Part 59 (2/2)
Answers to her letters arrived duly. They were not long; but they were conventionally sympathetic.
One daughter wrote: ”Morris took you away from us to place you with friends whom he thought would take good care of you; if you are satisfied to stay with them, I think you will be better off than with me. Business is dull, and Peter thinks he has enough on his hands.”
The other wrote: ”I am glad you are among such kind friends. If Miss Pomeroy thinks she owes you anything, now is her time to repay it. But she could pay your board with me as well as with strangers, and you could help me with the children. I am glad you can be submissive, and that you are in a pleasanter frame of mind. Henry sends love, and says you never shall want a home while he has a roof over his own head.”
The mother sighed over both letters. They both left so much unsaid. They were wrapped up in their husbands and children.
”I hope their children will love them when they are old,” was the only remark she made about the letters.
”I am your child, too,” said Marjorie. ”Won't you take me instead--no, not instead of Morris, but _with_ him?”
In April Will came home. He spent a night in Maple Street, and almost satisfied the mother's hungry heart with the comfort he gave her.
Marjorie listened with tears. She went away by herself to open the tiny box that Will placed in her hand. Kissing the ring with loving and reverent lips, she slipped it on the finger that Morris would have chosen, the finger on which Linnet wore her wedding ring. ”_Semper fidelis._” She could see the words now as he used to write them on the slate. If he might only know that she cared for the ring! If he might only know that she was waiting for him to come back to bring it to her.
If he might only know--But he had G.o.d now; he was in the presence of Jesus Christ. There was no marrying or giving in marriage in the presence of Christ in Heaven. Giving in marriage and marrying had been in his presence on the earth; but where fullness of joy was, there was something better. Marriage belonged to the earth. She belonged to the earth; but he belonged to Heaven. The ring did not signify that she was married to him--I think it might have meant that to her, if she had read the shallow sentimentalism of some love stories; but Miss Prudence had kept her from false ideas, and given her the truth; the truth, that marriage was the symbol of the union of Christ and his people; a pure marriage was the type of this union. Linnet's marriage was holier and happier because of Miss Prudence's teaching. Miss Prudence was an old maid; but she had helped others beside Linnet and Marjorie towards the happiest marriage. Marjorie had not one selfish, or shallow, or false idea with regard to marriage. And why should girls have, who have good mothers and the Old and New Testaments?
With no shamefacedness, no foolish consciousness, she went down among them with Morris' ring upon her finger. She would as soon have been ashamed to say that an angel had spoken to her. Perhaps she was not a modern school-girl, perhaps she was as old-fas.h.i.+oned as Miss Prudence herself.
XXIV.
JUST AS IT OUGHT TO BE.
”I chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, for qualities that would wear well.”--_Goldsmith._
”Prudence!”
”Well, John,” she returned, as he seemed to hesitate.
”Have we arranged everything?”
”Everything! And you have been home three hours.”
”Three and a half, if you please; it is now six o'clock.”
”Then the tea-bell will ring.”
”No; I told Deborah to ring at seven to-night.”
”She will think you are putting on the airs of the master.”
”Don't you think it is about time? Or, it will be at half past six.”
”Why, in half an hour?”
”Half an hour may make all the difference in the world.”
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