CHAPTER VIII

 
"Oh! 'tis the heart that magnifies the life,
Making a truth and beauty of its own." Wordsworth.
 

Monday Evening.

Emily is so much better, we think she can go down stairs to-morrow. As I have had no suitable opportunity to talk with Frank, I have avoided, when with her, the subject of our late interview.

I went with my husband this afternoon to visit the most charming old lady I have ever seen. I wish you could see her; she is over eighty, but just as fair as a young girl, and from her being of full habit, she has scarcely a wrinkle on her face. She has the most gentle, loving blue eyes, and her gray hair is nicely combed down under a plain muslin cap. Many a young girl might be envious of the beautiful peach bloom of her cheeks. But these are not her greatest charms. It is her manner, her heart overflowing with love to all. I believe everybody loves her, because she loves everybody; and she doesn't hesitate to show it. She is the mother of Mrs. Squire Wilson, to whom the Doctor was called for a sprained ancle. I could soon understand why he was so pleased to take me there with him.

When she heard the carriage, Mrs. Low, or "Aunt Susy," as every one calls her, came to the door, and shading her eyes from the sun with her hand, stood looking until the Doctor alighted.

"Well now, Dr. Frank, that's you," (she had known him from a baby,) "I reckoned you'd be here before long."

Frank led the horse to the steps and lifted me out.

"Who's that, now, you've got with you?" she asked, looking at me.

"Somebody else for you to love," said he laughing, for she had taken possession of his hands.

She started, and holding me by the shoulders in a most loving way, said, "La, now, Doctor! this 'ere little thing don't b'long to you, does she? Is she your wife, I heard tell about?" at the same time she gave me a most hearty squeeze.

Frank laughed as he bowed his assent.

"I reckoned," she added, "you'd pick'd out one a proper sight older'n this little gal, you was allus so stiff."

As she continued to press me in her arms, and then push me off to look again, my husband began to look as if he was afraid he never should get me away again. All this time with a true delicacy, she had not kissed me, as if she were not sure I would like to be kissed by so old a person. But I soon relieved her on this point, and then we all walked into the sitting-room where her daughter, who was evidently used to such scenes, was patiently awaiting us. After being introduced to Mrs. Wilson, whom I recognized, (as I had met her at mother's levee,) the Doctor proceeded to examine her ancle. Aunt Susy and I took seats on the little sofa which was covered with bright chintz. She sat very close to me, and with a press of my hand which she held, she motioned with her head toward the Doctor, saying in what she meant for a whisper, "he's a real nice man to live with, I'll be bound." I only laughed and nodded.

"Them stiddy ones, sometimes turns out the greatest rogues," she continued in a comforting tone, "now I calculated, he'd court a prim, proper kind of a woman, a reglar old maid, that'ud be company for his mother; but there's no telling what people will do, times changes so, since I was a gal."

I was well convinced by the spasmodic motion about Dr. Frank's mouth, that he was not so absorbed in the examination of Mrs. Wilson's foot that he did not hear every word of this confidential talk, I therefore thought, I would try to change the subject of conversation. As I could think of nothing else, I told her what a dear little girl I had found. She was almost breathless with interest, and when I stopped she said: —

"Now I never heard the cap to that! Now do tell if you're gone to keep her for your own, or if you're gone to kind o'make a servant of her?"

"Oh, no indeed!" I answered quickly, "Frank loves her as well, or almost as well as I do, and we have adopted her for our own."

"And she's nothin to you, by blood I mean?"

"Oh, no, we don't know whose child she is."

"Well, that is the beater!" she exclaimed, and for the child's sake I suppose, gave me another squeeze and kiss.

"Betsey," said she to her daughter, "Did you ever hear tell what Dr. Frank's been and done?"

"No, mother."

"Well, he'd no more'n got his little young wife safely housed, than he was so impatient for a darter, that he went and picked up one out of the streets, and gin to her to take care on."

The Doctor and I laughed heartily at this curious exposition of our domestic affairs, while she evidently thought she had stated the case exactly. She ended with, "There now, I never was so beat. To think of Dr. Frank starting off on sich a rig. However, I hope good luck'll come on't, and mabby you'll soon find out who the child b'longs ter."

"Oh! no," said I, interrupting her, "that is the only thing I'm afraid of, I couldn't give her up."

"Look there, now!" said Aunt Susy, turning in surprise to the Doctor, "an't it mazin how these young critters takes to children."

We both rose to go; but she just took my hands, and set me down again. "Sit right there, till I bring you some luncheon."

I told her I preferred not taking any; but she would hear no excuse. She went out into the kitchen, and very soon brought a waiter, covered with a clean napkin, holding two tumblers of rich milk, and some nice sponge cake. It was really delicious. Mrs. Wilson addressed a few words to me; but I was not at all drawn to her as to her mother. The Doctor says she is a woman possessed of a very good mind, and has been a great reader, but has never had children to develop her affection and modify her character.

When we had disposed of the lunch, and Frank had given his directions to his patient, we prepared to take leave, receiving one or two extra kisses, and a good squeeze of the Doctor's arm for his part.

"Bring her here when you come again," said the old lady, pointing to me. "She's a pootty critter." Aunt Susy is a little deaf, and seems to think everybody else so. "I think so too," whispered Frank in her ear, loud enough for others to have the full benefit, when, after receiving a loving pat on his arm, he jumped into the carriage.

I told the Doctor on our way home, how disappointed his old friend was, that he had not married a more suitable person, – one that could be a companion both for him and his mother. He laughed so heartily, that I had to hush him several times, for fear some one would hear.

"Yes," he said, when he could speak, "I know who the old lady wanted me to have; but in the choice of a wife I intended to suit myself. So if you are satisfied, I prophesy she will soon be reconciled."

Now, my dear mother, if you have any idea from what I have written, that Aunt Susy has anything coarse about her, I have not described her well at all. She is truly refined in her feelings. I wish all the ladies I have met in high life were as much so. She is a dear, old-fashioned, warm-hearted woman; and it makes one's heart warm just to hear her name. Mother says, her husband was one of the most highly respected men in the state, – a justice of the peace, and lived independently on his farm, where he was monarch of all he surveyed. Mrs. Low had considerable property which she has made over to her daughter, who takes care of her.

Tuesday, June 23d.

This has been a very warm day, and I have not been out of the house, though I wished much to see Caroline Leighton. She is quite comfortable again, and sits in her chair two or three hours at a time.

Last night after we retired to our room, I told Frank I wanted to ask his advice upon a very important subject. So we sat down in the bright moonlight, while I told him about Emily. He said not a word, but heard me with interest. I fancy he controlled his feelings, as he frightened me so much the other night. "Now you see, Frank," I said, "you did Emily injustice. She has acknowledged she did wrong; and she intends to confess it to Mr. Benson."

"Ahem!" was all the reply.

"What can I do?" No answer.

"After all," said he, starting up to walk across the room, "it is quite a triumph for Emily to confess her error to him. She has her full share of the Lenox pride; and we all have enough of it. It must have cost her a great struggle. But that doesn't help the poor fellow. I should wish no farther acquaintance with a lady who had treated me so rudely."

Frank seemed to be soliloquizing, and I interrupted him by asking again, "My dear husband, what shall I do?"

"I can tell you, my love, what I shall do, very quickly," he replied, coming and taking my hand, while he kissed me repeatedly. "I shall love you with all my heart for calling me by so dear a name." I had never before addressed him as my "husband."

I felt very courageous in the moonlight, and said, "Why, Frank, I understood you to say nearly a year ago, that you had lost your heart. Have you found it again?"

"Not exactly; but I've found the warmest, largest, most precious heart, to put in its place."

"But," said I after a moment, "to return to Emily. She intends writing a note, which she wishes me to send."

"I don't see how that can be done. We don't know where to direct. Did he mention the name of the family he was going with?"

"Yes, Mr. Karswell, a merchant in New York. Mr. Benson goes with his son, who has just graduated, or is about to graduate."

"Then I think we might reach him through his patron. Address it to the care of C. M. Karswell – I know the firm. Charles does not leave college until sometime next month. I suppose arrangements will be made for them to sail soon after his graduation. I will confess to not a little curiosity to read Emily's epistle. Will she show it to you?"

"I think it doubtful," I replied.

CHAPTER IX

 
"He loved – loved keenly; and he could not bow
To what seemed tyranny, and so he sought
His wonted happiness, at least the bliss
Of mutual tears, and vows of tenderness,
Never to leave their loves, but always cling
To the fixed hope, that there should be a time,
When they could meet unfettered, and be blest
With the full happiness of certain love." Percival.
 

Wednesday, June 24th.

I forgot to mention last night that the services of the Doctor had been requested at the Nabob's mansion, or "Lee Hall," as Joseph styles it. In other words, when Frank went to his office in the village yesterday morning, he found the following request upon the tablet. "Will Dr. Lenox call at Squire Lee's residence this forenoon, to afford medical advice and relief?" This was written by Joseph in a bold flourishing hand.

The Doctor called, and found Lucy was the patient. Patient, she certainly was in one sense of the word, though not much sick. Frank says, her trouble is beyond his reach. It is sorrow of heart. Lucy has from a child been intimate with sister, and is of course well acquainted with the Doctor. When he kindly enquired the symptoms of her complaint, she did not speak, but just placed her hand upon her heart with a sorrowful expression. He asked if there was nothing he could do for her relief. She shook her head with such a woe begone look that he was deeply moved. He could do nothing but recommend nourishing food, and free exercise in the open air. He did not leave until she promised to fulfil her engagement to take tea with us on the morrow, when he wishes us, if possible, to cheer her spirits as the best means of restoring her health.

Thursday, June 25th.

Directly after breakfast I went with the Doctor to see Caroline, and spent a delightful hour in reading to her, and in conversation on religion. The Bible and subjects relating to it are her meat and drink.

Directly after my return, I wrote a note to Lucy Lee, begging her to come to us at an early hour; and in consequence of my invitation, she made her appearance about three o'clock. We were all moved by the expression of meek and patient endurance upon her lovely countenance.

I purposely left her alone with Emily, for I thought that she might talk more freely with her, and perhaps find relief from her sympathy and affection. I had just returned from the cottage with Pauline, where mother was occupied with Ruth in preparing for their return, when Emily requested me to go into her room, to which she had invited Lucy, that they might be free from interruption.

I found Emily in a state of great excitement, and poor Lucy with her handkerchief to her face silently weeping.

"I say," exclaimed Emily passionately, "it's a disgrace to the town, for such a system of persecution to go on, as has been, and is still pursued toward her," pointing to Lucy, who had not looked up, "and not have it inquired into and prevented." Emily had, for the time, forgotten her own trials, in her indignation at the greater ones of her friend.

I sat down by the weeping girl, putting my arm around her waist. She thanked me by a press of the hand, while Emily, who sat in a rocking-chair opposite, (she was too excited to keep still a moment,) continued, "Only think, Cora, of that rascally fellow Joseph." Poor Lucy looked imploringly.

"Excuse me, poor girl; but much as I love you, I have always detested your brother. He has nothing of the gentleman about him. But I never could have believed he would have acted so cruelly."

I had been waiting in vain to hear the occasion of this ebullition of feeling; and I interrupted my indignant sister, by saying, "You forget, Emily, that I know nothing of the circumstances."

She then gave me, in substance, the following narrative:

From a child, Lucy has been attached to Allen Mansfield. In fact, they can hardly remember the time when they did not love each other. While Mrs. Lee lived, all went on well; and although a very gentle, loving woman, she exerted a considerable influence over her husband, and persuaded him to consent to their early betrothal. Allen's father, Mr. Mansfield, is a merchant in this place, carrying on a prosperous business; and, at the time of their engagement, his son was considered, in point of wealth, a suitable match for Lucy. Allen was everything her mother desired; honorable, upright and virtuous, of generous heart, and noble principles. More than all, he and his beloved were united in the most enduring tie of Christian friendship, and had together made a public profession of religion.