Little Frida Part 12

"More things are wrought by prayer Than the world dreams of."

After Mrs. Willoughby's interview with Dr. Heinz of which we have written, her thoughts turned more than ever to the daughter she loved so well.

It seemed certain from what Dr. Heinz had said that there had been a child; and if so, even although, as she feared, her loved daughter were dead, the child might still be alive, and probably the father also. The difficulty now was to obtain the knowledge of their place of residence.

Mrs. Willoughby quite believed that if any news could be obtained of either mother or child, Mr. Willoughby's heart was so much softened that he would forgive and receive them thankfully. Once more advertis.e.m.e.nts were inserted in various papers, and letters written to friends abroad, imploring them to make every inquiry in their power.

More than once Dr. Heinz called to see his new-made friend; but as Mr.

Willoughby had returned to Harcourt Manor, whither his wife was soon to follow him, he never met him; and as Dr. Heinz was leaving town to take a much-needed holiday in the west Highlands of Scotland, nothing more could be done for the present to obtain information regarding the lost ones. It thus happened that although Dr. Heinz was a frequent visitor at Miss Warden's, he never met Miss Drechsler; but he heard from Gertie that she had not been able to bring the young girl violinist with her.

It was to Mrs. Willoughby that Mrs. Gower went for sympathy and consolation at the time of her son's departure. Mrs. Willoughby heard of his sudden departure with surprise and deep sorrow for her friend's sake.

"Reginald gone off again so soon!" she said. "Oh, I am sorry for you, dear friend! And does he speak of remaining long away? Making his own living, you say? Has he not enough to live comfortably on in the meantime? And then, you know," and her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, "his future prospects are very good, unless--"

But here Mrs. Gower interrupted her. "Dear friend, from my heart I can say, if only dear Hilda or any child of hers could be restored to you, there is no one would more truly rejoice than I would; and I believe Reginald would do so also." But even as she said these words a pang of fear crossed her mind as to Reginald's feeling on the subject; but the mother's belief in her child refused to see any evil in him, and she added, "I am sure he would. But in any case the day of his succession as heir-at-law to Harcourt Manor is, we trust, far off, and so perhaps it is best for him that he should make his way in life for himself. I have been able now to trust him in G.o.d's hands, who doeth all things well."

From that visit Mrs. Gower returned to her home comforted and strengthened. Alone she might be, yet, like her Saviour, "not alone, for the Father was with her." And ere many days had elapsed she was able to busy herself in making preparations for her return to her pleasant country home, which she had only left at Reginald's special request that for once they might spend the season together in London.

One thing only she regretted--that she would be for some weeks separated from her friend Mrs. Willoughby, who was not to return to Harcourt Manor for some weeks.

Ah! truly has it been said, "Man proposes, but G.o.d disposes." The very day that Mrs. Gower started for her home, Mrs. Willoughby received a telegram telling her that Mr. Willoughby was very ill at the Manor, and that the doctor begged she would come at once; and so it turned out that, unknown to each other, the friends were again near neighbours, and Mrs. Willoughby in her turn was to receive help and comfort from her friend Mrs. Gower.

Long hours of suspense and anxiety followed the gentle lady's arrival at her country home. It soon became evident that Mr. Willoughby's hours were numbered, but his intellect remained clear. His eyes often rested with great sadness on his wife, and as he thought of leaving her alone and desolate, his prayer was that he might hear something definite regarding the child ere he died. Could he but have obtained that boon, he would have felt that that knowledge had been granted to him as a pledge of G.o.d's forgiveness.

Not always does our all-wise G.o.d grant us signs even as an answer to our prayers. Still, He is a G.o.d who not only forgives as a king, royally, but also blesses us richly and fully to show the greatness of His forgiving power. And such a G.o.d He was to prove Himself in the case of Mr. Willoughby.

Whilst he lay on that bed of death, watched over and tended by loving friends, Reginald Gower was tossing on a stormy sea, a fair emblem of the conflict between good and evil, right and wrong, that was still raging within his breast. But that night, when the waves of the Atlantic were wellnigh overwhelming the vessel in which he sailed, when fear dwelt in every heart, when the captain trod the deck with an anxious gravity on his face, light broke on Reginald's heart. So his mother's prayers were answered at last. The Holy Spirit worked on his heart, and showed him as it were in a moment of time his selfishness and his sin; and from the lips of the self-indulgent young man arose the cry never uttered in vain, "G.o.d be merciful to me a sinner." And when the morning light dawned, and it was seen they were nearing in safety the harbour whither they were bound, Reginald Gower looked out on the sea, which was fast quieting down, and gave thanks that the conflict in his soul was ended, and that clear above the noise of the waters he heard the voice of Him who, while He tarried here below, had said, "Peace, be still,"

to the raging billows, say these same words to his soul.

"Safe in port," rang out the captain's voice; and "Safe in port, through the merits of my Saviour," echoed through the soul of the young man.

"Now," he said to himself, "let house, lands, and fortune go. I will do the just, right thing, which long ago I should have done--write to Mrs.

Willoughby, and tell all I know about the child found in the Black Forest."

At that resolution methinks a song of rejoicing was heard in heaven, sung by angel voices as they proclaimed the glad news that once more good had overcome evil--that the power of Christ had again conquered the power of darkness--that in another heart the Saviour of the world had seen of the travail of His soul and was satisfied.

In the meantime, the events we have written of were transpiring in Harcourt Manor. Mr. Willoughby still lay on a bed of sickness, from which the doctor said he would never rise, although a slight rally made it possible that life might yet be spared for a few days or even weeks.

He was wonderfully patient, grieving only for the sorrow experienced by his wife, and the sad thought that his own unforgiving spirit was in great part the reason why now she would be left desolate without a child to comfort her.

Daily Mrs. Gower visited her friend, and often watched with her by the bed of death.

Dr. Heinz, at Mrs. Willoughby's request, came to see Mr. Willoughby, and obtained from his lips a message of full forgiveness if either his daughter, her husband, or any child should be found after his death; and together they prayed that if it were G.o.d's will something might be heard of the lost ones ere Mr. Willoughby entered into rest. "'Nevertheless,'"

added the dying man, "'not my will but thine be done.'"

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DISCOVERY.

"All was ended now--the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow."

One day shortly after Dr. Heinz's visit, Mrs. Gower came to Harcourt Manor accompanied by Miss Drechsler, who had arrived from London the night before to remain with her for a couple of days.

"You will not likely see Mrs. Willoughby," she said as they neared the manor-house, "as she seldom leaves her husband's room; but if you do not object to waiting a few minutes in the drawing-room whilst I go to see her, I would be so much obliged to you, as I am desirous of knowing how Mr. Willoughby is to-day. He seemed so low when I last saw him."

"Oh, certainly," answered Miss Drechsler. "Don't trouble about me; I can easily wait. And don't hurry, please; I am sure to get some book to while away the time."

They parted in the hall, Mrs. Gower turning off to the sick-room, while Miss Drechsler was ushered by the butler into the drawing-room. The room was a very fine one, large and lofty. It had been little used for some weeks, and the venetian blinds were down, obscuring the light and shutting out the summer suns.h.i.+ne.

At first Miss Drechsler could hardly distinguish anything in the room, coming into it as she did from a blaze of light; but as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she made out first one object and then another clearly, and rising from the place where she had been seated, she began to look around her, turning to the pictures, which she had heard were considered very fine. She looked attentively at some of them. Then her eyes rested on a full-sized portrait of a beautiful girl, and with a start of astonishment Miss Drechsler uttered the word, "Frida! and with her curious necklace on, too. What does it mean?" she queried.

In a moment the whole truth flashed on her mind. That, she felt sure, must be a picture of Frida's mother, and she must have been the missing child of Harcourt Manor.

She sat down a moment, feeling almost stunned by the discovery she had made. What a secret she had to disclose! Oh, if Mrs. Gower would only come back quickly, that she might share it with her! Oh, if Frida had only been with her, and she could have presented her to her grandparents as the child of their lost daughter!

At last the door opened, and her friend appeared, but much agitated.

"Excuse me, dear Miss Drechsler, for having kept you so long waiting; but I found Mr. Willoughby much worse, and I must ask you kindly to allow me to remain here for a short time longer. Perhaps you would like to take a stroll about the beautiful grounds, and--"

But Miss Drechsler could no longer keep silence. "O dear friend, do not distress yourself about me! Listen to me for a moment. I have made such a discovery. I know all about Mrs. Willoughby's daughter; but, alas, she is dead! She died some years ago; but her only child, the very image of that picture on the wall yonder, is living, and is now residing within a few hours of London. She is my _protege_, my dearly-loved young violinist, Frida Heinz, the child I have told you of found in the Black Forest!"

"Is it possible?" replied Mrs. Gower. "What a discovery you have made!

thank G.o.d for it. Can she be got at once, I wonder, ere the spirit of her grandfather pa.s.ses away? Oh, this is indeed an answer to prayer! The cry of the poor man's heart for days has been, 'Oh, if G.o.d has indeed forgiven me, as I fully believe He has, I pray He may allow me to know ere I go hence if my child, or any child of hers, is alive to come and comfort my dear wife in the sorrow that is awaiting her!'"

"A telegram must be sent at once to Stanford Hall, where she is now living," said Miss Drechsler; "and another to Miss Warden, asking her to send off Frida, after she arrives at her house, at once to Harcourt Manor."

And without loss of time the telegram was dispatched which summoned Frida to London, and from thence to the manor-house.

The first sense of surprise having pa.s.sed, Mrs. Gower's thoughts involuntarily turned to Reginald. How would he like this discovery? But again the mother's partiality, which already had too often blinded her to his faults, suggested the impossibility that he would receive the news with aught but pleasure, though there might be a momentary feeling of disappointment as regarded his future prospects. But now she must return to the sick-room, and try to see her friend for a minute or two alone, and tell her the glad tidings; also, if possible, let her hear the particulars of the story from the lips of Miss Drechsler herself.

It was no easy matter now, under any pretence, to get Mrs. Willoughby to leave her husband's side even for a moment. The doctors had just told her that at most her husband had not more than two days to live, perhaps not so long, and every moment was precious; but Mrs. Grower's words, spoken with calm deliberation, "Dear friend, you must see me in another room for a few minutes about a matter of vital importance," had their effect. And she rose, and after leaving a few orders with the nurse, and telling her husband she would return immediately, she quietly followed Mrs. Gower into another room.

She listened as if in a dream to the story which Miss Drechsler told.

Incident after incident proved that the child found in the Forest was indeed her grand-daughter; and as she heard that her own child, her loved Hilda, was indeed dead, the mother's tears fell fast.

The necklace which Frida still possessed, the same as that worn by the girl in the picture, the small portrait which had been found in her bag the night that Wilhelm Horstel had discovered her in the Black Forest, all confirmed the idea that she was indeed the grandchild of the Manor; but it was not until Mrs. Willoughby heard the story of the "brown German Bible" that she sobbed out the words, "Oh, thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, she is the child of my darling Hilda. Now, dear friend, this discovery must be communicated by me to my husband, and he will know that his last prayer for me has been granted."

Mr. Willoughby was quite conscious, and evidently understood the fact that at last a child of his daughter's had been found. As regarded the death of the mother, he merely whispered the words, "I shall see her soon;" then said, "I thank thee, O my Father, that Thou hast answered prayer, and that now my sweet wife will not be left alone.--Give my fond love to the girl, wife, for I feel my eyes shall not see her. That is my punishment for so long cheris.h.i.+ng an unforgiving spirit."

And if G.o.d could act as a man, such might have been the case; but our G.o.d is fully and for ever a promise-keeping G.o.d, and He has declared, "If any man confess his sins, He is faithful and just to forgive him, and to cleanse him from all iniquity." And so it came to pa.s.s that ere the spirit of Mr. Willoughby pa.s.sed away, he had pressed more than one kiss on the lips of his grandchild, and whispered the words, "Full forgiveness through Christ--what a G.o.d we have! Comfort your grandmother, my child, and keep near to Jesus in your life. G.o.d bless the kind friends who have protected and loved you when you were homeless.--And now, Lord, let Thy servant depart in peace.--Farewell, loved and faithful wife, who, by the reading to me G.o.d's word of life, hast led my soul to Christ." One deep-drawn breath, and his spirit fled, and his wife and grandchild were left alone to comfort each other.