Part 14 (1/2)

Was she happy then? Ah, no! Her heart was wounded all over. She felt as if it were bleeding. As she entered her room the picture of the thorn-crowned Saviour met her eyes, and she went close to it, and looked thoughtfully at the Man of Sorrows. Resignation, mournful and simple, yet full of lofty heroism, spoke to her; and the personality of which it was the ideal seemed to fill the room; but she was not comforted. She undressed herself slowly, feeling at length the tears she had so long restrained dropping upon her fingers as they trembled about their duty.

But when she laid her head upon her pillow, and the room was dark and still, suddenly her grief found a voice that she could understand; and she sobbed, ”Oh, mother! mother! If you were here this night! If you were only here! You would know how to pity me!” And so sobbing, she went to sleep; and in her sleep she was comforted. For the golden ladder between heaven and earth is not removed; and the angels going to and fro must meet on their road many mothers called earthward by their children's weeping, and hastening to them ”with healing on their wings.”

CHAPTER V

”All, then, has come to an end; and I feel as if I had buried every sweet day we lived together!” These were Adriana's first thoughts in the morning. However, she had slept heavily, as G.o.d often permits those to sleep for whom sorrow lies in wait; and she was stronger to bear the burden of the days before her. They were very dreary and monotonous for many weeks; for the fall was a wet and sunless one. Yet it was not the heavy atmosphere and the melancholy heavens that depressed her; it was rather the mental and moral drizzle of the household; and for this she was herself much to blame.

She restrained all confidence; she would not talk to her father or brother about the Filmers; she responded to no effort to amuse her, and she would not permit herself to weep. And as tears and laughter and mutual confidence are the means appointed to stay life's overflow, and to give the full heart ease, she missed the natural comforters of her position. And as she gave no confidence to Antony, Antony also kept his hopes and doubts, his joys and sorrows, to himself. If Adriana had spoken to him of Harry, he would have gladly discussed with her Rose's heart-breaking ways with him--her advances and retreats, her kindness and her cruelty, her love and her disdain.

But brother and sister alike kept silence, and Peter did not feel at liberty to comfort uncomplained-of suffering; nor yet to offer advice in circ.u.mstances of which his children presumed him to be either ignorant or unsympathetic. Nevertheless, he suffered both mentally and really with them; for most houses adopt more or less of the mental aspects of the dwellers in them, and the old happy contentment which had filled Peter's home with suns.h.i.+ne in all weathers was invaded by many shadows. The order of his life was broken-up, and its very pleasures were robbed of their sweetness. Dinner-time, and bed-time, and all the times and seasons of domestic existence went on undisturbed; and the books were brought out, and Peter read aloud with even an exaggerated interest; but the heart was out of all Adriana's duties and amus.e.m.e.nts; and Peter, try as he would, felt it difficult to control a feeling of anger against the strangers who had entered his home only to make those he loved miserable.

For a month Antony vibrated between Woodsome and New York; but finally he resolved to stay in the city. He said something to his father about ”western securities, and the opportunity he had for making money in them,” but both Peter and Adriana knew that his real object was Rose Filmer. His desertion had, however, one good result, it made Adriana feel that she must resume her old companions.h.i.+p with her father. She could not now suppose that Antony was with him, or that her father was with Antony, or if they were really together, slip away to her own room, on the presumption they did not want her company in order to discuss the country, or the horses, or the best time to plant.

She accepted the duty with much of her old, sweet cheerfulness. ”We are alone again, dear father!” she said, ”and I am going to see how happy I can make you.” And Peter's swift acceptance of this promise, the joy on his face, his ready oblivion of all her neglect, his eager interest in all she proposed, went to her heart like the wine of gladness.

”Suppose I teach you chess, father!”

The proposal made Peter happy as a child. He answered that there was nothing he wished to learn so much. He said he would go to New York that very day for the men and the board--Staunton men and board--nothing cheaper. He kept his word. He brought back the plain, sensible pieces and their mimic battle-field in his hands. He was as enthusiastic a pupil as any teacher could desire, and yet he was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with conversation of all that he had seen in the city, and on the train, and the ferry boats. And at last, when the little table was drawn to the hearth and the two sat down to the game, it was wonderful to see how eager and how receptive he was!

”It is the grandest bit of play in the world, Yanna,” he said, when at last the pieces were reluctantly restored to their box. ”You have given me one of the happiest evenings I ever had in my life!” and his eyes shone with love and grat.i.tude. ”My girl is the best of all girls!

May G.o.d Almighty bless her!”

And without extenuations or exceptions, Adriana had also one of the happiest evenings of her life. No one can gain a great victory over self and not be happy. Adriana walked upstairs erect, with a smile on her lips, and a glow in her heart, such as she had not felt for many weeks. She undressed with her old alertness and method; she knelt down in happy confidence, feeling that she could ask to be made happy when she had made others happy.

From this brave new beginning, there was no back-sliding--or at least none that Peter was permitted to feel. For Adriana was ashamed of herself when she realized how much of the pleasure of other lives she had sacrificed to her own selfish sorrow. Peter appeared next day to be ten years younger. Betta was bright and busy as a summer bee; the two old house-dogs came back confidently to the rug before the fire; the stable-man got a smile through the window, and then ventured to ask a favor for his wife.

”How cruel I have been!” she said. ”How much happiness for others I held in these two hands--and then withheld!” and she spread out her palms, and tried to realize how full they were, and how n.i.g.g.ardly she had been of the G.o.d-given blessings in them.

But she was no longer so. Whatever effort it cost at first, to put aside her own pain and disappointment, gradually became easy. She did not forget; she only compelled memory to take counsel with justice and generosity. The past, which had usurped the places of both present and future, was gradually relegated to its proper domain; and in the exercise of the willpower necessary for this control of her daily life, she resumed the power to control those higher conditions which relate to the moral and mental existence. In a week the n.o.bler influence ruled, and the ign.o.ble atmosphere of self rarely chilled that confidential communion which ought to exist between all the members of one household.

So the time went on, until it was nearly Christmas. Then, one morning, destiny knocked at Peter's door, and let in Miss Alida Van Hoosen. She had always been accustomed to call about the New Year, but her visit so much earlier was unexpected, especially as they had been informed some weeks previously by the ”Woodsome Local” that Miss Van Hoosen had left her beautiful home for her winter residence in New York City.

But her visit, though unexpected, was very welcome to Adriana. For she liked her cousin, and she was heartily glad of any social event to break the monotony of her daily life.

”I saw Cousin Peter in the village as I came through it,” said Miss Alida. ”What do men find to talk about? They never seem to be bored in the stupidest place.”

”Oh, cousin, I am so glad to see you! I did not expect you so soon.”

”The logic of events, Adriana! And you cannot oppose their arguments.

Selina Zabriski has made up her mind to go to Florida. Now, as you know, I have stayed with Selina for sixteen winters; and her absurdity throws me out into s.p.a.ce, as it were.”

”Are you coming back to the country?”

”To the country! In December! No, Adriana. I have rented Selina's house, and her man-servants, and her maid-servants, her dogs and her cats, her carriages and her horses; and I want you to come and stay with me. Will you?”

”Cousin! It will make me the happiest girl in the world to do so. Do you think father will be willing for me to go?”

”Fathers are persuadable. I have some excellent arguments. I want you, at once, though.”