My brother's keeper, by Amy Lothrop. By miss Wetherell

clasping them together and looking up at him that he might see it was no unsettled purpose, she said,

I cannot leave my brother, Mr. Raynor."

He looked at her steadily for a moment; and then, as her eyes fell again, he sprang up and stood before her.

"But Rosalie! what sort of a reason is that?"

A good one, if you will take the right point of view," she said with the same steadiness, except that his look or his words had somewhat moved her lips from their composure.

"Then I take the wrong. It does not follow, dear Rosalie, that of two people who love you with all their hearts, you should choose the one who has always had you, unless he has all your heart as well."

"But it does follow that I should give myself to the one who wants me most."

I will throw down my gauntlet upon that!"

Ah, you do not take the right point of view. He needs me more than you can understand."

"I know he would miss you-he could not help that. Butwould you have said this to me two years ago?"

"He would not have been left alone then."

66 And you are left alone now. Forgive me, dear Rosalie-I do not say it in unkindness-but ought you not to take some care of yourself? Is it quite right to think only of another's whims and fancies?"

He has nothing to do with it," she said, quickly-"at least not in the way you suppose. But Mr. She paused a moment and then went on,

Raynor

"I must tell you all, it is but just. Mr. Raynor, I am the only friend he has in the world! Of all the people with whom he most associates there is not one, there is not one! whose influence for good is at best more than neutral. He does not go the lengths that some of them go; he has a little remembrance yet of what he was-a sense of honour and truth as strong as he ever had. But if he has any regard for my words, any love for me-and you know not how much!-could I be justified in leaving him to the unmitigated influence of worthless companions and unworthy pursuits?'

She had spoken very low at first, with evident grief and mortification; looking up then with her whole heart in her eyes, and yet with those same meekly folded hands, as if beseeching him neither to urge nor distrust her.

He met the look, and then turning abruptly away he began to walk up and down the room; but more in excitement than in thoughtfulness. Walking as if the disturbed spirit could not subside, and without once looking towards Rosalie.

You are displeased, Mr. Raynor," she said, at length. “You think I am trifling with you.'

He came to the end of the sofa where she sat, and took her hand in both of his.

"Nothing upon earth could make me think that! But I cannot bring my mind to look at things as you do, neither is the feeling wholly selfish. If you could see yourself with the eyes of a third

person, Rosalie, you would understand one of the reasons why I want you to be my wife, much better than you can now. Is it right, I must ask you again, to forget yourself entirely? to take no care for yourself?"

No, perhaps not," she said, but the voice was less clear and steady, in one respect you may be right. But one needs to take a very wide view of things. I do not speak without consideration. I know, too, that it is not in my hands-that I have no power that is not given me and I cannot tell how things will turn out. But God seldom makes the whole path clear before us; it is only the first few steps. Should I therefore refuse to take them? O Mr. Raynor! you have known what it was to live without God and without hope in the world; is anything too much to bring one out of that condition ?"

She gathered breath and went on.

"I have thought, very much of late, of the day when 'them that sleep in Jesus God shall bring with him,' when the book of life shall be opened. It is not enough to know that her name is written there to hope that mine stands by it

"I know it is not in my hands," she went on presently, "and yet I cannot leave him!"

She said no more, and sat silent, except for those silently flowing tears.

"I dare not urge you," Mr. Raynor said then. "I dare not put my own earthly happiness, nor even yours, dear Rosalie, in competition with another's eternal welfare. The sick of the palsy was healed for the faith of them that brought him. Surely if ever endeavours were blessed, yours might be! But tell me one thingwas this the only reason?"

"If there had been another you should never have heard this," she said.

"I might have answered that myself."

He stood silent and grave, as if the struggle were in his mind yet, till she rose up and said,

"Good bye, Mr. Raynor, you must not stay here any longer, and for the future we must be only common friends."

"I must not stay here any longer at present," he said with some emphasis, "but I do not give up my claim, it is only postponed. Nay, do not contradict me. And we must not be common friends, for I have a more than brother's right to be called upon, and shall perhaps assume that right to watch over you, whether I have it or not. And as for you, dear child, The Lord bless thee, and keep thee the Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace!''

He went-and as the door closed behind him, Rosalie felt as if she had taken leave of the sunshine of life, and turned her face unto the shadow. Hulda thought her sister very tired that evening; and when late at night Thornton came home and went to take a look at the sweet face whose pleadings he so often disregarded, he found its expression more hard to read than usual. He was sure there had been sorrowful thoughts at work—that the fountain of

tears was hardly at rest now; but for whom had they come? Not for herself. He could not trace one murmur on the placid brow, and the mouth seemed to speak what had been her last waking thoughts-"And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in Thee."

But had they been for him? Thornton puzzled over it till he was tired, and went to bed to dream that he had forbidden Mr. Raynor the house.

CHAPTER XIV.

With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be;

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee.-SHELLEY.

Ir was one of those warm foretokens of summer, which are sometimes sent by the hand of April. With sympathetic laziness people strolled along through the sunshine; the street sprinklers passed on with their carts, and birds and radish boys were clamorous. The leaves came out apace but stealthily, and the very air was breathless. And yet there floated in from the storehouses of fresh things, fresh influences. The silence spoke of sweet sounds in the wilderness of nature, to the wilderness of men; and flowers came, not on "the wings of the wind," but their own breath; and over all these was a sky so purely blue-so free from turmoil and pollution-that it seemed as if the last revolution of the earth had rolled New York away from its own proper atmosphere, and bestowed it beneath a new canopy. How far removed from the sights and sounds the steps, the rattling wheels, the drums, the cries, that spread themselves through the city.

So thought Miss Clyde, as with little Hulda in her hand she went slowly home from a walk. How few, she thought, how very few there were who appreciated or even noticed that "clear expanse how few that would not mourn if the word were sent to them, "Come up hither." The birds were longing to try their wings in such an element; and man chose the dust, and looked down and not up. A little pressure of her hand brought her eyes down. Hulda was studying her face as intently as she had watched the sky.

"Are you tired, love?"

"O no,

said Hulda; "but I didn't know what you were thinking of. There's a carriage at our door."

Somewhat wondering with herself what could have made Mrs. Raynor go in and wait for her, Rosalie mounted the steps, and her wonder was not lessened to find Thornton in the parlour.

The good Quakeress spoke not a word till she had kissed her, first upon one cheek and then on the other, even more tenderly

than usual.

"I have made acquaintance with thy brother," she said then; "I would know everybody that loves thee, and whom thou dost love."

"That is not a very safe rule to go by, neither," said Thornton. "In this case, Mrs. Raynor, Rosalie loves somebody very different from herself."

Mrs. Raynor looked as if she knew it full well-or, at least, if she thought the people who resembled Rosalie were few.

And thou, dear little Hulda," she said, sitting down and taking the child on her lap, "wilt thou come home with me, and see my flowers ?"

Hulda looked doubtfully towards her sister, and then up at the soft, quiet eyes that looked down upon her. She had to resort to the childish formula of hesitation,

'I don't know, ma'am."

'Yes, thou wilt come," said the Quakeress, decisively; “thy sister will not say nay to thy going. Thou and I will have the carriage all to ourselves, and we will get home before dinner."

But how shall I get back again?" said Hulda, smiling.

"We will see-mayhap thy friend, Henry Raynor, will bring thee."

"Is that the same Mr. Raynor that came here once-no, two times?" said Hulda.

Truly, love, I think there is but one Henry Raynor,” said his mother.

"O, then I should like to go, very much."

And, jumping down to ask her sister's leave, Hulda ran away up stairs.

"He hath taken a strange fancy to thy little pet," said the Quakeress, looking, however, rather towards Thornton.

"To Rosalie's pet, Mrs. Raynor-I am fonder of grown-up humanity.'

Thou hast never known what it was to lose such a little pure spirit from thy house," said the Quakeress, with a sigh, or thee would better appreciate it. But thou hast a large share, friend Thornton; and when 'the cup runneth over,' the drops are less precious.'

"I have not a drop too many," said Thornton, with an expression he was hardly conscious of. "You know it takes more to make some people happy than others, Mrs. Raynor.'

"I know there is but one thing which of itself bringeth happiness," she said; "perhaps without that thy remark may be just. But here cometh one whose happiness is of easy growth. And yet, Rosalie, she demurreth about leaving thee, even for one day."

There was certainly considerable doubt on Hulda's mind, except when she looked at Mrs. Raynor; but there she found something so attractive that she was allured on, and soon found herself doing anything else but fill a place in the carriage. Stowed away like a small parcel on the spacious seat, her little shoes in plain sight, with one hand stretched over Mrs. Raynor's soft dress and there held fast, Hulda watched through the front window the substantial back of Caleb Williams, and thought how very funny it was for a coachman to wear a grey coat. The carriage rolled smoothly on in the most regular and matter-of-fact way possible-as if Caleb and his horses had made an arrangement that they were not to

get home before a certain time, and therefore it was as well to take it easy.

Hulda remembered how Thornton's horses went now very fast and now slow, and then started off again at a most eccentric pace; but at this rate she could have slept all the way to Mrs. Raynor's with no disturbance. Arrived at the house another wonder awaited Hulda, for there was a footman all in grey too; and when she had followed Mrs. Raynor up stairs, and Rachel came at her mistress's call habited after the same sober fashion, Hulda began to feel as if all the world were turning mouse colour, and looked down at her crimson merino with feelings of amazement.

"Thee sees I have brought home little Hulda Clyde, Rachel,” said Mrs. Raynor. 'Will thee take off the child's bonnet and cloak, and see if perchance her feet be cold?"

"Yea verily," said Rachel, when she had brought her mistress another dress. Art thou cold, Hulda?"

O no," said Hulda, whose mind had got beyond the cold region and was in a great puzzle, for Rachel had not only Mrs. Raynor's stuff gown but also her cap! "I'm not cold at all.'

"Doth thy dress keep thee warm?" said Rachel, with a grave irony which Hulda did not understand.

Yes ma'am," she said, in a new difficulty from the similarity of neckerchiefs "I suppose so-my frock and my coat."

Rachel almost smiled at the grave little face-so sincere and so wide awake.

"Did thee ever see a fire-fly, child?" she inquired.

"No," said Hulda, "but Rosalie told me about them. They're such bright and beautiful things that go flying all about in the evening.'

Now thou art all ready," said Mrs. Raynor, approaching them, "and likewise I, and we will go down stairs."

"There waiteth a woman this long time," said Rachel, "and she will not tell her want save to thee. James Hoxton hath brought her to the kitchen."

I will straightway go and see her," said Mrs. Raynor, "And for thee, little Hulda, wilt thou sit by thyself in the library until I come? and Rachel shall bring thee the cat.'

It never would have occurred to Hulda that a tortoise-shell cat could come to keep her bright dress company; and therefore when a grave knight of Malta walked in, she felt that he was one of the family.

"Art thou afraid to stay here alone?" said Rachel, when she had watched the knight's reception.

Why what should I be afraid of?" said Hulda.

Truly little one, thee has reason," said the handmaid as she departed.

Hulda had sat some time upon the rug in front of the fire, and Maltese was quite expanding beneath her caresses; when somebody came in and took a chair behind her, and she was lifted up, cat and all, upon Mr. Raynor's lap. He was not in grey-Hulda saw that at a glance-but in a blue uniform with red facings, very much like her dress. She felt quite comforted. But when she got a fair view

« Προηγούμενη Συνέχεια »

Βιβλία