The Maidens' Lodge Part 40

"I wanted it to do her some good, Mrs Dolly. It seems hard to have the suffering, and not get the good."

"'Tis not easy for men to tell what does good, and when. We cannot as concerns ourselves; how then shall we judge for others?"

"I wonder what Rhoda will do now?" suggested Phoebe, after a minute's silence.

She looked up, and saw an expression, which was the mixture of pity and amus.e.m.e.nt, on Mrs Dorothy's lips. The amus.e.m.e.nt died away, but the pity remained and grew deeper.

"Can you guess, Mrs Dolly?"

"'Lord, and what shall this man do?' You know the answer, Phoebe."

"Yes, I know: but-- Mrs Dorothy, would you not like to know the future?"

"Certainly not, dear child. I am very thankful for the mist which my Father hath cast as a veil over my eyes."

"But if you could see what would come, is it not very likely that there would not be some things which you would be glad and relieved to find absent?"

"Very likely. The things of which we stand especially in fear often fail to come at all. But there would be other things, which I should be very sorry to find, and much astonished too."

"I wonder sometimes, what will be in my life," said Phoebe, dreamily.

"That which thou needest," was the quiet answer.

"What do I need?" asked Phoebe.

"To have thy will moulded after G.o.d's will."

"Do you think I don't wish G.o.d's will to be done, Mrs Dorothy?"

Mrs Dorothy smiled. "I quite believe, dear child, thou art willing He should have His way with respect to all the things thou dost not care about."

"Mrs Dorothy!"

"My dear, that is what most folks call being resigned to the will of G.o.d."

"Mrs Dolly, why do people always talk as though G.o.d's will must be something dreadful? If somebody die, or if some accident happen, they say, 'Ah, 'tis G.o.d's will, and we must submit.' But when something pleasant comes, they never say it then. Don't you think the pleasant things are G.o.d's will, as well as the disagreeable ones?"

"More so, Phoebe. 'In all our affliction, He is afflicted.' 'He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.' Pleasant things are what He loves to give us; bitter things, what He needs must."

"Then why do people talk so?" repeated Phoebe.

"Ah, why do they?" said Mrs Dorothy. "Man is always wronging G.o.d. Not one of us all is so cruelly misunderstood of his fellows as all of us misunderstand Him."

"Yet He forgives," said Phoebe softly: "and sometimes we don't."

"He is always forgiving, Phoebe. The inscription is graven not less over the throne in Heaven than over the cross on earth,--'This Man receiveth sinners.'"

There was a pause of some minutes; and as Phoebe rose to go, Mrs Dorothy said,--

"I will tell you one thing I have noted, child, as I have gone through life. Very often there has been something looming, as it were, before me that I had to do, or thought I should have to bear,--and in the distance and the darkness it took a dread shape, and I looked forward to it with terror. And when it has come at last, it has often--I say not always, but often--proved to be at times a light and easy cross, even at times an absolute pleasure. Again, there hath often been something in the future that I have looked forward to as a great good and delight, which on its coming hath turned out a positive pain and evil. 'Tis better we should not know the future, dear Phoebe. Our Father knows every step of the way: is not that enough? Our Elder Brother hath trodden every step, and will go with us through the wilderness. Perfect wisdom and perfect love have prepared all things. Ah, child, thy fathers were wise men to sing as they sang--

"'Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, Il est a desirer; Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, Car Dieu est mon Berger.'"

"But, Mrs Dolly-- I suppose it can't be so, yet--it does seem as if there were some things in life which the Lord Jesus did not go through."

"What things, my dear?"

"Well, we never read of His having any kind of sickness for one thing."

"Are you sure of that? 'Himself took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses,' looks very like the opposite. You and I have no idea, Phoebe, how He spent thirty out of thirty-three years of His mortal life. He may--mind, I don't say it was so, for I don't know--but He may have spent much of them in a sick chamber. He was 'in _all_ points tempted like as we are.' My father used to tell me that the word there rendered 'tempted' signifies not only temptations of Satan, but trials sent of G.o.d."

"But--He was never a woman, Mrs Dolly."

"And therefore cannot feel for a woman as though He had been,--is that thy meaning, dear? Nay, Phoebe, I believe He was the only creature that ever dwelt on earth in whom were the essential elements both of man and woman. He took His flesh of the woman only. The best part of each was in Him,--the strength and intelligence of the man, the love and tenderness of the woman. 'Tis modish to say women are tender, Phoebe; more modish than true. Many are soft, but few are tender. But He was tenderness itself."

"I don't think women always are tender," said Phoebe.

"My dear," said Mrs Dorothy, "you may laugh at me, but I am very much out of conceit with my own s.e.x. A good woman is a very precious thing, Phoebe; the rather since 'tis so rare. But an empty, foolish, frivolous woman is a sad, sad sight to see. Methinks I could scarce bear with such, but for four words that I see, as it were, graven on their brows,--'For whom Christ died.'"

"Very good!" said Mrs Latrobe. "I will not conceal from you, Phoebe, that I am extreme gratified with this decision of Lady Betty. I trust she will carry it out."

Phoebe felt a good deal surprised. Lady Betty had been the only inmate of the Lodge whose society her mother had apparently cared to cultivate, and yet she expressed herself much pleased to hear of her probable departure. She remembered, too, that Mrs Dorothy had expected Mrs Latrobe's a.s.sent. To herself it was a mystery.

Mrs Latrobe gave no explanation at the time. She went at once to another part of the subject, informing Phoebe that she had asked Betty and Molly Delawarr on a visit. Gatty had been invited also, but had declined to leave her mother in her present condition. Phoebe received this news with some trepidation. Had it been Betty alone, she would not have minded; for she thought her very good-natured, and could not understand Rhoda's expressed dislike to her. But Molly!--Phoebe tried to remember that Molly had done one kind action, and hoped she would be on her best behaviour at White-Ladies. Mrs Latrobe went on to say that she wished Phoebe to share her room with Betty, and would put Rhoda and Molly in another. But when Phoebe ventured to ask if Rhoda might not retain the room which she knew her to prefer, and Phoebe herself be the one to change, Mrs Latrobe refused to entertain the proposition.

"No, my dear, certainly not. You forget your station, Phoebe. You are the daughter of this house, not your cousin. You must not be thinking of how things were. They have changed. I could not think of allowing Rhoda to have the best chamber. Besides, she has got to come down, and she had best know it at once."

"What do you mean, Madam, if you please?"

"What do I mean? Why, surely you have some sense of what is proper.

You don't fancy she could continue to live here, do you? If she had married Mr Welles, I should have said nothing against her staying here till her marriage--of course, if it were a reasonable time; but now that is all over. She must go."

"Go!" gasped Phoebe. "Go whither, Madam?"

"I shall offer her the choice of two things, my clear. She can either go to service, in which case I will not refuse to take the trouble to look out a service for her--I am wishful to let her down gently, and be very good to her; or, if she prefer that, she may have my Lady Betty's house as soon as she is gone. Have you any idea which she will choose?"

"Service! The Maidens' Lodge! Rhoda!"

"My dear Phoebe, how very absurd you are. What do you mean by such foolish e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns? Rhoda will be uncommonly well off. You forget she has the interest of her money, and she has some good jewellery; she may make a decent match yet, if she is wise. But in the meantime, she must live somehow. Of course I could not keep her here--it would spoil your prospects, simpleton! She has a better figure than you, and she has more to say for herself. You must not expect any body to look at you while she is here."

"Oh, never mind that!" came from the depth of Phoebe's heart.

"But, my dear, I do mind it. I must mind it. You do not understand these things, Phoebe. Why, I do believe, with a very little encouragement--which I mean him to have--Mr Welles himself would offer for you."

"That is over, Madam."

"What is over? Phoebe! what do you mean? Has Mr Welles really spoken to you?"