Part 23 (2/2)

Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears; and Mrs. Herbert, encouraged by her unspoken sympathy, proceeded--

”Grand people are so cruel, my dear. I daresay they don't mean to be; but they are. And though I had borne it for myself, I felt I could not bear it for Felicia. I thought it would kill me to see fine ladies overlook her as they had so often overlooked me. So when Alan wanted to marry her, and make her into a fine lady herself, I was overwhelmed with joy; and I felt I no longer minded what I had gone through, now that I knew no one would ever dare to be rude to my beautiful daughter. Now I see I was wrong to set earthly blessings before spiritual ones; but I think you understand how I felt, Elisabeth.”

”Yes, I understand; and G.o.d understands too.”

”Then don't you think He is punis.h.i.+ng me, my dear?”

”No; I think He is training Felicia--and perhaps you too, dear Mrs.

Herbert.”

”Oh! I wish I could think so. But you don't know what Felicia has been to her father and me. She was such a beautiful baby that the people in the street used to stop the nurse to ask whose child she was; and when she grew older she never gave us a moment's trouble or anxiety. Then we pinched and pared in order to be able to afford to send her to Fox How; and when her education was finished there wasn't a more perfect lady in the land than our Felicia. Oh! I was proud of her, I can tell you. And now she is ashamed of me, her own mother! I can not help seeing that this is G.o.d's punishment to me for letting her marry an unbeliever.” And Mrs. Herbert covered her face with her hands and burst out into bitter sobs.

Elisabeth took the weeping form into her strong young arms. ”My poor dear, you are doing Him an injustice, you are, indeed. I am sure He minds even more than you do that Felicia is still so ignorant and foolish, and He is training her in His own way. But He isn't doing it to punish you, dear; believe me, He isn't. Why, even the ordinary human beings who are fond of us want to cure our faults and not to punish them,” she continued, as the memory of Christopher's unfailing patience with her suddenly came into her mind, and she recalled how often she had hurt him, and how readily he had always forgiven her; ”they are sorry when we do wrong, but they are even sorrier when we suffer for it. And do you think G.o.d loves us less than they do, and is quicker to punish and slower to forgive?”

So does the love of the brother whom we have seen help us in some measure to understand the love of the G.o.d Whom we have not seen; for which we owe the brother eternal thanks.

CHAPTER X

CHANGES

Why did you take all I said for certain When I so gleefully threw the glove?

Couldn't you see that I made a curtain Out of my laughter to hide my love?

”My dear,” said Miss Farringdon, when Elisabeth came down one morning to breakfast, ”there is sad news to-day.”

Miss Farringdon was never late in a morning. She regarded early rising as a virtue on a par with faith and charity; while to appear at the breakfast-table after the breakfast itself had already appeared thereon was, in her eyes, as the sin of witchcraft.

”What is the matter?” asked Elisabeth, somewhat breathlessly. She had run downstairs at full speed in order to enter the dining-room before the dishes, completing her toilet as she fled; and she had only beaten the bacon by a neck.

”Richard Smallwood has had a paralytic stroke. Christopher sent up word the first thing this morning.”

”Oh! I am so sorry. Mr. Smallwood is such a dear old man, and used to be so kind to Christopher and me when we were little.”

”I am very sorry, too, Elisabeth. I have known Richard Smallwood all my life, and he was a valued friend of my dear father's, as well as being his right hand in all matters of business. Both my father and uncle thought very highly of Richard's opinion, and considered that they owed much of their commercial success to his advice and a.s.sistance.”

”Poor Christopher! I wonder if he will mind much?”

”Of course he will mind, my dear. What a strange child you are, and what peculiar things you say! Mr. Smallwood is Christopher's only living relative, and when anything happens to him Christopher will be entirely alone in the world. It is sad for any one to be quite alone; and especially for young people, who have a natural craving for companions.h.i.+p and sympathy.” Miss Farringdon sighed. She had spent most of her life in the wilderness and on the mountain-tops, and she knew how cold was the climate and how dreary the prospect there.

Elisabeth's eyes filled with tears, and her heart swelled with a strange new feeling she had never felt before. For the first time in her life Christopher (unconsciously on his part) made a direct appeal to her pity, and her heart responded to the appeal. His perspective, from her point of view, was suddenly changed; he was no longer the kindly, easy-going comrade with whom she had laughed and quarrelled and made it up again ever since she could remember, and with whom she was on a footing of such familiar intimacy; instead, he had become a man standing in the shadow of a great sorrow, whose solitary grief commanded her respect and at the same time claimed her tenderness. All through breakfast, and the prayers which followed, Elisabeth's thoughts ran on this new Christopher, who was so much more interesting and yet so much farther off than the old one. She wondered how he would look and what he would say when next she saw him; and she longed to see him again, and yet felt frightened at the thought of doing so. At prayers that morning Miss Farringdon read the lament of David over Saul and Jonathan; and while the words of undying pathos sounded in her ears, Elisabeth wondered whether Christopher would mourn as David did if his uncle were to die, and whether he would let her comfort him.

When prayers were over, Miss Farringdon bade Elisabeth accompany her to Mr. Smallwood's; and all the way there the girl's heart was beating so fast that it almost choked her, with mingled fear of and tenderness for this new Christopher who had taken the place of her old playmate. As they sat waiting for him in the oak-panelled dining-room, a fresh wave of pity swept over Elisabeth as she realized for the first time--though she had sat there over and over again--what a cheerless home this was in which to spend one's childhood and youth, and how pluckily Christopher had always made the best of things, and had never confessed--even to her--what a dreary lot was his. Then he came downstairs; and as she heard his familiar footstep crossing the hall her heart beat faster than ever, and there was a mist before her eyes; but when he entered the room and shook hands, first with Miss Farringdon and then with her, she was quite surprised to see that he looked very much as he always looked, only his face was pale and his eyes heavy for want of sleep; and his smile was as kind as ever as it lighted upon her.

”It is very good of you to come to me so quickly,” he said, addressing Miss Farringdon but looking at Elisabeth.

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