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Elsie's Widowhood

<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> <div class="block26"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "All love is sweet, Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever." —Shelley. </div> </div></div> "Come in, Vi, darling," said Mrs. Travilla's sweet voice, "we will be glad to have you with us." Violet, finding the door of her mother's dressing-room ajar, had stepped in, then drawn hastily back, fearing to intrude upon what seemed a private interview between her and her namesake daughter; Elsie being seated on a cushion at her mamma's feet, her face half hidden on her lap, while mamma's soft white hand gently caressed her hair and cheek. "I feared my presence might not be quite desirable just now, mamma," Violet said gayly, coming forward as she spoke. "But what is the matter?" she asked in alarm, perceiving that tears were trembling in the soft brown eyes that were lifted to hers. "Dear mamma, are you ill? or is Elsie? is anything wrong with her?" [8] "She shall answer for herself," the mother said with a sort of tremulous gayety of tone and manner. "Come, bonny lassie, lift your head and tell your sister of the calamity that has befallen you." There was a whispered word or two of reply, and Elsie rose hastily and glided from the room. "Mamma, is she sick?" asked Violet, surprised and troubled. "No, dear child. It is—the old story:" and the mother sighed involuntarily. "We cannot keep her always; some one wants to take her from us." "Some one! oh who, mamma? who would dare? But you and papa will never allow it?" "Ah, my child, we cannot refuse; and I understand now, as I never did before, why my father looked so sad when yours asked him for his daughter." Light flashed upon Violet. "Ah mamma, is that it? and who—but I think I know. It is Lester Leland, is it not?" Her mother's smile told her that her conjecture was correct. Violet sighed as she took the seat just vacated by her sister, folded her arms on her mother's lap, and looked up with loving eyes into her face. "Dear mamma, I am so sorry for you! for[9] papa too, and for myself. What shall I do without my sister? How can you and papa do without her? How can she? I'm sure no one in the world can ever be so dear to me as my own precious father and mother. And I wish—I wish Lester Leland had never seen her." "No, darling, we should not wish that. These things must be; God in his infinite wisdom and goodness has so ordered it. I am sad at the thought of parting with my dear child, yet how could I be so selfish as to wish her to miss the great happiness that I have found in the love of husband and children?" Violet answered with a doubtful "Yes, mamma, but—" "Well, dear?" her mother asked with a smile, after waiting in vain for the conclusion of the sentence. "I am sure there is not another man in all the world like papa; not one half so dear and good and kind and lovable." "Ah, you may change your mind about that some day. It is precisely what I used to think and say of my dear father, before I quite learned the worth of yours." "Ah, yes, I forgot grandpa! he is—almost as nice and dear as papa. But <ins title="Original has here">there</ins> can't be another one, I'm very, <ins title="Original has evry">very</ins> sure of that. Lester Leland is not half so nice. Oh I don't see how Elsie can!" [10] "How Elsie can what?" asked her father, coming in at that moment, and regarding her with a half quizzical look and smile. "Leave you and mamma for somebody else, you dear, dear, dearest father!" returned Vi, springing up and running to him to put her arms about his neck and half smother him with kisses. "Then we may hope to keep you for a good while yet?" he said interrogatively, holding her close and returning her caresses in most tender fatherly fashion, the mother watching them with beaming eyes. "Yes, indeed; till you grow quite, quite tired of me, papa." "And that will never be, my pet. Ah, little wife, how rich we are in our children! Yet not rich enough to part with one without a pang of regret. But we will not trouble about that yet, since the evil day is not very near." "Oh isn't it?" cried Violet joyously. "No; Lester goes to Italy in a few weeks, and it will be one, two, or maybe three years before he returns to claim his bride." "Ah, then it is not time to begin to fret about it yet!" cried Vi, gleefully, smiles chasing away the clouds from her brow. At her age a year seems a long while in anticipation. "No, daughter, nor ever will be," her father[11] responded with gentle gravity. "I hope my little girl will never allow herself to indulge in so <ins title="Original has useful">useless</ins> and sinful a thing as fretting over either what can or what cannot be helped." "Ah, you don't mean to let me fret at all, I see, you dear, wise old papa," she returned with a merry laugh. "Now I must find Elsie and pass the lesson over to her. For I shrewdly suspect she's fretting over Lester's expected departure." "Away with you then!" was the laughing rejoinder, and she went dancing and singing from the room. "The dear, merry, light-hearted child," her father said, looking after her. "Would that I could keep her always thus." "Would you if you could, my husband?" Mrs. Travilla asked with a tender smile, a look of loving reverence, as he sat down by her side. "No, sweet wife, I would not," he answered emphatically; "for, as Rutherford says, 'grace groweth best in winter;' and the Master says, 'As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.'" "Yes; and 'we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.' Ah, we could never choose for our precious children exemption from such trials and afflictions as He may see necessary to fit them for an eternity of joy and bliss at His right hand!" [12] "No; nor for ourselves, nor for each other, my darling. But how well it is that the choice is not for us! How could I ever choose a single pang for you, beloved? vein of my heart, my life, my light, my joy!" "Or I for you, my dear, dear husband!" she whispered, as he drew her head to a resting place upon his breast and pressed a long kiss of ardent affection on her pure white brow. "Ah, Edward, I sometimes fear that I lean on you too much, love you too dearly! What could I ever do without you—husband, friend, counsellor, guide—everything in one?" Violet went very softly into her sister's dressing-room and stood for several minutes watching her with a mixture of curiosity, interest and amusement, before Elsie became aware of her presence. She sat with her elbow on the window seat, her cheek in her hand, eyes fixed on some distant point in the landscape, but evidently with thoughts intent upon something quite foreign to it; for the color came and went on the soft cheeks with every breath, and conscious smiles played about the full red lips. At last turning her head and catching her young sister's eye, she crimsoned to the very forehead. "O Elsie, don't mind me!" Violet said, springing to her side and putting her arms[13] around her. "Are you so very happy? You look so, and I am glad for you; but—but I can't understand it." "What, Vi?" Elsie asked, half hiding her blushing face on her sister's shoulder. "How you can love anybody better than our own dear, darling, precious papa and mamma." "Yes, I—I don't wonder, Vi," blushing more deeply than before, "but they are not angry—dear, dear mamma and papa—it seems to me I never loved them half so dearly before—and they say it is quite natural and right." "Then it must be, of course; but—I wish it was somebody else's sister and not mine. I can't feel as if a stranger has as much right to my own sister as I have; and I don't know how to do without you. O Elsie, can't you be content to live on always in just the way we have ever since we were little bits of things?" Elsie answered with an ardent embrace and a murmured "Darling Vi, don't be vexed with me. I'm sure you wouldn't if you knew how dearly, dearly I love you." "Well, I do suppose you can't help it!" sighed Violet, returning the embrace. "Can't help loving you? No, indeed; who could?" Elsie returned laughingly. "You wouldn't wish it, surely? You value my affection?" "Oh you dear old goose!" laughed Violet;[14] "but that was a wilful misunderstanding. None so stupid as those that won't comprehend. Now I'll run away and leave you to your pleasant thoughts. May I tell Molly?" "Yes," Elsie answered with some hesitation, "she'll have to know soon. Mamma thinks it should not be kept secret, though it must be so long before—" "Ah, that reminds me that I was to pass over to you the lesson papa just gave me—that fretting is never wise or right. I leave you to make the application," and she ran gayly away. So joyous of heart, so full of youthful life and animation was she that she seldom moved with sedateness and sobriety in the privacy of home, but went tripping and dancing from room to room, often filling the house with birdlike warblings or silvery laughter. Molly Percival sat in her own cheery, pleasant room, pen in hand and surrounded by books and papers over which she seemed very intent, though now and then she lifted her head and sent a sweeping glance through the open window, drinking in with delight the beauties of a panorama of hill and dale, sparkling river, cultivated field and wild woodland, to which the shifting lights and shadows, as now and again a fleecy, wind-swept cloud partially obscured the brightness of the sun, lent the charm of endless variety. [15] Molly's face was bright with intelligence and good humor. She enjoyed her work and her increasing success. And she had still another happiness in the change that had come over her mother. Still feeble in intellect, Enna Johnson had become as remarkable for gentleness and docility as she had formerly been for pride, arrogance and self-will. She had grown very fond of Molly, too, very proud of her attainments and her growing fame, and asked no greater privilege than to sit in the room with her, watching her at her work, and ever ready to wait upon and do her errands. And so she, too, had her home at Ion, made always welcome by its large-hearted, generous master and <ins title="Original has mistresss">mistress</ins>. "Busy, as usual, I see," remarked Violet, as she came tripping in. "Molly, you are the veriest bee, and richly deserve to have your hive full of the finest honey. I'm the bearer of a bit of news very interesting to Elsie and me, in fact I suppose I might say to all the family. Have you time to hear it?" "Yes, indeed, and to thank you for your kindness in bringing it," Molly answered, laying down her pen and leaning back in a restful attitude. "But sit down first, won't you?" "Thank you, no; it's time to dress for dinner. I must just state the fact and run away,"[16] said Violet, pulling out a tiny gold watch set with brilliants. "It is that Elsie and Lester Leland are engaged." "And your father and mother approve?" asked Molly in some surprise. "Yes, of course; Elsie would never think of engaging herself to anybody without their approval. But why should they be expected to object?" "I don't know, only—he's poor, and most wealthy people would consider that a very great objection." Violet laughed lightly. "What an odd idea! If there is wealth on one side, there's the less need of it on the other, I should think. And he is intelligent, sensible, talented, amiable and good; rather handsome too." "And so you are pleased, Vi?" "Yes, no, I don't know," and the bright face clouded slightly. "I wish—but if people must marry, he'll do as well as another to rob me of my sister, I suppose." She tripped away, and Molly, dropping her head upon her folded arms on the table, sighed profoundly. Some one touched her on the shoulder, and her mother's voice asked, "What's the matter, Molly? You don't envy her that poor artist fellow, do you? You needn't: there'll be a better one coming along for you one of these days." [17] "No, no; not for me! not for me!" gasped the girl. "I've nothing to do with love or marriage, except to picture them for others. It's like mixing delicious draughts for other lips, while I—I may not taste them—may not have a single drop to cool my parched tongue, or quench my burning thirst." At the moment life seemed to stretch out before her as a dreary waste, unbrightened by a single flower—a long, toilsome road to be trod in loneliness and pain. Her heart uttered the old plaint: "They seem to have everything and I nothing." Then her cheek burned with shame, and penitent tears filled her eyes, as better thoughts came crowding into her mind. Had she not a better than an earthly love to cheer, comfort, and sustain her on her way?—a love that would never fail, a Friend who would never leave nor forsake her; whose sympathy was perfect; who was always touched with the feeling of her infirmities, and into whose ear she could ever whisper her every sorrow, perplexity, anxiety, certain of help; for His love and power were infinite. And the minor blessings of her lot were innumerable: the love of kindred and friends, and the ability to do good and give pleasure by the exercise of her God-given talents, not the least. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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