Helen and Arthur Part 13

Helen looked up, and met the glance of the young doctor, riveted upon her with so much pity and earnestness, she looked down again with a blending of grat.i.tude and shame. She well knew that, notwithstanding her reason now taught her the folly and madness of her superst.i.tious terrors, the impressions of her early childhood were burnt into her memory and never could be entirely obliterated.

"I remember a story about a blind child, which I heard myself, when a little girl," said Miss Thusa, "and if I should live to the age of Methuselah, I never should forget it. I don't know why it stayed with me so long, for it has nothing terrific in it, but it comes to me many a time when I'm not thinking of it, like an old tune, heard long, long ago.

"Once there was a woman who had an only child, a daughter, whose name was Lily. The woman prayed at the birth of the child that it might be the most beautiful creature that ever the sun shone upon, and she prayed, too, that it might be good, but because she prayed for beauty before goodness, it was accounted to her as a sin. The child grew, and as long as it was a babe in the arms, they never knew that the eyes, which gave so much light to others, took none back again. The mother prayed again, that her child might see, no matter how ugly she might become, no matter how dull and dim her eyes, let them but have the gift of sight. But Lily walked in a cloud, from the cradle to the time when the love-locks began to curl round her forehead, and her cheeks would flush up when the young men told her she was beautiful. When it was sunlight, her mother watched her every step she took, for fear she would get into danger, but she never thought of watching her by night, for she said the _angels took care of her then_. Lily had a little bed of her own, right by the window, for she told her mother she loved to feel the moon s.h.i.+ning on her eye-lids, making a sort of faintish glimmer, as it were.

"One night she lay down in the moons.h.i.+ne, and fell asleep, and her mother looked upon her for a long time, thinking how beautiful she was, and what a pity the young men could not take her to be a wife, she had such a loving heart, and seemed made so much for love. At last she fell asleep herself, dreaming of Lily, and did not wake till past midnight.

Her first thought was of Lily, and she leaned on her elbow, and looked at the little bed, with its white counterpane, that glittered like snow in the moons.h.i.+ne. But Lily was not there, and the window was wide open.

The woman jumped up in fright, and ran to the window and looked out, but she could see nothing but the trees and the woods. I wouldn't have been in her place for the gold of Solomon, for she was all alone, and there was no one living within a mile of her house. It was a wild, lonesome place, on a hill-side, and you could hear the roaring of water, all down at the bottom of the hill. Even in the day-time it was mighty dangerous walking among the torrents, let alone the night.

"Well, the woman lifted up her voice, and wept for her blind child, but there was none but G.o.d to hear--and she went out into the night, calling after Lily every step she took, but her own voice came back to her, not Lily's. She went on and on, and when she got to a narrow path, leading along to a great waterfall, she stopped to lay her hand on her heart, to keep it from jumping out of her body. There was a tall, blasted pine, that had fallen over that waterfall, making a sort of slippery bridge to pa.s.s over. What should she see, right in the middle of the blasted pine tree, as it lay over the roaring stream, but Lily, all in white, walking as if she had a thousand pair of eyes, instead of none, or at least none that did her any good. The mother dared not say a word, any more than if she were dumb, so she stood like a dead woman, that is, as still, looking at her blind daughter, fluttering like a bird with white wings over the black abyss.

"But what was her astonishment to behold a figure approaching Lily, from the opposite side of the stream, all clothed in white, too, with long, fair hair, parted from its brow, and large s.h.i.+ning wings on its shoulders. The face was that of a beautiful youth, and he had eyes as soft and glorious as the moon itself, though they looked dark for all that.

"'I come, my beloved,' cried Lily, stretching out her arms over the water. 'I see thee--I know thee. There is no darkness now. Oh, how beautiful thou art! The beams of thy s.h.i.+ning wings touch my eyelids, and little silver arrows come darting in, on every side. Take me over this narrow bridge, lest my feet slide, and I fall into the roaring water.'

"'I cannot take thee over the bridge,' replied the youth, 'but when thou hast crossed it, I will bear thee on my wings to a land where there is no blindness or darkness, not even a shadow, beautiful as these shadows are, all round us now. Walk in faith, and look not below. Press on, and fear no evil.'

"'Oh! come back, my daughter!' shrieked the poor mother, rousing up from the trance of fear--'come back, my Lily, and leave me not alone. Come back, my poor blind child.'

"Lily turned back a moment, and looked at her mother, who could see her, just as plain as day. Such a look! It was just as if a film had fallen from off her eyes, and a soul had come into them. They were live eyes, and they had been cold and dead before. They smiled with her smiling lips. They had never smiled before, and the mother trembled at their strange intelligence. She dared not call her back any more, but knelt right down on the ground where she was, and held her breath, as one does when they think a spirit is pa.s.sing by.

"'I can't come back, mother,' said Lily, just as she reached the bank, where the angel was waiting for her, for it was n.o.body else but an angel, as one might know by its wings. 'You will come to me by-and-by--I can see you now, mother. There's no more night for me.'

"Then the angel covered her, as it were, with his wings--or rather, they seemed to have one pair of wings between them, and they began to rise above the earth, slow at first, and easy, just as you've seen the clouds roll up, after a shower. Then they went up faster and higher, till they didn't look bigger than two stars, s.h.i.+ning up overhead.

"The next day a traveler was pa.s.sing along the banks of the stream, below the great waterfall, and he found the body of the beautiful blind girl, lying among the water-lilies there. Her name was Lily, you know.

She looked as white and sweet as they did, and there never was such a smile seen, as there was upon her pale lips. He took her up, and curried her to the nearest house, which happened to be her own mother's. Then the mother knew that Lily had been drowned the night before, and that she had seen her going up to Heaven, with the twin angel, created for her and with her, at the beginning of creation. She felt happy, for she knew Lily was no longer blind."

If we could give an adequate idea of Miss Thusa's manner, so solemn and impressive, of the tones of her voice, monotonous and slightly nasal, yet full of intensity, and, above all, of the expression of her foreboding eye, while in the act of narration, it would be easy to account for the effect which she produced. Helen and Alice were bathed in tears before the conclusion, and a deepening seriousness rested on the countenances of all her auditors.

"You _will_ be sad and gloomy, Miss Thusa," cried Louis; "see what you have done; you should not have chosen such a subject."

"I don't think it is sad," exclaimed Alice, raising her head and shaking her ringlets over her eyes to veil her tears. "I did not weep for sorrow, but it is so touching. Oh! I could envy Lily, when the beautiful angel came and bore her away on his s.h.i.+ning wings."

"I think with Alice," said the young doctor, "that it is far from being a gloomy tale, and the impression it leaves is salutary. The young girl, walking by faith, over the narrow bridge that spans the abyss of death, the waiting angel, and upward flight, are glorious emblems of the spirit's transit and sublime ascent. We are all blind, and wander in darkness here, but when we look back, like Lily, on the confines of the spirit-land, we shall see with an unclouded vision."

Helen turned to him with a smile that was radiant, beaming through her tears. It seemed to her, at that moment, that all her vague terrors, all her misgivings for the future, her self-distrust and her disquietude melted away and vanished into air.

Miss Thusa, pleased with the comment of the young doctor, was trying to keep down a rising swell of pride, and look easy and unconcerned, when Louis, taking a newspaper from his pocket, began to unfold it.

"Here is a paper, Miss Thusa," said he, handing it to her as he spoke, "which I put aside on purpose for you. It contains an account of a celebrated murder, which occupies several columns. It is enough to make one's hair stand on end, 'like quills upon the fretted porcupine.' I am sure it will lift the paper crown from your head."

Miss Thusa took the paper graciously, though she called him a "saucy boy," and adjusting her spectacles on the lofty bridge of her nose, she held the paper at an immense distance, and began to read.

At first, they amused themselves observing the excited glance of Miss Thusa, moving rapidly from left to right, her head following it with a quick, jerking motion; but as the article was long, they lost sight of her, in the interest of conversation. All at once, she started up with a sudden exclamation, that galvanized Helen, and brought Louis to his feet.

"What does this mean?" she cried, pointing with her finger to a paragraph in the paper, written in conspicuous characters. "Read it, for I do believe that my gla.s.ses are deceiving me."

Louis read aloud, in a clear, emphatic voice, the following advertis.e.m.e.nt:

"If Lemuel Murrey, or his sister Arathusa, are still living, if he, or in case of his death, she will come immediately to the town of ----, and call at office No. 24, information will be given of great interest and importance. Country editors will please insert this paragraph, several times, and send us their account."

"Why, Miss Thusa," cried Louis, flouris.h.i.+ng the paper over his head, "somebody must have left you a fortune. Only hear--_of great importance_! Let me be the first to congratulate you," bowing almost to her feet.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Thusa, "I have not a relation, that I know of, this side of the Atlantic, and if I had, they would not be worth a cent in the world. It must be an imposition," and she looked sharply at Louis through her lowered gla.s.ses.

"Upon my honor, Miss Thusa, I know nothing about it," a.s.serted Louis. "I never saw it till you pointed it out to me. Whatever it means, it must be genuine. Do you not think so, father?"

"I see no room to imagine any thing like deception here," said Mr.

Gleason, after examining the paper. "I think you must obey the summons, Miss Thusa, and ascertain what blessings Providence may have in store for you."

"Well," said Miss Thusa, with decision, "I will go to-morrow. What time does the stage start?"

"Soon after sunrise," replied Mr. Gleason. "But you cannot undertake such a long journey alone. You have no experience in traveling in cars and steamboats, and, at your age, you will find it very fatiguing. We can accompany you as far as New York, but there we must part, for I am compelled to return without any delay. Louis, too, is obliged to resume his college studies. The young doctor cannot leave his patients. Suppose you invest some one with legal authority, Miss Thusa, to investigate the matter?"

"I shall go myself," was the unhesitating answer. "As for going alone, I would not thank the King of England, if there was one, for his company--though I am obliged to you for thinking of my comfort. I know I'm getting old, but I should like to see the man, woman or child in this town, or any other, that can bear more than I can. I always was independent, thank the Lord. After living without the help of man this long, I hope I can get along without it at the eleventh hour. As to its being a money concern, I don't believe a word of it, and I wouldn't walk across the room, if it just concerned myself alone; but when I see the name of my poor, dead brother, I feel a command on me, just as if I saw it printed on tablets of stone, by the finger of the Lord Himself."

The next morning the travelers were to commence their journey, with the unexpected addition of Miss Thusa's company part of the way. When her baggage was brought down, to the consternation of all she had her wheel, arrayed in a traveling costume of green baize, mounted on the top of her trunk, and no reasoning or persuasion could induce her to leave it behind.

"I'm not going to let the Goths and Vandals get possession of it," she said, "when I'm gone. I've locked it up every night since the ruin of my thread, and--"

"You can have it locked up while you are absent," interrupted Mrs.

Gleason. "I will promise you that no injury shall happen to it."

"Thank you," said Miss Thusa, nodding her head; "but where I go my wheel must go, too. What in the world shall I do, when I stop at night, without it? and in that idle place, the steamboat, I can spin a powerful quant.i.ty while the rest are doing nothing. It is neither big nor heavy, and it can go on the top of the stage very well, and be in n.o.body's way."

"You can sit there, Miss Thusa, and spin, while you are riding," cried Louis, laughing; "that will have a _powerful_ effect."

Helen and Alice felt very sad in parting from the friend and brother so much beloved, but they could not help smiling at Louis's suggestion. The young doctor, glad of an incident which cast a gleam of merriment on their tears, added another, which obviated every difficulty:

"Only imagine it a new fas.h.i.+oned harp or musical instrument, in its green cover, and it will give eclat to the whole party. I am sure it is a harp of industry, on which Miss Thusa has played many a pleasant tune."

The wheel certainly had a very distinguished appearance on the top of the stage, exciting universal curiosity and admiration. Children rushed to the door to look at it, as the wheels went flas.h.i.+ng and rolling by, while older heads were seen gazing from the windows, till the verdant wonder disappeared from their view.

CHAPTER VII.

"What a fair lady!--and beside her What a handsome, graceful, n.o.ble rider."--_Longfellow._

"Love was to her impa.s.sioned soul Not as with others a mere part Of its existence--but the whole, The very life-breath of his heart."--_Moore._

We would like to follow Miss Thusa and her wheel, and relate the manner in which she defended it from many a rude and insolent attack. The Israelites never guarded the Ark of the Covenant with more jealous care and undaunted courage.

But as we have commenced the history of our younger favorites in early childhood, and are following them up the steep of life, we find they have a long journey before them, and we are obliged here and there to make a long step, a bold leap, or the pilgrimage would be too long and weary.

We acknowledge a preference for Miss Thusa. She is a strong, original character, and the sunlight of imagination loves to rest upon its salient angles and projecting lines. When we commenced her sketch, our sole design was to describe her influence on the minds of others, and to make her a warning beacon to the mariners of life, that they might avoid the shoals on which the peace of so many morbidly sensitive minds have been wrecked. But we found a fascination in the subject which we could not resist. A heart naturally warm, defrauded of all natural objects on which to expend its living fervor, a mind naturally strong confined within close and narrow limits, an energy concentrated and unwasting, capable of carrying its possessor through every emergency and every trial--these characteristics of a lonely woman, however poor and unconnected she might be, have sometimes drawn us away from attractive themes.