Part 15 (1/2)
”All! What more would you have, dear mother?”
”And are you happy, Meeta?”
”Happier than I should be in marrying Ernest now, dear mother.”
Madame Werner explained all this to her husband, at her daughter's request. He was not grieved at it. ”Ernest,” he said, ”had never valued Meeta as she deserved. He was glad she had shown so much spirit.”
Meeta had a more difficult task to perform. Mrs. Schwartz's sister has come at last. She came from Germany at the same time with Ernest, but stopped to make a visit to another sister in Philadelphia, and arrived here only last night. ”I will go and see her,” said Meeta one morning to Madame Werner. She went. As she approached the house, there came through the open windows the sound of an organ, accompanied by a rich and highly cultivated voice. Meeta would not pause for a moment, lest she should grow nervous. It was essential to Ernest's happiness that Sophie should be friendly with her; and the difficulties were of a nature which, if not overcome at once, would not be overcome at all. Meeta entered the small parlor without knocking, and found herself _tete-a-tete_ with the musician; a young, fair girl, delicately formed, with beautiful hands and arms, and pleasing, pretty face. As she saw the visitor, her song ceased. Meeta smiled on her, and extending her hand, said: ”You are Sophie--Ernest's Sophie?”
”And you,” said the fair girl, with wondering eyes, ”are--”
”Meeta.”
This was an introduction which admitted no formality, and when Mrs.
Schwartz entered half an hour later, she was surprised to find those so lately strangers conversing in the low and earnest tones which betoken confidence, while the lofty expression on the countenance of the one, and the moist eyes and flushed cheeks of the other, showed that their topic was one of no ordinary interest.
Six months pa.s.sed rapidly away, and then Ernest felt that he might, without disrespect to his father's memory, bring home his bride. Their engagement had been known for some time, and had excited no little surprise; though perhaps less than the continued and close friends.h.i.+p between them and Meeta. Many improvements in Sophie's future home had been suggested by Meeta's taste, and Ernest had acquired such a habit of consulting her, that no day pa.s.sed without an interview between them. At length the evening preceding the bridal-day had arrived, and Ernest and Sophie had gone to secure Meeta's promise to officiate as bridesmaid in the simple ceremony of the morrow. They were to be married at the parsonage, in the presence of a few witnesses only, and were immediately to set out on an excursion which would occupy several weeks. They had urged Meeta to accompany them, but she had declined. ”But she cannot refuse to stand up with me--do you think she can?” said Sophie to her sister, as she prepared to accompany Ernest to Carl Werner's.
”I do not think she _will_ refuse,” Mrs. Schwartz replied.
”You do not think she will!” repeated Mr. Schwartz, in an accent of surprise, to his wife, when Ernest and Sophie had left them. ”How does that consist with your idea of Meeta's love for Ernest?”
”It perfectly consists with a love like Meeta's; a love without any alloy of selfishness. Dear Meeta! how little is her n.o.bleness appreciated! Even I dare not let her see that she is understood by me, lest I should wound her delicate and generous nature.”
There was a pause, and then Mr. Schwartz said, hesitatingly, ”If it be as you think, Meeta is a n.o.ble being; but----”
”If it be!” interrupted Mrs. Schwartz, with warmth. ”Can you doubt it?
Have you not seen the loftier character which her generous purpose has impressed upon her whole aspect? the elevation--I had almost said the inspiration, which beams from her face when Ernest and Sophia are present? Sophie is my sister, and I love her truly; yet I declare to you, at such times I have looked from her to Meeta, and wondered at what seemed to me Ernest's infatuation.”
”Sophie is fair, and delicate, and accomplished, the very personification of refinement, natural and acquired, and the antipodes of all which Ernest, ere he saw her, had begun to dread in the untaught Meeta of his memory. I am not surprised at all at his loving Sophie, but I cannot at all understand how the simple and single-hearted Meeta can feign so long and so well, as on your supposition she has done.”
”Feign! Meeta feign! I never said or thought such a thing. A course of action lofty as Meeta's must have its foundation deep in the heart, in principles enduring as life itself. Had Meeta's been the commonplace feigned satisfaction with Ernest's conduct to which pride might have given birth, she would have been fitful in her moods; alternately gay or gloomy; generous and kind, or petulant and exacting. The serenity, the composure of countenance and manner which distinguish our Meeta, spring from a higher, purer source. It is the sweet submission of a chastened, loving spirit, which can say to its FATHER in Heaven:--
'BECAUSE my portion was a.s.sign'd, Wholesome and bitter, THOU art kind, And I am blessed to my mind.'”
”A state of feeling to be preferred certainly to the gratification of any earthly affection; but I scarcely see how it can accord with Meeta's continued love of Ernest.”
”That is because you do not separate love from the selfish desires with which it is too generally accompanied. Meeta loves Ernest so truly, so entirely, that she cannot be said to yield her happiness to his, but rather to find it in his; his joy, his honor, are hers.”
”And can woman feel thus?” asked Mr. Schwartz, as he looked with admiration upon his wife, her cheeks glowing and her eyes lighted with the enthusiasm of a spirit akin to Meeta's.
”There are many mysteries in woman which you have yet to fathom,” said Mrs. Schwartz, with a smile.
To the good pastor and his wife, the next day, even Sophie was a less interesting object of contemplation than Meeta, who stood at her side.
She was pale, very pale, and dressed with even more than usual simplicity; yet there was in her face so much of the soul's light, that she seemed to them beautiful. Her congratulations were offered in speechless emotion. The brotherly kiss which Ernest pressed upon her cheek called up no color there, nor disturbed the graceful stillness of her manner; and when Sophie, who had really become sincerely attached to her, threw herself into her arms, she returned her embrace with tenderness, whispering as she did so, ”Make Ernest happy, Sophie, and I will love you always!”
And now what have we more to tell of Meeta? It cannot be denied that there were hours of darkness, in which the joyous hopes and memories of her youth rose up vividly before her, making her present life seem sad and lonely in contrast. But these visitors from the realm of shadows were neither evoked nor welcomed by Meeta. Resolutely she turned from the dead past, to the active, living present, determined that no shadow from her should darken the declining days of her father and mother. She is the light of their home, and often they bless the Providence which has left her with them. What would they have done without her cheerful voice to inspire them in bearing the burdens of advancing life?
But not only in her home was Meeta a consolation and a blessing. The poor, the sick, the sorrowing, knew ever where to find true sympathy and ready aid. She was the ”Lady Bountiful” of her neighborhood. But there was one house where more especially her presence was welcomed; where no important step was taken without her advice; where sorrow was best soothed by her, and joy but half complete till she had shared it. This house was Ernest Rainer's. To him and Sophie she was a cherished sister, to whose upright and self-forgetting nature they looked up with a species of reverence; and to their children she was ”Dear Aunt Meeta!
the kindest and best friend, except mamma, in the world!”
How many more useful, more n.o.ble, or happier persons than our old maid can married life present? Is she not more worthy of imitation than the ”Celias” and ”Daphnes” whose delicate distresses have formed the staple of circulating libraries, or than those feeble spirits in real life, who, mistaking selfishness for sensibility, turn thanklessly from the blessings and coldly from the duties of life, because they have been denied the gratification of some cherished desire?