Lena Graham

  *CHAPTER V.*

  *AUNTIE'S LETTER.*

  Wrong thoughts, when only sent away by a kind deed or loving word, arenot really rooted out; they are, as it were, but expelled for a shorttime. When we only thus send them away, we are like the man in theparable spoken of by our Divine Master. The evil spirit certainly goes,but this is not enough; we cannot sit down with folded hands and say,"It is done--we can rest." No, we have our work still to do. Now thatthe place is empty, we must fill it anew, but this time with the goodand true, or else the evil thought will return, and alas! not alone, butin the words of Holy Writ, "He taketh with him seven other spirits, morewicked than himself"--that is, the wrong thought returns with sevenfoldstrength, and "the last state of that man is worse than the first."

  Thus it was with Lena Graham. The jealous thoughts, that had beenshowing themselves, were put aside, as it were, for the time being, andunfortunately she did not trouble herself any more about them; andMilly, who was the only person whom she had spoken or even hinted to,that she had such thoughts, was only too glad to dismiss it from hermind, blaming herself for having even allowed the suspicion entrance.

  "Lena," said her mother, later in the evening, when she and Aunt Marywere sitting together with the two girls in the drawing-room.

  "Yes, Mama," she answered, looking up from the book she was reading.

  "What was the meaning of the scene that Hester saw, when she found youon the beach this evening?"

  Milly looked up hastily at these words, while Lena said, "I will tellyou about the whole afternoon Mama. It was this." And she gave a longaccount of their doings, appealing often to Milly to confirm what shesaid; and if she did gloss over the leaving little Lucy alone, it wasdone almost unconsciously, so easy is it to see, when we wish it, a goodreason for our conduct.

  When she had finished there was a pause for a moment or two, duringwhich the two girls looked anxiously at their mother.

  "Well, Mama?" asked Lena, who was growing impatient.

  "I was wondering if either of my girls saw how very selfishly they hadacted this afternoon."

  "In leaving Lucy alone?" they both said slowly.

  "Yes, dears; don't you think it was very hard for the child to be leftall by herself? and from your own account, you were away for some time."

  "We didn't mean to be long."

  "But that was not the first fault: disobedience was that. I gave youleave to go down to the beach, but I did not give you leave to go andhear the band play. I thought I could have trusted you both."

  Milly's eyes filled with tears at these words, and her heart swelled atthe thought that she, "Mother's right-hand," as she had often beencalled, could not be trusted; but she said nothing, while Lena, who wasboth truthful and generous, hastened to explain, "It was not Milly'sfault, Mama; she didn't want to go, but I insisted on it."

  "Ah, Lena, you see how one fault leads to another."

  "But we were quite as safe there as at the beach."

  "That has nothing to do with it. You did wrong, my child, and I amafraid, continued doing so all the afternoon, for Hester tells me youwere very harsh and rough with your little sister."

  "But Lucy was so naughty and cross, we could not help getting angry."

  "I know we ought not to have left her, Mama," said Milly; "but she wasso provoking, screaming so loud, it made everybody look at us. Thoughwe told her it was late, she would not come home."

  "And she hit me, and said all sorts of things."

  "She was in one of her fits of passion," added Milly.

  "I am very sorry to hear it," was Mrs. Graham's answer with a sigh, forLucy's fits of passion were a great sorrow to her.

  "If you had been gentler and kinder, would you not have done more good?"

  "I don't think so, for Milly didn't get into a passion. I did, Mama,and I am very sorry. Oh dear, it is so hard to be good! And I wantedto be so really, and now I have grieved you and Auntie too. I promisedI would show how good her child could be."

  "O Lena dear, that is it: you forget what I said, and what you promised;to try and be, not mine, but"----and she paused, while Lena finished thesentence in a low voice--"The child of God. And I have not been good,but I am so sorry, I really am."

  "So am I," whispered Milly, nestling close to her mother. "Are you verygrieved? Will you forgive us?"

  "Fully and freely, dear; but there is One, whose children you both are,whom you have grieved more. I want you both to ask Him to forgive youbefore you go to sleep to-night, never doubting that if you ask arightHe will do so."

  As the two girls went upstairs together, later on that evening, Lenagave a great sigh as she said, "Oh dear, I wish we had not taken Lucywith us this afternoon; it quite spoiled all the pleasure."

  "I wish we had not left her," said Milly, in her gravest tones.

  "I believe you think we are most to blame."

  "We are the eldest, and she is such a little thing; if we had stayedwith her she would have been good."

  "Then I am most naughty, for I would go to the band. I wish one couldalways be good; it is so horrible after being naughty."

  When Lena was alone in her room, she went to the window, and pulling upthe blind, looked out, but her thoughts were not on what she saw, fairas the scene was, on which her eyes rested. Beneath her window lay thegarden, now bathed in moonlight, and in the far distance was the sea,shining like a band of silver in the moon's rays. How often had shestood, as now, at this very window, thinking! Then, her thoughts hadbeen of the parents so dimly remembered. What would they be reallylike? Ah, how good she would be to them, and show how much she lovedthem. Now they had really come; and to-day, instead of all thisgoodness, she had grieved her mother by her disobedience andselfishness, and the little sister of whom she had said, "She would liketo give up her pleasures to,"--she had quarrelled with her, not only inword, but in very deed. The tears filled her eyes as she thus thought.She did love her mother just as much as she ever did, and--no, there wasno disappointment in her, but somehow things were not quite what she hadexpected. She had pictured to herself a life with Mama, as something ofthe same kind, she had led with her Aunt, being her constant companion,and her one chief thought and care. Instead of that, she was more withher sisters than her parents. Kind and loving as Mama was to her, shewas equally so to Milly and Lucy. Poor foolish child, surrounded as shewas with every earthly blessing, she was not content. Instead of ahappy, grateful love for all she had, she was groping after theimpossible, and raising up for herself all sorts of imaginary troubles,that had no real existence but in her own wayward fancy. The opening ofthe door roused her, and turning round, she saw that it was her motherwho had entered.

  "Not in bed yet, dear?"

  "No, Mama, I have been thinking," said Lena, in a very grave tone, asshe pulled down the blind.

  "What were the thoughts that made you look so grave, and forget to go tobed?"

  "I was wondering why things are never so nice as we expect them to be."

  "Shall I tell you why that is the case, dear?"

  Lena only nodded in reply, and Mrs. Graham, looking down fondly on thegirl's upturned face, said, "Because we want things to be exactly as wewish, instead of taking thankfully and contentedly what God sends. Ifear we are all too apt to think we know best what is good for us."

  "Oh no, Mama," cried Lena in a shocked tone.

  "We don't think or allow, even to ourselves, that we do so, dear; buthow is it that we so often say--'If it had only been different, it wouldhave been so much nicer and better?' I fancy that some such thoughtswere in my little girl's mind to-night."

  "I did not know that it was so wrong. Auntie told me it would not begood for me to have my own way too much; and I remember she once said,'She was so glad she had not the ordering of her own life.' Are youglad too?"

  "Yes, darling, very, very glad. Ah, Lena dear, it is such peace andhappiness to know that all is done for
us by that loving Father, whogives us more than we can ask or desire."

  When Lena said her prayers that night, she paused, in the Lord's Prayer,at the words, "Thy will be done." How often she had repeated themslowly and reverently as she had been taught to do, but to-night theyseemed to assume a new and deeper meaning; and when Mama had given her,her good-night kiss, she repeated them over and over to herself ere shefell asleep. No wonder that the next morning she rose bright and happy;and when Lucy's voice was heard at the door saying, "I want to speak toyou, Lena," she opened the door and greeted her little sister with aloving kiss.

  "I am very sorry I was a naughty girl last night," she said gravely, asif repeating a lesson.

  "Oh, never mind, dear."

  "Mama said I was to beg your pardon; and, Lena, I told a story, becauseI do love you."

  "I was naughty too and unkind," said Lena, who, when she was pleased andhappy, was always ready to be generous and kind.

  In general, all Lena's troubles were self-made; she wanted to be first,not so much in amusements, though she certainly liked to take the leadthere also, but in every one's opinions and affections. She wanted to beMilly's and Lucy's favourite, as well as eldest sister. And she wouldhave also liked to be the first in her parent's confidence andaffections, as well as the first of their children.

  Aunt Mary called the two elder girls to her after breakfast, and toldthem that she meant them to do some lessons with her every morning. Toomuch idle time was neither good nor pleasant for them; and she did notwant the governess, under whose care they were very soon to be placed,to find her new pupils backward in their education.

  The idea of a governess was quite new to them. They would have liked todiscuss the subject well over with Auntie; but this she at onceforbade--"Your Mama will tell you all about it herself."

  "Do just tell us when she is to come?"

  "Not till your parents are settled into their own house," said theirAuntie unguardedly.

  "Going to leave here? O Auntie, you must tell us--please, please do,"Lena added coaxingly.

  "I thought we were always to live here; I do like this place. Where arewe to live?" said Milly, adding her entreaties to Lena's.

  "Not a word more will you get out of me," said their Aunt laughing."What a foolish old woman I was to let so much out."

  "You are not old, and you are not foolish, but a dear kind Auntie who isgoing to tell us all about it."

  "I am not quite so foolish as to be taken in by all these blandishments;but, joking apart, dears, I ought not to tell you more; your parentswill do so when they think right."

  At this, both the girls returned to their seats, and lessons went onquietly. Milly was found not to be so very much behind Lena, for shehad been well and carefully taught by her mother, who had used the verysame books of instruction that Miss Somerville had taught Lena from. Sothat the two sisters would be able to go on together with the samegoverness; and both girls were quite pleased at the thought of doing thesame lessons. All was as it should be. Lena was a little advanced, butnot too much so to make it difficult for Milly to keep up with her, butenough to spur Lena on to keep in advance.

  "Is it true we are to have a governess? and are we going to anotherhouse?" were the questions that were eagerly put to Mama on the veryfirst opportunity.

  "I have been letting out secrets, I am afraid," said Miss Somerville.

  "I meant to tell them what their Papa had decided upon. He has taken ahouse in the country--a furnished one, near the friends with whom he isnow staying. The people to whom it belongs are anxious to leave as soonas they can, so Papa says, he hopes we will be able to go there in afortnight."

  "In a fortnight!" This sudden move quite took away Lena's breath; toleave Aunt Mary and her own home! for Scarsdale Villa was the only homeLena could remember. Then she gave a little laugh at this foolishthought of hers. "Leave Aunt Mary! of course she would go with them."

  Milly was busy asking questions about the new house--"Was it quite inthe country? had it a garden?"

  All these questions were answered satisfactorily. "It was quite in thecountry, with a nice garden, and some fields attached to it," Mama said.

  "What is to be done with this house?" Lena asked.

  "I am going to let this," said her Aunt quietly.

  So it was all right. Aunt Mary was coming with them; and Lena eagerlyjoined Milly in talking over their new home. How delightful it would beto live quite in the country! And very soon they were both quite eagerto be there, and were planning about the gardens they were to have fortheir very own.

  "You will find nice neighbours in the Freelings," said Miss Somervilleto Mrs. Graham.

  "Have they children?" was the eager question.

  "Yes, six. Two are grown up. There are four at home, two girls and twoboys--at least not the boys; they are at school."

  "I wonder what they will be like--the girls I mean."

  "The eldest girl is fifteen. The youngest will be a nice companion foryou; she is only thirteen."

  The prospect of the change gave the children plenty to think and talkabout for the next day or two. Lena went so far in preparation that shewent about collecting what she considered her own property from thedifferent rooms, and was rather aggrieved that she was not allowed topack them all up in readiness. Mama compromised the matter by allowingher, with Milly's help, to fill one box with the many books and toysthat she had outgrown, and were too numerous to carry away; and thisbox, when ready, was to be sent to the poor little suffering children inthe hospital How often that box was packed and unpacked I should besorry to say: it was a great amusement and occupation to them for thenext few days, as the weather had changed, and instead of brightsunshine and warm breezes, the rain came down steadily; and Milly andLucy would look mournfully out of the window, thinking that here, as inIndia, there was to be no more hot bright suns for some time now thatthe rains had set in, though Lena assured them fifty times a day itwould be sure to be fine to-morrow. This was all very well the firstday; but when to-morrow came with clouded sky, Lucy grew very very angrywhen she heard Lena begin the same story "of to-morrow being fine," andaccused her of being wicked and telling stories. A stormy scene wasfast brewing indoors as well as out, when Mama heard the cause of anger,and Lucy had the matter explained to her, and hope once more "of seeingfair weather to-morrow" sprang up in her small mind.

  In the midst of this wet weather they were all cheered and enlivened byPapa's return. Now they would be able to have all their questionsanswered about Astbury, as their new home was called. They had to curbtheir curiosity till after Papa had had dinner. Lena had still a littlelingering awe of her father; and when he told them that they must keepall their questions until after he had finished his dinner, she did notdare to disobey him, as I fear her eagerness and curiosity would havetempted her to do if it had been her aunt or mother who had given theorder.

  As they were all seated round the fire listening to his account ofAstbury and its neighbourhood, Aunt Mary, seeing her nieces' attentiondevoted to their father, quietly drew a letter from her pocket. Takingit out of the envelope, she began to read it. Soon after theconversation turned upon some matter that Lena did not thinkinteresting, so she turned to her Aunt to ask some question. Instead ofreceiving the answer she had expected, Aunt Mary went on with herreading, evidently not having heard what she had said. "The letterseemed to interest her very much," Lena thought. She wondered who itcould be from, and why had not Auntie told her of it, for during thetime that aunt and niece had lived alone together Miss Somerville hadgot into the way of reading her letters aloud before her niece. It wasa habit that she had got into during the years when she was quite aloneand before she had taken charge of Lena: gradually she had not only readout the letters before the child, but as she grew older and morecompanionable, had spoken and discussed things that were in them beforeand with her. It was not a good thing for any child, especially for onelike Lena Graham. Still it had been done in all love and
with goodintention. Rising from her seat, Lena went and perched herself on thearm of her Aunt's chair, so that she could read the letter over hershoulder. We must do Lena the justice to say, that though it was awrong thing to do, it was not done with a wrong intention. She hadalways heard Auntie's letters, she would have told you, so there couldnot be the slightest harm in reading them. It was a very interestingone she saw at once; the handwriting was perfectly familiar to her asbeing that of a great friend of her Aunt's, who had often stayed withthem--Miss Howard was her name. The contents puzzled Lena, for MissHoward wrote as if she and Aunt Mary were going together somewhere, to aplace called "Lucerne." Lena knew the name well, but for the moment shewas confused as to its locality. As she tried to make out what it meant,she leant forward to see more easily. At that moment Colonel Grahamlooked up and saw Lena doing what he considered, and what certainly is,a most dishonourable action, reading what is not meant for one to see.

  "Lena!" was all he said, but the tone in which it was said startled themall.

  Lena looked up. Never before had she heard her name so spoken.Startled and confused at the suddenness with which she had been called,she answered hastily and nervously, "Yes, Papa."

  "What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Graham.

  "Lena knows," was the short reply.

  Poor Lena was frightened, not only at the sternness of the voice, but byher father's face. It seemed to her that it had the same look that shehad remarked in the photograph and had hoped never to see shown towardsher. Her fear and nervousness brought the colour to her looks and gaveher the conscious look of guilt.

  "I don't know, Papa. What is it?" she faltered out.

  "You must know what a dishonourable thing you were doing, reading yourAunt's letter over her shoulder."

  "Oh!" she said with a great sigh of relief, "is that all, Papa? Why, Ialways do it."

  Here Aunt Mary interposed hastily, and said, before Colonel Graham couldspeak the astonishment he certainly felt at Lena's answer, "It is myfault, Henry. Lena always sees my letters. I may have been wrong; butremember she has been niece and child and companion to me all in one. Imay have spoilt her in many ways, but I am sure she would not do adishonourable thing;" and as she spoke, she pulled Lena on to her kneeand kissed the troubled little face. "I ought to have told her I didnot wish her to read this quite yet, and I am sure she would not havedone it."

  At her Aunt's kind words Lena burst out crying. The child had beenfrightened, and the burst of tears relieved her feelings.--"No, Auntiedear, indeed, indeed I would not," she sobbed out.

  "I think you have made a mistake about it, Mary. And I hope Lena willremember that though you have allowed her to see yours, letters aresacred, and she must never look at any without leave that are notaddressed to her."

  "No, Papa, indeed I never will," she said earnestly.

  "Come and give Papa a kiss," said her mother, leading the still sobbingchild to her father.

  "You are not afraid of me, Lena?" he asked kindly, as she shrunk fromhim, without lifting her eyes from the ground. "Come, look up, and giveme a kiss."

  Lena looked up as bidden, and seeing nothing in his face but love andkindness, summoned back her courage as she said, "You looked so angrybefore, and so stern."

  "I am only angry when you do wrong and act dishonourably; and you neednot be afraid to look even a stern man in the face if you have donenothing to be ashamed of, my child."

  As Lena returned to her chair she thought, "Oh dear, I hope he willnever speak to me again like that. Even if I was ever so naughty, Idon't think I could tell him, and ask him to forgive me."

  Aunt Mary said quietly to Lena, "I will read you all that Miss Howardsays to-morrow, dear; it will interest you, I am sure, and I meant youto hear it soon."

  "Where is Lucerne?" she asked in a low voice.

  "In Switzerland," answered her Aunt. And not another word would she saythat night on the subject of the letter and its contents.