Part 61 (1/2)

He told us, in the course of the evening, how he had found Mr. Harland on the eve of embarking for India, and that he offered to be his companion; and how he had written to his mother before his voyage, telling her of his destination, and entreating her to write if she were still willing to call him her son. The letter came not to relieve the agonies of suspense, and mine contained the first tidings he received from his native land. It found him, as he had said, on a sick-bed, and its contents imparted new life to his worn and tortured being. He immediately took pa.s.sage in a home bound s.h.i.+p, though so weak he was obliged to be carried on board in a litter. Mr. Harland accompanied him to New York, where on debarking they had met Mr. Brahan, who had given him a brief sketch of my visit, and the events that marked it.

As I sat by him on a low seat, with his hand clasped in mine, while he told me in a low voice of the depth of his penitence, the agonies of his remorse, and the hope of G.o.d's pardon that had dawned on what he supposed the night clouds of death, I saw him start as if in sudden pain. The lace sleeve had fallen back from my left arm. His eyes were fixed on the wound he had inflicted. He bent his head forward, and pressed his lips on the scar.

”They shall look upon him whom they have pierced,” he murmured. ”O my Saviour I could thy murderers feel pangs of deeper remorse at the sight of thy scarred hands and wounded side?”

”Never think of it again, dear Ernest. I did not know it, did not feel it. It never gave me a moment's pang.”

”Yes, I remember well why you did not suffer.”

”But you must not remember. If you love me, Ernest, make no allusion to the past. The future is ours; youth and hope are ours; and the promises of G.o.d, sure and steadfast, are ours. I feel as Noah and his children felt when they stepped from the ark on dry land, and saw the waters of the deluge retreating, and the rainbow smiling on its clouds. What to them were the storms they had weathered, the dangers they had overcome?

They were all past. Oh, my husband, let us believe that ours are past, and let us trust forever in the G.o.d of our fathers.”

”I do--I do, my Gabriella. My faith has. .h.i.therto been a cold abstraction; now it is a living, vital flame, burning with steady and increasing light.”

At this moment Edith, who had seated herself at the harp, remembering well the soothing influence of music on her brother's soul, touched its resounding strings; and the magnificent strains of the _Gloria in Excelsis_,

--”rose like a stream Of rich distilled perfume.”

I never heard any thing sound so sweet and heavenly. It came in, a sublime chorus to the thoughts we had been uttering. It reminded me of the song of the morning stars, the anthem of the angels over the manger of Bethlehem,--so highly wrought were my feelings,--so softly, with such swelling harmony, had the notes stolen on the ear.

Ernest raised himself from his reclining position, and his countenance glowed with rapture. I had never seen it wear such an expression before.

”Old things had pa.s.sed away,--all things had become new.”

”There is peace,--there is pardon,” said he, in a voice too low for any ear but mine, when the last strain melted away,--”there is joy in heaven over the repenting sinner, there is joy on earth over the returning prodigal.”

CONCLUSION

Two years and more have pa.s.sed since my heart responded to the strains of the _Gloria in Excelsis_, as sung by Edith on the night of her brother's return.

Come to this beautiful cottage on the sea-sh.o.r.e, where we have retired from the heat of summer, and you can tell by a glance whether time has scattered blossoms or thorns in my path, during its rapid flight.

Come into the piazza that faces the beach, and you can look out on an ocean of molten gold, crimsoned here and there by the rays of the setting sun, and here and there melting off into a kind of burning silver. A glorious breeze is beginning to curl the face of the waters, and to swell the white sails of the skiffs and light vessels that skim the tide like birds of the air, apparently instinct with life and gladness. It rustles through the foliage, the bright, green foliage, that contrasts so dazzlingly with the smooth, white, sandy beach,--it lifts the soft, silky locks of that beautiful infant, that is cradled so lovingly in my father's arms. Oh! whose do you think that smiling cherub is, with such dark, velvet eyes, and pearly skin, and mouth of heavenly sweetness? It is mine, it is my own darling Rosalie, my pearl, my sunbeam, my flower, my every sweet and precious name in one.

But let me not speak of her first, the youngest pilgrim to this sea-beat sh.o.r.e. There are others who claim the precedence. There is one on my right hand, whom if you do not remember with admiration and respect, it is because my pen has had no power to bring her character before you, in all its moral excellence and Christian glory. You have not forgotten Mrs. Linwood. Her serene gray eye is turned to the apparently illimitable ocean, now slowly rolling and deeply murmuring, as if its mighty heart were stirred to its inmost core, by a consciousness of its own grandeur. There is peace on her thoughtful, placid brow, and long, long may it rest there.

The young man on my left is recognized at once, for there is no one like him, my high-souled, gallant Richard. His eye sparkles with much of its early quick-flas.h.i.+ng light. The shadow of the dismal Tombs no longer clouds, though it tempers, the brightness of his manhood. _He_ knows, though the world does not, that his father fills a convict's grave, and this remembrance chastens his pride, without humiliating him with the consciousness of disgrace. He is rapidly making himself a name and fame in the high places of society. Men of talent take him by the hand and welcome him as a younger brother to their ranks, and fair and charming women smile upon and flatter him by the most winning attentions. He pa.s.ses on from flower to flower, without seeking to gather one to place in his bosom, though he loves to inhale their fragrance and admire their bloom.

”One of these days you will think of marrying,” said a friend, while congratulating him on his brilliant prospects.