Part 54 (1/2)

”Edith,” said Zell, almost cowering before her words as if they hurt her, ”I am not fit to go home.”

”Oh, Zell, darling,” said Edith, tenderly, ”G.o.d's love does not keep a debit and credit account with us, neither should we with each other.

Can't you see that I love you?” and she showered kisses on her sister's now pallid face.

But Zell acted as if they were a source of pain to her, and she muttered, ”You don't know, you can't know. Don't speak of G.o.d to me, I fear Him unspeakably.”

”I do know all,” said Edith, earnestly, ”and I love you more fondly than ever I did before, and G.o.d knows and loves you more still.”

”I tell you you don't know,” said Zell, almost fiercely. ”You can't know. If you did, you would spit on me and leave me forever. G.o.d knows, and He has doomed me to h.e.l.l, Edith,” she added, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”I killed him--you know whom. And I promised that after I got old and ugly I would come and torment him forever. I must keep my promise.”

Edith wept bitterly. This was worse than delirium. She saw that her sister's nature was so bruised and perverted, so warped, that she was almost insane. She slowly rallied back into physical strength, but her hectic cheek and slight cough indicated the commencement of consumption. Her mind remained in the same unnatural condition, and she kept saying to Edith, ”You don't know anything about it at all.

You can't know.” She would not see Mrs. Hart, and agreed to go home with Edith only on condition that no one should see or speak with her outside the family.

At last the day of departure came. Mrs. Hart said, ”You shall take her to the depot in my carriage. It will be among its last and best uses.”

Edith kissed her kind friend good-by, saying, ”G.o.d will send his chariot for you some day, and though you must leave this, your beautiful home, if you could only have a glimpse into the mansion preparing for you up there, antic.i.p.ation would almost banish all thoughts of present loss.”

”Well, dear,” said Mrs. Hart, with a gleam of her old humor, ”I hope your 'mansion' will be next door, for I shall want to see you often through all eternity.”

Then Edith knelt before Mr. Hart's chair, and the old man's helpless hands were lifted upon her head, and he looked to heaven for the blessing he could not speak.

”Our ways diverge now, but they will all meet again. Home is near to you,” she whispered in his ear as she kissed him good-by.

The old glad light shone in his eyes, the old cheery smile flitted across his lips, and thus she left him who had been the great, rich banker, serene, happy, and rich in a faith that could not be lost in any financial storm, or destroyed by disease, or enfeebled by age--she left him waiting as a little child to go home.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION

Though even Mrs. Allen was tearful and kind in her greeting, and Laura warm and affectionate in the extreme, old Hannibal's welcome, so frank, genuine, and innocent, seemed to soften Zell more than any one's else.

”You poor, heavenly-minded old fool,” she said, with an unwonted tear in her eye, ”you don't know any better.”

Then she seemed to settle down into a dreamy apathy; to sit moping around in shadowy places. She had a horror of meeting any one, even Mrs. Lacey and Rose, and would not go out till after night. Edith saw, more and more clearly, that she was almost insane in her shame and despair, and that she would be a terrible burden to them all if she remained in such a condition; but her love and patience did not fail.

They would, had they not been daily fed from heavenly sources. ”I must try to show her Jesus' love through mine,” she thought.

Poor Edith, the great temptation of her life was soon to a.s.sail her.

It was aimed at her weakest yet n.o.blest side, her young enthusiasm and spirit of self-sacrifice for others. And yet, it was but the natural fruit of woman's helplessness and Mrs. Allen's policy of marrying one's way out of poverty and difficulty.

Simon Crowl had ostensibly made a very fair transaction with Edith, but Simon Crowl was a widower at the time, and on the lookout for a wife. He was a pretty sharp business man, Crowl was, or he wouldn't have become so rich in little Pushton, and he at once was satisfied that Edith, so beautiful, so sensible, would answer. Through the mortgage he might capture her, as it were, for even his vanity did not promise him much success in the ordinary ways of love-making. So the spider spun his web, and unconscious Edith was the poor little fly.

During the summer he watched her closely, but from a distance. During the autumn and winter he commenced calling, ostensibly on Mrs. Allen, whom he at once managed to impress with the fact that he was very rich. Though he brushed up his best coat and manners, that delicate-nosed lady scented an air and manner very different from what she had been accustomed to, but she was half-dead with _ennui_, and, after all, there was something akin between worldly Mrs. Allen and worldly Mr. Crowl. Then, he was very rich. This had covered a mult.i.tude of sins on the avenue. But, in the miserable poverty of Pushton, it was a golden mantle of light. Mrs. Allen chafed at privation and want of delicacies with the increasing persistency of an utterly weak and selfish nature. She had no faith in Edith's plans, and no faith in woman's working, and the garden seemed the wildest dream of all. Her hard, narrow logic, constantly dinned into Edith's ears, discouraged her, and she began to doubt herself.

Mr. Crowl (timid lover) had in Edith's absence confirmed his previous hints, thrown out to Mrs. Allen as feelers, by making a definite proposition. In brief, he had offered to settle twenty-five thousand dollars on Edith the day she married him, and to take care of the rest of the family.

”I have made enough,” he said majestically, ”to live the rest of my life like a gentleman, and this offer is princely, if I say it myself.

You can all ride in your carriage again.” Then he added, with his little black eyes growing hard and cunning, ”If your daughter won't accept my generosity, our relations.h.i.+p becomes merely one of business.