Volume Ii Part 40 (2/2)
”Yes, and I would not be without a sorrow I have ever known.
They are bitter now, when they are present ? but the sweet fruit comes after.”
”But what do you mean by 'where you stand?' ”
”On the edge of life.”
”You do not think so, aunt Miriam!” Fleda said, with a terrified look. ”You are not worse?”
”I don't expect ever to be better,” said Mrs. Plumfield, with a smile. ”Nay, my love,” she said, as Fleda's head went down on her bosom again ? ”not so! I do not wish it either, Fleda.
I do not expect to leave you soon, but I would not prolong the time by a day. I would not have spoken of it now if I had recollected myself; but I am so accustomed to think and speak of it, that it came out before I knew it. My darling child, it is nothing to cry for.”
”I know it, aunt Miriam.”
”Then don't cry,” whispered aunt Miriam, when she had stroked Fleda's head for five minutes.
”I am crying for myself, aunt Miriam,” said Fleda. ”I shall be left alone.”
”Alone, my dear child?”
”Yes ? there is n.o.body but you that I feel I can talk to.”
She would have added that she dared not say a word to Hugh, for fear of troubling him. But that pain at her heart stopped her, and pressing her hands together, she burst into bitter weeping.
”n.o.body to talk to but me?” said Mrs. Plumfield, after again soothing her for some time ? ”what do you mean, dear?”
”Oh, I can't say anything to them at home,” said Fleda, with a forced effort after voice; ”and you are the only one I can look to for help ? Hugh never says anything ? almost never ?
anything of that kind; he would rather others should counsel him.”
”There is One friend to whom you may always tell everything, with no fear of wearying Him ? of whom you may at all times ask counsel, without any danger of being denied ? more dear, more precious, more rejoiced in, the more he is sought unto.
Thou mayest lose friend after friend, and gain more than thou losest ? in that one.”
”I know it,” said Fleda; ”but dear aunt Miriam, don't you think human nature longs for some human sympathy and help too?”
”My sweet blossom! yes,” said Mrs. Plumfield, caressingly, stroking her bowed head; ”but let Him do what he will; he hath said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' ”
”I know that too,” said Fleda, weeping. ”How do people bear life that do not know it?”
”Or that cannot take the comfort of it. Thou art not poor nor alone while thou hast him to go to, little Fleda. And you are not losing me yet, my child; you will have time, I think, to grow as well satisfied as I with the prospect.”
”Is that possible, for _others?_” said Fleda.
The mother sighed as her son entered the room.
He looked uncommonly grave, Fleda thought. That did not surprise her, but it seemed that it did his mother, for she asked an explanation, which, however, he did not give.
”So you've got back from New York,” said he.
<script>