CHAPTER XVII.
"I SHALL LEARN TO BE GOOD NOW."
"Dick, Dick! is it really you? O my dear boy, I can hardly believeit!" and Winnie clasped her feeble arms tighter round the youngsailor's neck, as if fearful of waking and finding it all a dream.
"Yes, it's the same old fellow turned up again, Win," was the reply,given half chokingly. "Nip me, and you will find I am neither ghostnor spirit, but real flesh and blood." And the boy, kneeling by theinvalid's couch, felt his eyes growing dim and misty again at the soundof the weak young voice lingering so lovingly over his name.
"I am so glad," said the child, lying back amongst her soft cushions,and looking at the big stalwart form before her. "I have been longingand longing to see you, Dick, through each weary day and night;yearning for the touch of your hand and sound of your voice: and now,to think you are really, truly here, alive and well! God is very good,dear," and the low voice uttered the last words solemnly and reverently.
The boy looked at his little sister wonderingly. "Have you learned tosay that from the heart, Win?" he asked with greater earnestness in histones. "Looking at your life as it is now, as it is likely to be allthrough the future years, can you still repeat the words, 'God is verygood'!"
The child's lips drooped, and a sad look brooded over the pale whiteface; but the meek voice continued, perhaps somewhat tremulously, "Notalways, Dick; but that is in the wicked hours, when I am full ofsinful, rebellious thoughts. Some days like just now, however, hisgoodness seems to stand out in a bright, clear light, and a great hushof peace falling on me, I find myself whispering over and over again,'God is very good.' Aunt Judith says it may be a long time, but sooneror later I shall be able to repeat those words, not only now and then,but every day of my life, even in the darkest hours; and that will besplendid. You must not be too sorry for me, dear old boy. Do youremember asking me before you went away to try to live as I ought tolive, and do my duty nobly and well? I could not keep my promise,Dick. When I was able to go about in the bright, beautiful world, Idid wicked, wrong things whenever I felt inclined. I enjoyed everypleasure to the very full, no matter who suffered; but now--I shalllearn to be good now."
Dick was almost overcome again. "Win," he said huskily, "you're anangel! When you speak like that you cause all my sins and shortcomingsto rise up before me, and I feel as if I were not worthy of your loveand tenderness. Ah, little sister, it is little pure souls like yoursthat help to keep men right in this world, and guard them in the hoursof temptation and danger. God bless you, Winnie darling. I thank himfor giving me such a precious sister."
And this was the boy laughed at and mocked by the other members of thefamily; spoken of as a dunce and scapegrace, and who would never makehis mark in the world. Ah, well! what did it matter? The true, honestlife now beginning to declare itself would soon tell its own tale, andprove that there are more Sir Galahads walking on the earth than peopledream of, whose "strength is the strength of ten, because their heartsare pure."
For a long time the two, brother and sister, sat talkingtogether--talking over past, present, and future, and feeling that thelong separation had only served to deepen and intensify the love theybore each other. And now a new link was knitting the twain more firmlytogether,--the link of pain and helplessness on the one side, andstrong protecting strength on the other.
After that the days fled all too rapidly. Sailor Dick made a greatdifference in the house. It was something new to hear the fresh,hearty voice trolling out wild sea-songs, and to listen to yarn afteryarn told with infinite gravity, and yet brimful of the ridiculous andimpossible. The rough, hardy sea-faring life had improved the boywondrously, bringing out the noblest traits in his character, makinghim less sensitive and more self-reliant. Captain Inglis, who hadcalled on Mr. Blake, and was now a welcome visitor at the house inVictoria Square, stated his thorough satisfaction at Dick's conductduring the whole voyage, and spoke of him in the most praise-worthyterms. Altogether there was great cause for commendation; and the boyawoke to the delightful knowledge that he was no longer beingdown-trodden and treated with disrespect, and that some day Winnie'sprophecy might be verified of his father being proud of him yet.
"Blessings on the skipper's head," he said one afternoon to Winnie,when she told of Captain Inglis's genuine satisfaction. "He's athoroughly good old chap, and not one of the crew could say a wordagainst him. But I say, Win, what makes him come poking about here sooften? Why should he not give his old mother the benefit of his sparetime? Poor body! it's rather hard lines being left so much alone."
"She's coming to see me," put in Winnie laughingly. "Captain Inglishad been telling her about the cross invalid sister you possessed, andshe asked if she might be allowed to call some day."
Dick whistled.
"So that's the way the wind is blowing?" he muttered under his breath."Well, this is a truly wonderful world in which we live." Then aloudto Winnie: "You'll like her, Win; she's a first-rate old lady, brimmingover with kindness. Shouldn't wonder if she invites you to stay withher later on; and, my eye! if she does, just you go. She'll pet andmolly-coddle you till you won't know whether you're standing on yourhead or feet; and I'll bet you'll be as snug as a bird in its nest."
Winnie looked interested. "Has she a nice house?"
"Tip-top, and nobody in it save herself and the servants. The skipperhas plenty of money, and goes to sea from choice, not necessity.--Why,I declare, Win, here he is again, coming along the street. He gave mea half-holiday, but I did not think he was going to take one himself aswell. If this kind of thing continues much longer, you maycongratulate yourself on having another brother soon;" and Dick winkedknowingly.
"What do you mean?" asked Winnie, staring open-eyed; but themischievous boy had vanished and left her alone in her bewilderment.
All good things come to an end, and every day has its close. The _Maidof Astolat_ was ready to set sail again, and once more the time drewnear to say good-bye.
"Farewell, Win, my little angel sister," whispered Dick, kissing thesweet face with dimmed, misty eyes. "God keep you for ever and ever,and bring me safe home to you again." Then followed a long, lingeringembrace; and Winnie was left to wait and hope till the long months anddays would pass and her sailor boy return once more.
"Yes, I miss him sorely, Aunt Judith," she said one evening to MissLatimer about a fortnight after the ship had sailed; "but I have somuch to be thankful for, that I feel as it I dared not grumble. Youhave no idea how greatly he is improved, and how much more highly he isthought of now by every one in the house. I wish you had been able tosee him, Aunt Judith."
"So do I, Winnie; but I was too ill the day he called, and this is onlymy second walk out of doors."
"Were you very unwell?" questioned Winnie, again scrutinizing herfriend's face anxiously. "Aunt Judith, I don't believe you are nearlybetter. There are great hollows round your eyes, and your face lookshaggard and worn."
"Nonsense, dear," answered the kind voice, and Miss Latimer's smile wasvery bright. "Remember I am an old woman, and pain leaves traces on anaged face.--What about yourself, Winnie? is the darkness brighteningyet?"
"I think so, Aunt Judith; and Dick helped me so much. Perhaps thebeautiful life is within my reach after all."
"There's no 'perhaps' in the matter, dear," said Miss Latimer softly;"but my little Winnie must be patient, for the grand, sweet song oflife has its beginning, and the opening chords may be tremulous andlow. Child," she continued passionately, "the grandest songs--thesongs that echo and re-echo through eternity's limitless bounds--arewrung from hearts crushed and bleeding with anguish, and the infinitepeace and calm come only after long strife and pain. Darling, myearnest prayer for you is that God would perfect in you his own image,and that you may come forth from the furnace of affliction withChrist's own brightness shining in your face."
That was the last talk Miss Latimer ever had with Winnie. She had beenfar from well lately, and after reachin
g home that night complained offeeling very tired.
"Go to bed, auntie," pleaded Nellie; "I am sure you are fit for no workto-night;" and Aunt Debby seconded the words. But Miss Latimer shookher head with a slow, sweet smile.
"My last chapter must be finished this evening, child," she said,gently yet firmly; "after that I shall please you all by taking a long,long rest."
Persuasion seemed useless; and the midnight hour found Aunt Judith busyat her desk, filling up page after page with those wonderful thoughtsof hers.
Aunt Debby could not rest that night. Something in Miss Latimer'smanner and appearance had awed and frightened her, driving the sleepfrom her little bright eyes and chilling her heart with a vague,undefined sense of fear. At length, in the middle of the night, sherose, unable to quell the uneasy thoughts which haunted her, andstealing softly downstairs, opened the door of her sister's sanctum andlooked in. The lamp had burned low in the socket, and was casting asickly gleam over all; the fire had died out, and the gray-white ashesgave a dreary, deserted appearance to the room. A great hush broodedaround; and yet not so awful was that intense stillness as the solemncalm which seemed to infold the quiet figure sitting so silently in themidst.
Aunt Judith sat before her desk, her head bent slightly forward on herhands. There was nothing unnatural or alarming in the position, but anawful dread stole into Miss Deborah's heart and caused it to beat witha wild fear.
"Judith!" she called tremblingly; but the quiet figure never stirred,and no response came from the pallid lips. Aunt Debby flashed thelight of her candle full on Miss Latimer, and then started back with anexceeding bitter cry, for the face on which the light shone so clearlywas white and rigid in death. The eyes, wide-open, were fixed on thesheets of manuscript before her, as if she had been earnestly studyingthe closing words; and the face, though white with the pallor of thedead, still retained its own sweet expression. Looking down at thewritten sheets, Aunt Debby noticed the last chapter was finished, andknew Aunt Judith's life-work had ended with it.
The eyes, wide open, were fixed on the sheets ofmanuscript before her.]
"My last chapter must be written to-night, child; after that I shallplease you all by taking a long, long rest." How those words rung inMiss Deborah's ears as she stood gazing on that silent figure, sittingso quietly in that awful death-hush! Not the quiver of an eyelid; nota tremble of the lip; only that great, solemn calm. It was all overnow. The pain and weariness; the constant striving after the true andbeautiful; the daily self-renunciation; the life so completely devotedto the service of others; and the last lingering notes of the grand,sweet song had been sung in silence and alone. "Goodness and mercyhave followed me all the days of my life," she had remarked to AuntDebby not so long ago, "and, thank God, even in the darkest night Ihave never failed to find a star brightening through the gloom." Nowthe earthly shadows were done with for ever; the bleeding feet had trodthe last steps of the thorny way, and entered by the gate into the holyJerusalem, where "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither haveentered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared forthem that love him."
CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.
Six summers has the green grass waved and sweet flowers bloomed overAunt Judith's grave; six long, long years have come and gone since MissDeborah entered that silent room and found the death-angel casting hisdread shadow there. And what have the seasons brought? Ease to thesorrowing heart and laughter to the weeping eyes. "Time heals allwounds; one cannot mourn for ever," say the wise people, and in ninecases out of ten their words hold good, though I think there are somesorrows which no lapse of time can cure--sorrows which deepen andintensify as the years roll on; only the wound, bleeding inwardly, ishid with a sacred reverence from the gaze of the outside world, and isknown to the sore-stricken heart alone.
Be that as it may, however, Miss Latimer's friends could afford tolaugh and smile now, and joy as she had done in God's beautifulsunshine. The earth is still as fair, the skies as blue as they werein the bygone days when her quiet voice drew the thoughts of thosearound her to the nature-world with all its wondrous beauty, and eachcan say with glad accord,--
"Daisies are white upon the churchyard sod, Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give; The world is very lovely. Oh, my God, I thank thee that I live."
Let us take one more look at them ere we close the book and lay itaside reverently and tenderly as we would the folded page in a closinglife.
It is a cold, wintry evening. Outside the wind is sweeping up and downthe streets, wailing like a soul in pain. The rain is dashing againstthe windowpanes, and beating with wild, ungovernable fury on thoseexposed to the disturbing elements. But inside warmth and comfortreign supreme. The oak parlour is all ablaze with light, and thelaughter and merriment filling the whole room betoken the happy, genialspirits of the occupants. Let us see if we still recognize one andall--if six years have wrought no ravages or particular change on thosewe knew in their happy childhood days.
Close by the fire, lying on a luxuriously-cushioned couch, is a younglady, whose pale, thin face bears traces of weary pain. Yet the darkeyes are bright and smiling, and the voice has still its own merryring, which plainly betrays the old Winnie of bygone days. Surely AuntJudith's words are coming true, and she is learning beautiful lessonsin the school of pain; for the pale face shines with a peaceful calm,and the words which fall from her lips are the words of one who hasbeen in the furnace of affliction and come forth tried as silver.
Seated near on a low stool, with legs stretched forth in lazy comfort,is Dick, newly home from a long, perilous voyage. He is very muchimproved and changed, but in the gallant young officer one can stilldiscover traces of the bluff sailor boy whose kind, honest heart wonfor him the love and friendship of all with whom he associated. He hascontinued to rise steadily in his profession, and Mr. Blake is proud ofhis scapegrace son at last.
A little further away, at the other side of the fire, sits Edith,smiling and light-hearted as ever, and with the same fair, sweet face;but a plain golden band, circling one white finger, proclaims that thegay, laughing girl has found a woman's true place in the world, andthat the grave, gentlemanly captain has won his suit in the end.
And now we have come to the last occupant of the room--a young lady,seated in very unladylike fashion on the rug, and so little changedthat in the fresh bright countenance we have no difficulty inrecognizing our old friend Nellie Latimer. She is spending a few weeksin town with Winnie, and if report speaks true, there is a possibilitythat in the dim future Winnie may find a sister in her old school-mateof past years.
"How nice and cosy we all look!" she is saying in her blithe youngvoice; "one values light and warmth on a night like this. Hush! do youhear the wind? I pity those on the sea to-night."
Dick looks grave. "Ah, Nellie," he replies quietly, "pity hearts thatare watching and praying in their lonely homes."
"The wind," says Winnie in a low whisper, "always makes me think ofAunt Judith in her quiet grave. I suppose it is a stupid feeling, butI hate the thought of the rain dripping and making a wet, wet sod aboveher. I should like the sunshine to be always lingering on her quietresting-place."
The laughter has died out of each face, and eyes become a little misty,showing the dead friend is still near and dear to the hearts of thosewho loved her.
"Dear Aunt Judith," murmurs Nellie sadly, "we never realized how goodshe was till we lost her. Every one with whom she came in contactseems to have felt the benefit of her influence; and I--why, I owe hermore than I can ever tell."
"I think we may all say that, Nell," adds Dick. "It was she who firstinspired me with a reverence for all women, and helped to make me whatI am now."
"As for me," says Winnie with a sad, sweet smile, "she showed me theway wherein I should walk, and taught me the great beauty of theChrist-life."
Then Edith's clear voice broke in: "And I--I have learned from MissLatimer lessons that will
help me throughout all my life. She hasbeen, I think, as an angel of light to us all, and I shall never forgetwhat we owe to her goodness and love."
"I have always been going to ask some of you girls," says Dick, "ifAunt Judith knew she was likely to die in such a sudden manner. Everytime I came home I had that question on my mind, and yet never managedto ask it."
Nellie replied: "Oh yes! and Aunt Debby knew also. That was why AuntJudith lived so humbly and simply. She felt she was the mainstay ofthe family,--that both Aunt Debby and Aunt Meg looked to her for theirlivelihood; and so she strove hard to win and lay aside money, with thehope that if she were called away suddenly there would be sufficient tokeep them snugly and comfortably after her death. She suffered fromsevere paroxysms of pain at intervals, and each attack left her weakerand feebler. Then, besides, she seemed to have had some great sorrow,though Aunt Debby never told me what it was. Oh! they missed herdreadfully at first; but since they left Dingle Cottage and came tosettle down beside my father, they have been more cheerful."
"Do you like having them so near you?" inquires Edith; and Nellieanswers truthfully,--
"I like being beside Aunt Debby, she helps us so much; but Aunt Meg isvery trying at times."
At that moment Captain Inglis, who has been closeted with Mr. Blake inthe library, enters, and then the conversation changes. The oldschool-days are talked over, pranks and punishments described amidstshouts of laughter; and by-and-by the talk drifts on to Ada Irvine andthe prize essay.
"Have you ever heard of or seen Ada lately?" asks Dick curiously. "Isuppose she is quite a young lady and a great beauty now."
"Agnes Drummond called the other day," replies Winnie quietly, "andsaid she had met Ada last week at a friend's house. It seems she isjust as haughty and proud as ever; but, O Dick, I am sure you will besorry when I tell you that all her beauty is gone. The whole face iscompletely marred by small-pox, which she caught when abroad with herfather."
"Serves her jolly well right," cries Dick, the old man in his naturecoming to the front. "A girl who can act as she acted deserves arighteous punishment. I don't suppose she has ever eaten humble pie toyou girls yet?"
"No, and never will," puts in Nellie. "She persists to this day insaying Win gained Mr. Corbett's medal through Aunt Judith's help, andthat I never learned a single lesson without assistance."
"Hark!" says Captain Inglis, "there is the carriage.--Edith, my dear,it is time we were going home." So the merry party breaks up, and soonthe silence of midnight settles over the city.
Slowly the wind lulls itself to rest; the storm is over; therain-clouds sweep back from the sky, and the stars gleam forth withsoftened brilliancy over the sleeping world; while the fair, placidmoon, rising from a mist of vapours, shines down on the sodden earth,and lingering near a quiet churchyard lays her tearful beams, fondly,tenderly, on a peaceful grave marked only by a marble cross and thesimple words,--"Aunt Judith."
THE END.
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