Elsie's Widowhood Part 21

"Then why should you think so?"

"Because I find so much of evil in myself. If you knew the rebellious thoughts and feelings I have had this very day you would not think me a Christian. I have hated myself because of them."

"You have struggled to cast them out, you have not encouraged or loved them. Is that what they do who have no love to Christ? no desire after conformity to his will? It is the child of G.o.d who hates sin and struggles against it. But it is not necessary to decide whether you have or have not been mistaken in your past experience, since you may come to Jesus now just as if you had never come before: give yourself to him and accept his offered salvation without stopping to ask whether it is for the first or the ten thousandth time. Oh that is always my comfort when a.s.sailed by doubts and fears! 'Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.' Jesus says, to-day and every day, 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.'"

Glad tears glistened in Molly's eyes. "And he will pardon my iniquity though it is so great," she murmured, with trembling lip and half averted face: "he will forgive all my transgressions and my sins, cleanse me from them and love me freely."

"Yes, dear child, he will. And now put away your work for the rest of this day and come out into the pure, sweet air. If we weary our poor, weak bodies too much, Satan is but too ready to take advantage of our physical condition to a.s.sault us with temptations, doubts and fears."

"I will do as you think best, cousin," was the submissive reply.

Elsie at once summoned a servant, and in a few moments Molly's chair was rolling along the gravelled walks, underneath the grand old trees, a gentle breeze from the lakelet, laden with the scent of magnolias and orange blossoms, gathered in its pa.s.sage across the lawn, softly fanning her cheek, her cousin walking by her side and entertaining her with pleasant chat.

Rosie and Walter came running to meet them. They were glad to see Molly out: they filled her lap with flowers and her ears with their sweet innocent prattle, her heart growing lighter as she listened and drank in beside all the sweet sights and scents and sounds of nature in her most bountiful mood.

They made a partial circuit of the grounds that at last brought them to the croquet players, who, one and all, greeted Molly's arrival with expressions of satisfaction or delight.

Each brought an offering of bud or blossom, the loveliest and sweetest of flowers were scattered so profusely on every hand.

Mr. Embury's was a half blown rose, and Elsie, furtively watching her charge, noted the quick blush with which it was received, the care with which it was stealthily treasured afterward.

A suspicion stirred in her breast, a fear that made her heart tremble and ache for the poor girl.

Mr. Embury spent the evening at Viamede. Molly was in the parlor with the rest, and the greater part of the time he was close at her side.

Both talked more than usual, often addressing each other, and seemed to outdo themselves in sparkling wit and brilliant repartee.

Molly's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone: she had never been so handsome or fascinating before, and Mr. Embury hung upon her words.

Elsie's heart sank as she saw it all. "My poor child!" she sighed to herself. "I must warn him that her affections are not to be trifled with. He may think her sad affliction is her s.h.i.+eld--raising a barrier that she herself must know to be impa.s.sable--but when was heart controlled by reason?"

The next morning Enna, putting her head in at the door of the dressing-room where her niece was busy with her little ones, said: "Elsie, I wish you'd come and speak a word to Molly. She'll hear reason from you, maybe, though she thinks I haven't sense enough to give her any advice."

"What is it?" Elsie asked, obeying the summons at once, leaving Rosie and Walter in Aunt Chloe's charge.

"Just come to her room, won't you?" Enna said, leading the way. "I don't see what possesses the child to act so. He's handsome and rich and everything a reasonable woman could ask. I want you to--But there! he's gone, and it's too late!"

Elsie following her glance through a window they were pa.s.sing, saw Mr.

Embury's carriage driving away.

"Did he ask Molly to go with him?" she inquired.

"Yes, and she wouldn't do it; though I did all I could to make her. Come and speak to her though, so she'll know better next time."

Molly sat in an att.i.tude of dejection, her face hidden in her hands, and did not seem conscious of their entrance until Elsie's hand was softly laid on her shoulder, while the pitying voice asked, "What is the matter, Molly dear?"

Then the bowed head was lifted, and Elsie saw that her eyes were full of tears, her cheeks wet with them.

"Oh, Cousin Elsie," she sobbed, "don't ask me to go with him. I must not. I must try to keep away from him. Oh, why did we ever meet? Shall I ever be rid of this weary pain in my heart?"

"Yes, dear child, it will pa.s.s away in time," her cousin whispered, putting kind arms about her. "He must stay away, and you will learn to be happy again in your work, and, better still, in the one love that can never fail you in this world or the next."

"He is a good man, don't blame him," murmured the poor girl, hiding her blus.h.i.+ng face on her cousin's shoulder.

"I will try not; but such selfish thoughtlessness is almost unpardonable. He must not come here any more."

"No, no: don't tell him that! don't let him suspect that I--care whether he does or not. And he enjoys it so much, he is so lonely in his own house."

"Do not fear that I will betray you, poor, dear, unselfish child," Elsie said; "but I must protect you somehow. And, Molly dear, though I believe married life is the happiest, where there is deep, true love, founded on respect and perfect confidence, I am quite sure that it is possible for a woman to be very happy though she live single all her days. There is my dear old Aunt Wealthy, for example; she must be now nearly ninety. I have known her for more than twenty years, and always as one of the cheeriest and happiest people I ever saw."

"Did she ever meet any one she cared for?" Molly asked, still hiding her face.

"Yes: she had a sore disappointment in her young days, as she told me herself; but the wound healed in time."

Enna had seated herself in a low rocking-chair by a window, and with hands folded in her lap was keenly eying her daughter and niece.

"What are you two saying to each other?" she demanded. "You talk so low I can only catch a word now and then; but I don't believe, Elsie, that you are coaxing Molly to behave as I want her to."

"Poor mother!" sighed Molly; "she can't understand it."

CHAPTER XV.

"Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence."

--_Byron._

Finding her own thoughts full of Molly and her troubles to the exclusion of everything else, Elsie presently dismissed her little ones to their play, spent a few moments in consulting her best Friend, then went in search of her father.

She would not betray Molly even to him, but it would be safe, helpful, comforting to confide her own doubts, fears and anxieties.

She found him in the library, and alone. He was standing before a window with his back toward her as she entered, and did not seem to hear her light footsteps till she was close at his side; then turning hastily, he caught her in his arms, strained her to his breast, and kissed her again and again with pa.s.sionate fondness.

"What is it, papa?" she asked in surprise, looking up into his face and seeing it full of emotion that seemed a strange blending of pain and pleasure.

"My darling, my darling!" he said in low, tremulous tones, holding her close, and repeating his caresses, "how shall I ever make up to you for the sorrows of your infancy? the culpable, heartless neglect with which your father treated you then? I see I surprise you by referring to it now, but I have been talking with one of the old servants who retains a vivid remembrance of your babyhood here, and your heart-rending grief when forced away from your home and almost all you had learned to love.

Such a picture of it has she given me that I fairly long to go back to that time and take my baby girl to my heart and comfort her."

"Dear papa, I hardly remember it now," she said, laying her head down on his breast; "and oh I have the sweetest memories of years and years of the tenderest fatherly love and care!--love and care that surround me still and form one of my best and dearest earthly blessings. If the Lord will, may we long be spared to each other, my dear, dear father!"

His response was a fervent "Amen," and sitting down upon a sofa, he drew her to a seat by his side.

"I have come to you for help and advice in a new difficulty, papa," she said. "I fear I have made a sad mistake in allowing Mr. Embury's visits here; and yet--I cannot exclude from my house gentlemen visitors of unexceptionable character."

"No; and he appears to be all that, and more--a sincere, earnest Christian. But what is it that you regret or fear? Elsie is engaged, Violet very young, and for Isa--supposing there were any such prospect--it would be a most suitable match."