeline, of the dear friend, Malcolm Graham, waiting for me in Scotland; nor did he know of me, but we were waiting for each other; for God knew, Madeline; and He knows and will guide all else that shall befall us;" and then he proceeded to relate some of the most important features of Malcolm's history.
And thus the hours were beguiled until a late time for retiring.
Aunt Matilda called, "Madeline, it is growing late;" and Roland, taking her arm, and placing it within his own, led her to the cabin-door, where he bade her "Good night."
"You seem much interested in the conversation of that youth, Madeline; it is not very proper for a young lady to be sitting alone until so late an hour with a young man."
Madeline's old spirit flushed her cheek, and tightened the proud lip; but she checked herself, as she replied,
"Aunt Matilda, I am not a child now; my actions are free, I believe, of control, so long as I do nothing that I am ashamed of; I always was, and shall be, interested in the conversation of Roland Bruce, and shall consider myself at liberty to talk with him when I please."
"O, I dare say, miss, that he is much more interesting than Lord N——; I have no patience with you, Madeline, to cast away a coronet for such a man as this."
"Aunt Matilda, you must not use such language to me; Roland is to me a very dear friend, and nothing more."
"You cannot say, Madeline, that he had nothing to do with your rejection of Lord N——."
"I cannot be questioned, Aunt Matilda; but I will never slight, or cast aside a friend like Roland Bruce;" and Madeline sought her rest with a disturbed spirit, for she feared that she had spoken improperly to her aunt, and resolved to apologize next day.
She was stirring early in the morning; and, with the old innocence of childhood, she went to her aunt's state-room, and said,
"Aunty, let me in; I have something to say to you."
Aunt Matilda could not resist the pleading voice, and opened the door.
"I am sorry, dear aunt, for what I said last night; will you forgive little Mad-cap's hot speech? it is some of the old temper, aunty, that will get the mastery; when I can sit more humbly at Jesus' feet I shall be better, I hope."
Aunt Matilda kissed the dear girl fondly, as of old, saying,
"I forgive you, my dear; you are the same little coaxing witch that you were when a child; I wonder if you'll ever be anything else."
"I hope I shall always be innocent and truthful as a child, aunty; but I think that it is time I had learned to govern myself more like a woman."
Mrs. Douglass was charmed with the simplicity and frankness of the young heiress; and, although much slighted by Aunt Matilda, Madeline's kindness amply compensated for this lack of courtesy.
"I believe, Madeline, that you would associate with any one," said Aunt Matilda; "however low born or obscure, it matters not to you."
Madeline smiled, as she replied,
"You need never fear, dear aunty; for the vulgar and coarse-minded I despise, though dwelling in a palace; it is 'mind that makes the man;' so you see I come home true American, though I have mingled with the nobles of England."
"Don't you think that the earl's family were lovely and refined?"
"Yes, dear aunt; but I did not love them for their rank; it was for their worth, their education; and, dwelling in a cottage, they would be the same; we saw some, I think, even among the higher classes in England, that were not remarkable for refinement; for instance, the fat baroness that we met at our dress-maker's; don't you remember her vulgar airs when she tried to impress us with her style?"