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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dawn, by Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+
+Title: Dawn
+
+Author: Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
+Release Date: December, 2003  [EBook #4794]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on March 22, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, DAWN ***
+
+
+
+
+Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)
+
+
+
+DAWN.
+
+BOSTON:
+LONDON:
+
+1868.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DAWN.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+
+
+
+They sat together in the twilight conversing. Three years, with
+their alternations of joy and grief had swept over their married
+life, bringing their hearts into closer alliance, as each new
+emotion thrilled and upheaved the buried life within.
+
+That night their souls seemed attuned to a richer melody than ever
+before; and as the twilight deepened, and one by one the stars
+appeared, the blessed baptism of a heavenly calm descended and
+rested upon their spirits.
+
+"Then you think there are but very few harmonious marriages, Hugh?"
+
+"My deep experience with human nature, and close observations of
+life, have led me to that conclusion. Our own, and a few happy
+exceptions beside, are but feeble offsets to the countless cases of
+unhappy unions."
+
+"Unhappy; why?" he continued, talking more to himself than to the
+fair woman at his side; "people are only married fractionally, as a
+great thinker has written; and knowing so little of themselves, how
+can they know each other? The greatest strangers to each other whom
+I have ever met, have been parties bound together by the marriage
+laws!"
+
+"But you would not sunder so holy a bond as that of marriage, Hugh?"
+
+"I could not, and would not if I could. Whatever assimilates,
+whether of mind or matter, can not be sundered. I would only destroy
+false conditions, and build up in their places those of peace and
+harmony. While I fully appreciate the marriage covenant, I sorrow
+over the imperfect manhood which desecrates it. I question again and
+again, why persons so dissimilar in tastes and habits, are brought
+together; and then the question is partly, if not fully answered, by
+the great truth of God's economy, which brings the lesser unto the
+greater to receive, darkness unto light, that all may grow together.
+I almost know by seeing one party, what the other is. Thus are the
+weak and strong--not strength and might--coupled. Marriage should be a
+help, and not a hindrance. In the present state of society, we are
+too restricted to know what marriage is. Either one, or both of
+those united, are selfish and narrow, allowing no conditions in
+which each may grow."
+
+"Do I limit you, Hugh?"
+
+"No, dearest, no; I never meant it should be so, either. When I gave
+you my love, I did not surrender my individual life and right of
+action. All of my being which you can appropriate to yourself is
+yours; you can take no more. What I take from you, is your love and
+sympathy. I cannot exhaust or receive you wholly."
+
+"But I give you all of myself."
+
+"Yet I can only take what I can absorb or receive into my being. The
+qualities of a human soul are too mighty to be absorbed by any one."
+
+"What matters it if I am content in your love that I wish for none
+other?"
+
+"I have often feared, dear Alice, that your individual life was lost
+in your love for me."
+
+"What matters it, if you give me yourself in return?"
+
+"It matters much. If we are not strong for ourselves, we are not
+strength to each other. If we have no reserve force, we shall in
+time consume each other's life. We can never be wholly another's."
+
+"Am I not wholly yours, dear Hugh?" she said, raising her eyes
+tenderly to his, in that summer twilight.
+
+"Not all mine, but all that I can receive."
+
+"It may be true, but it seems cold to me," she replied, a little
+sadly.
+
+"Too much philosophy and not enough love for your tender woman
+nature, is it not, darling?"
+
+"I think you have explained it. I feel as though you were drifting
+away from me, Hugh, when you talk as you do to-night. Although I
+dearly love progress and enlarged views of life, I do not like many
+of the questions that are being agitated in reference to marriage."
+
+"Because you do not take comprehensive views of the matter. I can, I
+think, set you clear on the whole subject, and divorce from your
+mind the thought that liberty is license. Liberty, in its full, true
+meaning, is the pure action of a true manhood, in obedience to the
+laws of the individual. For a simple illustration, look at our
+neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Danforth. She, as you well know, is an
+ambitious woman; smart, and rather above the majority of her
+neighbors, intellectually, but not spiritually. Her husband is a
+kind-hearted man, content to fill an ordinary station in life, but
+spiritually far her superior. His nature is rich in affection; her
+nature is cold and intellectual. He knows nothing of other woman's
+views, consequently has no standard by which to form an estimate of
+those of his wife. If she was wise, as well as sharp, she would see
+that she is standing in her own light; for the man whom she wishes
+to look upon her, and her only, will soon be a pure negation, a mere
+machine, an echo of her own jealousy and selfish pride. Now,
+freedom, or his liberty, would give him the right to mingle and
+converse with other women; then he would know what his wife was to
+him, while he would retain himself and give to her his manhood,
+instead of the mere return of her own self. At present he dare not
+utter a word to which she does not fully subscribe. She talks of his
+'love' for her; it should be his 'servility.' They live in too close
+relation to be all they might to each other. I have heard her
+proudly assert, that he never spent an evening from home! I think
+they are both to be pitied; but, am I making the subject of freedom
+in any degree clear to your mind, my patient wife?"
+
+"Yes, I begin to see that it is higher and nobler to be free, and
+far purer than I supposed."
+
+"Yes, dear one," he said, drawing her close to his heart, "we must
+at times go from what we most tenderly love, in order to be drawn
+closer. The closest links are those which do not bind at all. It is
+a great mistake to keep the marriage tie so binding, and to force
+upon society such a dearth of social life as we see around us daily.
+Give men and women liberty to enjoy themselves on high social
+planes, and we shall not have the debasing things which are
+occurring daily, and are constantly on the increase. If I should
+take a lady of culture and refinement to a concert, a lecture, or to
+a theatre, would not society lift up its hands in holy horror, and
+scandal-mongers go from house to house? If men and women come not
+together on high planes, they will meet on debasing ones. Give us
+more liberty, and we shall have more purity. I speak these words not
+impulsively; they are the result of long thinking, and were they my
+last, I would as strongly and as fearlessly utter them."
+
+"I feel myself growing in thought, to-night, Hugh, and O, how proud
+I feel that the little being who is soon to claim our love, if all
+is well, will come into at least some knowledge of these things."
+
+In a few weeks she expected to become a mother, and was looking
+hopefully forward to the event, as all women do, or should, who have
+pleasant homes and worthy husbands.
+
+"I, too, am glad that we can give it the benefit of our experience,
+and shall be proud to welcome into the world a legitimate child."
+
+"Why, Hugh! what do you mean? All children are legitimate, are they
+not, that are born in wedlock?"
+
+"Very far from it. In very many cases they are wholly illegitimate."
+
+His wife looked eagerly for an explanation.
+
+"All persons who are not living in harmony and love, are bringing
+into the world illegitimate offspring. Children should be born
+because they are wanted. A welcome should greet every new-born
+child, and yet a mere physical relation is all that exists between
+thousands of parents and children, while thousands who have not
+given physical birth are more fitted by qualities of heart and soul
+to be the parents of these spiritual orphans than the blood
+relations, who claim them as their own. I often think that many in
+the other life will find, even though they may have had no offspring
+in this, that they have children by the ties of soul and
+heart-affinity, which constitutes after all the only relationship
+that is immortal."
+
+Ten days after the above conversation, the eventful period came. All
+night she lingered in pain, and at daybreak a bright and beautiful
+daughter was laid at her side. But, alas! life here was not for her.
+Mother and babe were about to be separated, for the fast receding
+pulse told plainly to the watchful physician that her days were
+numbered. Her anguished husband read it in the hopeless features of
+the doctor, and leaning over the dear one he loved so well, be
+caught from her these last words,--
+
+"Call her DAWN! for is she not a coming light to you? See, the day
+is breaking, Hugh,"--then the lips closed forever.
+
+"Come back, come back to me, my loved, my darling one," broke from
+the anguished heart of the stricken husband, and falling on his
+knees beside the now lifeless form, he buried his face in his hands,
+and wept.
+
+But even grief cannot always have its sway.
+
+A low, wailing cry from the infant moved his heart with a strange
+thrill, he knew not whether of joy or pain, and rising from the
+posture in which grief had thrown him, he went and bowed himself
+over the silent form.
+
+One gone, another come.
+
+But the little being had her life in its veins, and slowly he felt
+himself drawn earthward by this new claim upon his love and
+sympathy.
+
+A strange feeling came over him as the nurse took the little child,
+and laid upon the bed the robes its mother had prepared for it.
+
+It was too much, and the heart-stricken man left the room, and
+locking himself in his library, where he had spent so many happy
+hours with his lost one, gave full vent to the deep anguish of his
+soul. He heard the kind physician's steps as he left, and no more.
+For hours he sat bowed in grief, and silent, while sorrow's bitter
+waters surged over him.
+
+No more would her sweet smile light his home; no more her voice call
+his name in those tender tones, that had so often been music to his
+ears; no more could they walk or sit in the moonlight and converse.
+Was it really true? Had Alice gone, or was it not all a troubled
+dream?
+
+Noon came, and his brow became more fevered. But there was no soft
+hand to soothe the pain away. Night came, and still he sat and
+mourned; and then the sound of voices reached his ears. He roused
+himself to meet the friends and relations of his dear departed one,
+and then all seemed vague, indefinite and dreamlike.
+
+The funeral rites, the burial, the falling earth upon the coffin
+lid; these all passed before him, then like one in a stupor he went
+back to his home, and took up the broken threads of life again, and
+learned to live and smile for his bright-eyed, beautiful Dawn. May
+she be Dawn to the world, he said unto himself, as he looked into
+her heaven-blue eyes; then thanked God that his life was spared to
+guide her over life's rough seas, and each day brought fresh
+inspirations of hope, new aspirations of strength, and more
+confiding trust in Him whose ways are not as our ways.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+
+
+Dawn grew to be very beautiful. Every day revealed some new charm,
+until Hugh feared she too might go and live with the angels. But
+there was a mission for her to perform on the earth, and she lived.
+
+Each day he talked to her of her mother, and kept her memory alive
+to her beautiful traits, until the child grew so familiar with her
+being as to know no loss of her bodily presence, save in temporal
+affairs.
+
+A faithful and efficient woman kept their house, and cared for
+Dawn's physical wants; her father attending to her needs, both
+mental and spiritual, until she reached the age of seven, when a
+change in his business required him to be so often away from home,
+that he advertised for a governess to superintend her studies and
+her daily deportment.
+
+"What was mamma like?" asked Dawn of her father one evening as they
+sat in the moonlight together, "was she like the twilight?"
+
+He turned upon the child with admiration, for to him nothing in
+nature could better be likened unto his lost and lovely Alice.
+
+"Yes, darling," he said, kissing her again and again, "mamma was
+just like the twilight--sweet, tender, and soothing."
+
+"Then I am not at all like mamma?" she remarked, a little sadly.
+
+"And why?"
+
+"Because I am strong and full of life. I always feel as though it
+was just daylight. I never feel tired, papa, I only feel hushed."
+
+"Heaven grant my daughter may never be weary," he said, and stooped
+to kiss her, while he brushed away a tear which started as he did
+so.
+
+"I shall never be weary while I have you, papa. You will never leave
+me, will you?"
+
+"I hope to be spared many years to guard and love my charge."
+
+A few days after, Dawn was surprised to find the governess, of whom
+her father had spoken, in the library, and her father with his
+carpet-bag packed, ready for a journey.
+
+Am I not going too, papa?" she said, turning on him her face, as
+though her heart was ready to burst with grief. It was their first
+parting, and equally hard for parent and child.
+
+"Not this time, darling, but in the summer we shall go to the
+sea-shore and the mountains, and take Miss Vernon with us. Come,
+this is your teacher, Dawn; I want you to be very good and obedient
+while I am away," and then, looking at his watch, he bade them both
+adieu.
+
+He knew the child was weeping bitterly. All the way to the cars, and
+on the journey through that long, sunny day, he felt her calling him
+back. There could be no real separation between them, and it was
+painful to part, and keep both so drawn and attenuated in spirit.
+
+In vain Miss Vernon exerted herself to make the child happy. It was
+of no use. Her delicate organism had received its first shock; but
+in due time her spirit broke through the clouds in its native
+brilliancy, and there was no lingering shadow left on her sky. Dawn
+was as bright and smiling as she had been sad and dispirited.
+
+"I will gather some wild flowers and make the room all bright and
+lovely for papa," she said, and in a moment was far away.
+
+"It's no use training her, you see, Miss," the good housekeeper
+asserted, as a sort of an apology for the child, whom she loved
+almost to idolatry, "might as well try to trap the sunlight or catch
+moonbeams. She'll have her way, and, somehow to me, her way seems
+always right. Will you please step out to tea, Miss, and then I will
+go and look after her; or, if you like, you can follow that little
+path that leads from the garden gate to the hill where she has gone
+for her flowers."
+
+Miss Vernon was glad to go; and after a light supper, was on her
+way, almost fearful that the child might consider her an intruder,
+for she instinctively felt that she must work her way into the
+affections of her new charge.
+
+She followed the path to the hill, and after walking for some time
+and not finding Dawn, was about to retrace her steps, when she heard
+a low, sweet voice, chanting an evening hymn. She sat upon a bed of
+grey moss until the chanting ceased, and then went in the direction
+from which the sound came.
+
+There sat Dawn, with eyes uplifted, lips parted as though in
+conversation, and features glowing with intensest emotion. Then the
+eyes dropped, and her little hands were pressed to her heart, as
+though the effort had been too great.
+
+Slowly Miss Vernon stepped towards her. Dawn caught her eye, and
+motioned her to come nearer.
+
+"Are you not lonely here, child?" she asked.
+
+"Lonely? O, no. I am not alone, Miss Vernon, God is here, and I am
+so full I sing, or I should die. Did you hear me?"
+
+"I did. Who taught you that beautiful chant?"
+
+"No one; it grew in me; just as the flowers grow on the plants."
+
+"I have an instructor here, and one I shall find more interesting
+than tractable," mused the governess, as she looked upon the child.
+But Dawn was not learned in one day, as she afterwards found.
+
+The sun sank behind the hills just as they entered the garden
+together. Dawn missed her father too much to be quite up to her
+usual point of life, and she went and laid herself down upon a couch
+in the library, and chatted away the hour before her bedtime. She
+missed him more than she could tell; and then she thought to
+herself, "Who can I tell how much I miss my father?"
+
+"Did you ever have any body you loved go away, Miss Vernon?" she at
+last ventured to ask, and her voice told what she suffered.
+
+"I have no near friends living, dear child."
+
+"What! did they all die? Only my mamma is dead; but I don't miss
+her; I think she must be in the air, I feel her so. Have n't you any
+father, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"No. He died when I was quite young, and then my mother, and before
+I came here I buried my last near relative-an aunt."
+
+"But aunts don't know us, do they?"
+
+"Why not? I don't quite understand you," she said, wishing to bring
+the child out.
+
+"Why, they don't feel our souls. I have got aunts and cousins, but
+they seem away off, O, so far. They live here, but I don't feel
+them; and they make me, O, so tired. They never say anything that
+makes me thrill all over as papa does. Don't you see now what I
+mean?"
+
+"Yes, I see. Will you tell me after I have been here awhile, if I
+make you tired?"
+
+"I need not tell you in words. You will see me get tired."
+
+"Very good. I hope I shall not weary you."
+
+"I can tell by to-morrow, and if I do look tired you will go, won't
+you?"
+
+"Certainly; and for fear I may weary you now, I will retire, if you
+will promise to go too."
+
+She yielded willingly to Miss Vernon's wish, and was led to her
+room, where the sensitive, pure being was soon at rest.
+
+It seemed almost too early for any one to be stirring, when Miss
+Vernon heard a little tap on her door, and the next moment beheld a
+childish face peeping in.
+
+"May I come?"
+
+"Certainly. I hope you have had pleasant dreams, Dawn. Can you tell
+me why they gave you such a strange name?"
+
+"Strange? Why I am Dawn, that is the reason; and mamma was Twilight,
+only her mother did n't give her the right name."
+
+"Have you slept well?"
+
+"I did n't know anything till I woke up. Was that sleeping well?"
+
+"I think it was. Now will you tell me at what hour you have
+breakfast, that I may prepare myself in season?"
+
+"When papa is at home, at eight o'clock. This morning I am going to
+see Bessie, the new calf, and Minnie Day's kittens, and Percy
+Willard's new pony, so Aunt Sue says she can have breakfast any
+time."
+
+Miss Vernon upon this concluded that she need make no hasty toilet,
+and sank back upon her pillow to think awhile of her new
+surroundings.
+
+Breakfast waited, but no Dawn appeared. Aunt Sue, fearing that the
+toast and coffee might be spoiled, rang for Miss Vernon.
+
+At eleven Dawn came in with soiled clothes and wet feet.
+
+"O, Aunty, the pony was so wild, and the kittens so cunning, I could
+n't come before."
+
+"And see your clothes, Dawn. I must work very hard to-day to wash
+and dry them. Now go to your room and change them all, and try to
+remember others when you are in your enjoyments, won't you?"
+
+"Yes, and I won't soil them again, auntie."
+
+"Until the next time, I fear," said the kind housekeeper, who was,
+perhaps, too forgiving with the strange, wild child.
+
+The next day Dawn was filled with delight at her father's return. He
+came early in the morning, and found his pet awake and watching for
+his approach.
+
+"O, papa, such a dream, a real dream, as I had last night. Sit right
+here by the window, please, while I tell it to you."
+
+"Perhaps your dream will be so real that we shall not want anything
+more substantial for breakfast."
+
+"O, it's better than food, papa."
+
+"Well, go on, my pet."
+
+"I was thinking how glad I should be to see my papa, when I went to
+sleep and had this beautiful dream:--
+
+"I was walking in a garden all full of flowers and vines, when I saw
+my mother coming towards me, with something upon her arm. She came
+close, and then I saw it was a robe, O, such a white robe, whiter
+than snow. She put it on me, and it was too long. I asked if it was
+for me why it was so long. 'You will grow,' she said, 'tall and
+beautiful, and need the long garment.' Then she led the way, and
+motioned me to follow. She led me down a dismal lane, and into a
+damp, dreadful place, where the streets were all mud and dirt. 'O,
+my dress,' I said, 'my pure white robe.' 'No dust and dirt can stain
+it,' she replied, 'walk through that dark street and see.' I went,
+and looked back at each step, but my pure white robe was not soiled,
+and when I returned to her, it was as spotless as ever. Was it not a
+lovely dream, and what does it mean, papa?"
+
+"A lesson too deep for your childhood to comprehend, and yet I will
+some day tell you. But here comes Miss Vernon, and the bell has rung
+for breakfast."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+
+
+The next day, while Dawn wandered over the hills, her father
+conversed with Miss Vernon on what to his mind constituted an
+education.
+
+"I know that all our growth is slow, but I wish to take the right
+steps if possible in the right direction; I wish my daughter to be
+wholly, not fractionally developed. There are certain parts of her
+nature which I shall trust to no one. Her daily lessons, a knowledge
+respecting domestic affairs, a thorough comprehension of the making
+and cost of wearing apparel, and a due regard to proper attire, I
+shall trust to you, if you are competent to fill such a position,
+and I think you are."
+
+"I have seen so much misery," he continued, "resulting from the
+inability of some women to make a home happy, that I have resolved
+if my child lives to years of maturity, all accomplishments shall
+give way, if need be, to this one thing, a thorough knowledge of
+domestic affairs. Society is so at fault in these matters, and women
+generally have such false ideas of them, that I despair of reforming
+any one. If I can educate my daughter to live, or rather approximate
+in some degree, to my ideal of a true woman's life, it is all I can
+expect. Are you fond of domestic life, Miss Vernon?"
+
+He turned so abruptly upon her that she feared her hesitation might
+be taken for a lack of feeling on the subject, and yet she could not
+bear the thought that one whose ideal was so near her own, did not
+fully comprehend her upon such a theme; but there was no mistaking
+her meaning when she replied,--
+
+"I love home, and all that makes that spot holy. I only regret that
+my one-sided labor and my circumstances have kept me from mingling,
+to any great extent, in its joys and responsibilities. My ideal life
+would be to work, study and teach, but as no opportunities for doing
+so have been presented to me, and having had no home of my own, I
+have been obliged to work on in my one-sided way, unsatisfying as it
+has been."
+
+"It shall be so no more, Miss Vernon. If you will call my house your
+home, so long as we harmonize, you shall have an opportunity to
+realize your wishes, and I will see that your services are well
+requited."
+
+She was too full of gratitude to speak, but a tear started from her
+eye, and Mr. Wyman noticed that she turned aside to brush it away.
+
+"You will stay with us, Miss Vernon, I am sure of that. Take Dawn
+into the kitchen every day, no matter if she rebels, as I fear she
+may, and slowly, but thoroughly educate her in all those seemingly
+minor details of household economy. Cause her to feel the importance
+of these things, and teach her to apply herself diligently to labor.
+I am not anxious that she should make any exhibition of her mental
+accomplishments, for I have learned to dislike parlor parades, and
+the showing off of children's acquirements. I do not want Dawn to
+dazzle with false how, but to be what she seems, and of use to the
+world. At the close of each day I shall question her about her
+studies, and show to her that I am interested not only in her books,
+but in her domestic attainments. Supply to her, as well as you can,
+that material, the want of which is so great a loss to a young girl,
+and your happiness shall be my study. Treat her as you would an own
+dear child, and when she gives you trouble, send her to me. I fear I
+may have wearied you, Miss Vernon, and as the day is so fine, had
+you not better take a walk?"
+
+She was already too anxious to go by herself, and think of the
+happiness which was about opening for her. It seemed too much. All
+the years that had passed since her dear mother's death had been so
+lonely. No one had ever understood her nature, or seemed to think
+her anything but a machine to teach the children their daily
+lessons. But now what a prospective! How earnestly would she begin
+her new life; and burdened with this thought she walked to the edge
+of a green wood, and sat down to weep tears of pure joy.
+
+When she returned she found her room filled with mosses and trailing
+vines, which Dawn had gathered for her. She was rapidly learning to
+love the child, and felt lonely when she was out of her sight.
+
+In the evening they sat together,--father, child, and teacher, or
+companion, as she really was to them, in the library, communing in
+silence, no word breaking the spell, until Dawn did so by asking
+Miss Vernon if she played.
+
+She glanced longingly at the beautiful instrument, which had not
+been opened since Mrs. Wyman's death, and said,--
+
+"I do play and sing, but not as well as I hope to with opportunities
+for practice."
+
+"Do open the piano, papa, it will spoil shut up so."
+
+"So it will, Dawn. I will open it this moment," and he silently
+accused himself for keeping it closed so long.
+
+"Do you love music, Dawn?" asked Miss Vernon, "can you sing?"
+
+"You shall hear her, and then judge. Come, darling, while I play
+your favorite song;" and he commenced the prelude to a low, sweet
+air. She began at first tremulously, but gained confidence at each
+word, until at length her sweet, childish tones rose pure and clear
+above the voice of her father, who hummed rather than sang the song
+in his deep, rich bass.
+
+His eyes were full of tears when they closed, for that hymn was his
+wife's favorite. He had taught it to Dawn, without telling her that
+her mother ever sung it.
+
+"It seemed just as though mamma was here and sang too, papa, did n't
+it?"
+
+"Mamma, no doubt, is with us. I am glad my little girl feels her
+presence, and always remember that she is with you, too, when you
+feel tempted to do wrong."
+
+She nestled her head on his bosom and wept. Tears of joy or sorrow?
+Only they whose souls are finely and intensely strung, can know what
+made her weep.
+
+"You must sing for us now, Miss Vernon," he said, and would have led
+her to the instrument, but for the burden of love, which was resting
+on his heart.
+
+"I play only simple songs, Mr. Wyman, and, indeed, am quite out of
+practice."
+
+"You have some gems stowed away, I know; please sing us one."
+
+She arose, and after a few trembling notes, sang a sweet song with
+such pathos and richness that Mr. Wyman called again for more and
+more. Dawn was wild with joy, and then her father, after Miss Vernon
+declined to play more, proposed that they should sing an evening
+hymn.
+
+In this they all joined, Miss Vernon's rich contralto blending
+sweetly with Dawn's pure soprano.
+
+Their dreams were sweet and peaceful that night. Their souls had all
+met and harmonized, and harmony ever brings rest.
+
+The following day Miss Vernon looked over Dawn's clothing, and laid
+aside whatever needed repairing. She was just folding some aprons,
+when the child rushed into the room, saying,--
+
+"O, Miss Vernon, I must wear my blue dress to-day."
+
+"Why that one?"
+
+"Because I feel good, and blue is heavenly, so let me wear it,
+please, will you?"
+
+"It's rather short, Dawn, but I suppose it will cover all your
+goodness for one day, will it not?"
+
+"O, don't laugh, I feel truly good to-day, and any other dress would
+not do."
+
+"You shall have it, Dawn. I am glad you like to dress according to
+your feelings. I do myself."
+
+"Then how do you feel to-day, and what shall you dress in?"
+
+"I feel very, very happy, but have no garment to symbolize my
+feelings."
+
+"I don't want you to wear that grey dress, though, to-day?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because it don't say anything."
+
+"Nor my black?"
+
+"O, no, no!"
+
+"How will the drab with blue trimmings suit?"
+
+"It's just the dress. You are silent, and have been rather sad, you
+know, Miss Vernon, and the blue is the glimmer of sky above your
+old, dull life. Do wear the drab with blue ribbons."
+
+"I will, Dawn. My life is brighter, because I have some one to
+love;" and she pressed her lips warmly to the cheeks of her little
+charge.
+
+When Mr. Wyman came in to dinner he thought he had never seen Dawn
+looking so fresh and beautiful, while his eyes rested in full
+satisfaction on Miss Vernon's lovely form, so becomingly arrayed. He
+liked the absence of the black dress, for its removal seemed to
+betoken a happier life, a life which he knew she needed, and which
+he mentally resolved she should possess, so far as he could
+contribute to it.
+
+At the table, Mr. Wyman was talkative and gay, touching lightly here
+and there, upon subjects, without argument. It was conversation, not
+discussion, or an array of opinions, which flowed from the minds of
+those around the board, and of such a nature that all could join,
+from young to old.
+
+Miss Vernon delighted in watching him as his eyes rested tenderly on
+his child. It was charming to witness such a tender relation
+existing between father and daughter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+
+
+The days flew swiftly by, and the still, peaceful Sabbath dawned.
+
+How tranquil, and yet how full of life it seemed to Miss Vernon as
+she sat at her window and gazed on the scene of beauty before her. A
+lovely spring morning-the distant hills soft and mellow; the emerald
+fields glittering with dew-the tasseled pines nodding in the gentle
+breeze-and the whole atmosphere vibrating with the tones of the
+Sabbath bells.
+
+"Surely," she said, "I need no form of worship. God is in all this.
+I wonder if I must go from all these beauties to a temple made with
+hands."
+
+"Is n't this pleasanter than sitting in a bare walled church?" said
+Dawn, who had entered the room so softly that Miss Vernon was only
+made aware of her presence by this inquiry.
+
+"I think it is. Do you go to church?"
+
+"No. Papa does sometimes, but he never makes me go."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+"Shall you go to-day, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"Not if I can act my pleasure."
+
+"I am so glad, for papa said if you did not go, we would all take a
+walk, but if you wished to go, he would harness Swift and take you.
+
+"I had much rather take the walk to-day. Some day, I shall want to
+go to your church."
+
+"There, papa is ready, I hear him in the hall. Get your hat, Miss
+Vernon."
+
+"But you forget he has not yet invited me."
+
+"Dawn, ask Miss Vernon whether she will take a walk with us, or go
+to church?" said Mr. Wyman, at that moment calling from the foot of
+the stairs.
+
+Miss Vernon was not long in making known her choice, for she sprang
+and put on her hat, and in a few moments the three were walking
+through the garden towards the woods and fields.
+
+"Which direction, Miss Vernon, shall we take?"
+
+"Any; it's all lovely."
+
+"Then lead the way, Dawn, and mind you act as a good pilot, and do
+not get us into any brooks."
+
+She ran gaily on before, and they soon found themselves on the verge
+of a rich, mossy dell.
+
+"O, is it not beautiful, papa? I shall carry all this lovely moss
+home."
+
+"No, Dawn, let it remain. Gather a few specimens from here and
+there, but do not mar the general beautiful effect. It is ours now;
+we can not make it more so by carrying it home to fade and die. Can
+we, darling?"
+
+"No. You are always right and good, papa."
+
+"To-morrow others may come here, and the lovely scene will be as
+pleasing to them as to us. There is a possession, Miss Vernon, other
+than that which the world recognizes; and it is always pleasant to
+me to think that though a man may build himself a palace, and call
+himself its proprietor, he alone really owns it whose eyes see the
+most of its beauties, and whose soul appropriates them. And so, a
+lovely spot like this, or the finest garden may belong to the
+passer-by whose purse does not contain a penny."
+
+"How it smoothes in life the inequalities of station, and makes us
+content to admire, rather than strive for ownership."
+
+"I see by your fervent enjoyment of the scene around us, Miss
+Vernon, that you, too, have discarded some of the old forms of
+worship, or rather found that a true worship of the divine is not
+limited by four walls."
+
+"I have. For a long time I have seen so much bigotry, and so great a
+lack of all the Christian virtues, even in the most liberal
+churches, that I have felt I must seek my own mode of enjoying the
+Sabbath."
+
+"I long ago found my true relation to all places and forms of
+devotion," remarked Mr. Wyman. "I do not for a moment ignore the
+church, nor what Christianity has done for us, yet while I see the
+good the church has accomplished, I also see its shortcomings and
+regret them. As an individual, I can say that I have done with most
+church organizations. I have heard good and earnest words spoken by
+clergymen in the pulpit once a week, and as good from the lips of
+working people at their tasks every day. I do not undervalue the
+influence that the forms of worship have on the masses. While they
+need them, they must remain where they are, and have them. I only
+want the church to be so liberal, that men and women who feel that
+they are getting life in another direction, will be recognized by it
+to be as good and true to their needs, as though they sat within its
+walls. How much have we at the present day of this? Who is large
+enough to feel that we cannot always draw from one fount? We are not
+machines, to be continually run in one direction."
+
+"What do you think of our sabbath schools. Do they not need a new
+life, too?"
+
+"Unquestionably. I think they need an infusion of dramatic life;
+something that interests while it instructs. Dry catechisms are not
+suited to the children of our day. We want the living present, and
+not the dead past. If I was called to superintend a sabbath school,
+I would have a little play enacted by a portion of the children, and
+then another portion, until all were actors in their turn."
+
+"If you express your opinions, I fear you will wait a long time for
+a call?"
+
+"I do not crave the position; I am only anxious to see the effect of
+my theory in practice. Children need demonstration; need muscular
+action. But I am, perhaps, wearying you."
+
+"Go on. I am interested in all that relates to new phases of life."
+
+"I should astonish some divines of the conservative order, were I to
+publish my views of social and religious life. I would sooner give
+money to build theatres, than churches. Everywhere I would cultivate
+a love for the drama, which is the highest and most impressive form
+of representing truth. My being is stirred to greater depths by good
+acting than it can possibly be by mere preaching. I shall be happy
+to see the day when religion is acknowledged to be the simple living
+out of individual lives, always toned, of course, by pure morality.
+I hope to see acts of kindness looked upon as religion, instead of a
+mere personal attendance upon worship. But I have talked too long.
+Where is Dawn?"
+
+They walked on, and soon found her sitting on a moss-covered stone,
+twining a wreath of wild flowers. She looked like a queen, as she
+was for a time, of that beautiful dell.
+
+"Have flowers souls, papa?" she asked, as he approached her.
+
+"I hope they are immortal, at least in type. But why do you ask?"
+
+"Because these flowers I have gathered will fade and die, and if
+they have souls they will not love me for gathering them, will
+they?"
+
+"Perhaps all the sweetness of these flowers, when they die, passes
+into the soul of the one who gathers them."
+
+"O, how pretty! That makes me think about the little girl who played
+with me one day and got angry. You told me that she was better for
+the bad feeling I had; that I had taken some of her evil, because I
+could overcome it-it with good."
+
+"I am glad you remember so well what I tell you. Now as we cannot
+tell whether flowers have souls or not, we will believe that all
+their sweetness passes into ours."
+
+"But if I should kill a serpent?"
+
+"You must cover the evil with good."
+
+"But, papa, people come to our house all full of evil things, like
+serpents. Don't they have enough good to cover them, or why do I
+feel them so plain?"
+
+"I fear not; or, rather, their goodness has not been cultivated and
+made large enough to absorb the evil. We must go home now, or Aunt
+Susan will be waiting for us."
+
+The three walked home together, in harmony with nature and
+themselves. They found their dinner waiting, and the simple meal
+neatly prepared, was graced with a vase of beautiful flowers.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a few weeks the little neighborhood was duly aroused, and
+discussing the state of affairs at Mr. Wyman's. Each one considered
+herself called upon to pass judgment upon the daily proceedings.
+
+"It's too ridiculous, right in the face and eyes of honest people,
+to see this woman and Mr. Wyman carrying on as they do," said Miss
+Gay, a lady of forty years, whose notions of the mingling of the
+sexes were of the strictest character.
+
+"Why, how? Do tell us," chimed in her companion, a garrulous old
+lady.
+
+"Why, they say that this young woman is going about with Mr. Wyman
+all the time. He takes her to ride almost every day, and they have
+interminable walks and daily confabs together."
+
+"Well, I should think the child's lessons would come off slim, Miss
+Gay."
+
+"O, that's only a subterfuge. They'll be married 'fore one year has
+gone by."
+
+"I do not believe Hugh Wyman will ever marry again," said one who
+knew his character better than the others.
+
+"Then what can he want of that young woman? No good, depend on
+that," and Mrs. Green shook her head as though she had more in it
+than she wished at that time to display.
+
+While they chat and waste the hours, let us go and listen to the
+parties talked of, and judge for ourselves whether two earnest souls
+can not approach, enjoy each other, and yet be pure and blameless.
+
+"I can scarcely believe, Mr. Wyman, that so brief a period could
+work such a change in my being. Before I came here, I thought all
+the world cold and heartless. You have taught me that friendship,
+even between men and women, may exist, and that the only true
+relations are of soul and not of blood. I can never by words tell
+you how grateful I feel to you for all these teachings," and she
+looked thoughtfully out on the summer scene before her.
+
+"I am very glad that you are happy here, Miss Vernon, for when I
+first saw you I instinctively felt that you were just the companion
+for myself and daughter. I saw, too, the cloud which hung over you,
+and felt that my hand could lift it. You belong to Dawn and myself,
+and we shall keep you so long as you are happy."
+
+"But-"
+
+"But what? I know your fears, and what this busy little neighborhood
+will say. I care no more for all its ideas of life than for the
+wind, while I feel right here," said Mr. Wyman, placing his hand
+upon his heart. "The time has come for all to live individual lives.
+I would not for a moment have your name sullied, but should you go,
+would gossip cease? No; stay here, Miss Vernon, and show to this
+little portion of the world that man and woman can live together
+sociably and honorably. I love you as a sister; no more. My dear
+Alice is now my wife, the same as when on earth. I speak as I do,
+knowing that you will meet with many sneers and frowns if you stay,
+but the consciousness of right will sustain you."
+
+"How could you know what was in my mind? You have, indeed, expressed
+all my fears as regards this relation between us."
+
+"Will you go or stay?"
+
+"I shall stay."
+
+"May you never regret the decision."
+
+"Now may I ask you about this strange belief, that the departed are
+about us? Excuse me, if I seem curious, but when you spoke of your
+dear wife, my whole being quivered with a new and strange emotion. I
+only ask from deepest interest."
+
+"I believe you. I wish I could transmit to your mind the proofs of
+my belief. I have almost daily positive proof of my wife's presence,
+sometimes by my own powers, and then again from those of my child."
+
+"Then she, too, sees like yourself?"
+
+"She does. And every day my experiences are too real and tangible
+for me to deny, or even doubt that the loved, and so-called 'lost,'
+are with us still. To my mind, there is nothing unnatural about it.
+Every day my faith deepens, and not for all the glory of this life
+would I change my belief. Death has brought myself and Alice nearer
+together. But I can only state to you my faith in this, my
+experience cannot be imparted. Each must seek, and find, and be
+convinced alone by personal experience and observation."
+
+"I believe you, and your earnest words have sunk deep within my
+mind, yet in modern spiritualism I have little faith."
+
+"Mere phenomenal spiritism is of course only designed to arrest the
+attention; its other form appeals to the soul, and becomes a part of
+the daily lives of those who realize it."
+
+"But I have heard of so much that was contradictory, so much that
+cannot be reconciled."
+
+"Neither can we reconcile the usual manifestations of life. Our
+daily experiences teach us that seeming absurdities abound on every
+hand."
+
+"That is true. I sometimes think I shall never get the evidence
+which my nature requires to convince."
+
+"In God's own time and way it will come, and when you are best
+fitted to receive it."
+
+"But please go on, Mr. Wyman, and tell me more of your experience."
+
+"I would I could tell you how often when I am weary, my dear Alice
+comes and watches over me at night; how truly I feel her thoughts,
+which she cannot express in words; and how, when the poor and needy
+are suffering, she leads me to where they dwell amid scenes of want.
+When my pure child speaks thoughts beyond herself, and describes to
+me some vision which I at the same time behold, with the exact look
+and gesture of her mother, I say I believe in spirit communion. I
+can well afford to let the world laugh; I know what I see and feel.
+And well do I know how much there is mixed with this modern
+spiritism, which has no origin save in the minds of the persons who
+substitute their hopes and thoughts for impressions. On this I have
+much to say to you at some future period. It is well that it is so,
+else we should not discriminate. Life is so full of adulterations,
+that which the world calls 'evil' is so mingled with that it calls
+'good,' would it not be strange if this phase should come to us pure
+and unmixed?"
+
+"It would not take you long to make me a convert to your faith; yet
+I hope sometime to have my own experiences. If there was not so much
+that conflicts with our reason, I think every one would naturally
+accept the belief you so fondly cherish."
+
+"Without such conflicting experiences, we should be mere machines.
+We must grow in every direction, using every faculty for our
+guidance, yet ever remembering there are mightier realms than
+reason, and that the human soul must often go beyond that portal, to
+catch glimpses of the silent land."
+
+"Life would indeed be blessed to me, could I feel an assurance that
+my mother was near me to strengthen me in my hours of weakness, and
+that she was interested in my labors."
+
+"I know all our earnest longings are answered, and that sufficient
+proof will be given you. Say nothing of this conversation to Dawn. I
+have my reasons, and should not be surprised if, in a few days, she
+should give you a test of spirit presence."
+
+"Can Dawn see as clearly as yourself?"
+
+"She can, and far better. I do not force the gift upon her, or seek
+to overwork her powers. I want it to be natural and to unfold with
+all her other capacities. Never question her, let all come freely."
+
+"I will remember; and here she comes laden as usual with flowers."
+
+"O, Miss Vernon, O, papa, I have had such a good time!" she
+exclaimed out of breath and almost wild with excitement.
+
+"What was it all about, child?"
+
+"I was on the hill out here, getting flowers, when I seemed to hear
+music, all at once in the air. I think I went to sleep, but if it
+was a dream I know it means something, for I saw a tall, beautiful
+lady come to me, and on her forehead were the letters, M. V. Then
+she took a little box inlaid with gems, and drew from it a necklace
+of pearls, and then she went away, and as she turned-I saw these
+words come like a light-'Tell Florence.' Now, papa, what did it
+mean?"
+
+Mr. Wyman turned to Miss Vernon who was weeping. He waited until her
+emotion subsided and then said,--
+
+"Your mother, was it not?"
+
+"They were my mother's initials. Her name was Mabel Vernon, and mine
+Florence."
+
+"How strange. And the necklace, do you recognize that?"
+
+"My mother gave me-on her dying bed-a pearl necklace in such a box
+as described by Dawn."
+
+"And we did not know your name was Florence. We only knew you as
+Miss Vernon."
+
+"Can it-can this be true? Ah, something tells me I may believe. I am
+too full now, Mr. Wyman, to talk. I must go."
+
+"Call me Hugh, Florence, I am your brother--" and he led her gently
+to the house.
+
+She remained in her room all that evening. Deep and strong was the
+tide which was setting into her new life. "If 't is true, 't is the
+greatest truth mortal has found," she said again and again to
+herself, as the old upheaved, and the new flowed into her soul. Life
+was becoming almost too full; her brain grew fevered, but at last
+sweet sleep, that soul refiner, came, and after a night's repose she
+awoke, calm and at rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+
+
+
+After breakfast, Mr. Wyman informed Miss Vernon and Dawn that he
+should go away that day on business, and be absent perhaps two
+weeks.
+
+"I have a book which I would like you to take to Miss Evans for me
+to-day," he said, addressing Miss Vernon.
+
+"The lady who called here soon after I came?"
+
+"The same."
+
+"I like her much, and should be pleased to see her again."
+
+"I am glad you do. She is my ideal of a true woman, and one whom
+every young, earnest soul ought to know. You will go to-day?"
+
+"Certainly; I am anxious to see her in her own home."
+
+"She is queen of her domain, and entertains her friends in a most
+lady-like manner; but I must bid you both good-bye, and be off. Be
+happy, Miss Vernon, Florence, and let me find you full of good
+things to tell of yourself and Dawn, on my return. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye, papa," rang out on the sweet summer air till he was out
+of sight, then the child's lid trembled, the lips quivered, and she
+laid her head on the bosom of her friend and teacher, and gave vent
+to the grief which ever wrung her at parting with her kind parent.
+
+"I am glad you did not let your father see those tears. You are
+getting quite brave, Dawn."
+
+"I feel so bad when he goes. Shall I ever be strong like you, and
+look calm after these partings? Perhaps you don't love papa; but
+every body does that knows him-you do, don't you?"
+
+"Very much; but we will go to our lessons, now, dear."
+
+"Can I bring my book into the hall, to-day? I like to stay where I
+saw him last."
+
+"Certainly; and we will have a review to-day and see how well you
+remember your lessons. We shall have no interruptions this morning,
+and after dinner we will go together to see Miss Evans."
+
+An hour passed, and the lessons were but half through, when a ring
+at the door caused them both to start, and they left the hall.
+
+Aunt Susan answered the call, and ushered the visitors into the
+family sitting-room.
+
+"Some ladies have called to see you, Miss Vernon," she said,
+thrusting her head into the doorway of the room where teacher and
+pupil sat close together with clasped hands, as though some invading
+force was about to wrest their lives apart.
+
+"In a moment, Aunty, I will see them," and a strange shudder shook
+her frame.
+
+"Where shall I go while they stay?" asked Dawn.
+
+"Anywhere; only not far from home, as we intend to have an early
+dinner."
+
+"Then I will stay here, and look over papa's folio of drawings."
+
+Miss Vernon went to her room to see that her hair and dress were all
+right, and then slowly descended the stairs to the sitting-room. Her
+hand trembled violently as she turned the knob, and she almost
+resolved to go back to her room. "I am growing so sensitive of
+late," she said to herself, "but this will never do, I must go in,"
+and she opened the door.
+
+Three ladies hastily rose and bowed very formally, as she entered.
+
+The tallest and most stylish of the three blandly inquired for her
+health, and after a few commonplace remarks, announced the object of
+their visit.
+
+"We have come to you, Miss Vernon, to-day, as friends of our sex, to
+inform you of, as you may not fully comprehend, the character of the
+man whom you are serving."
+
+Miss Vernon coolly signified her attention.
+
+"We deemed it our duty to do so, being married women," broke in a
+little squeaky voice, belonging to the most demure-looking one of
+the party.
+
+"Yes, we all decided, after long deliberation," added the third,
+"that no young woman who cared for her reputation, would tarry a day
+longer under this roof. This visit of ours is an act of the purest
+kindness, and we trust you will receive it as such, and in a kind
+spirit."
+
+"Yes," resumed the first speaker, "it is no pleasant duty, and one
+we have long delayed performing, but we could not bear to see youth
+and innocence betrayed."
+
+Miss Vernon at first seemed stunned. She knew not what to say, so
+many emotions filled her. She tried to speak, but her tongue lost
+its power, and all was silent. She made one more effort, and voice
+and courage returned, enabling her to address her "friends."
+
+"Will you inform me, ladies, what grounds you have for your
+accusations against Mr. Wyman?"
+
+"I beg pardon, Miss, we who have known him longer than yourself, of
+course know both sides of his character; indeed he has no reputation
+in B--, as all know."
+
+She started involuntarily. What passed through her mind at that
+moment none can tell, but all can form some idea of the wild tremor
+of doubt which was gaining strength under their vile calumny and
+falsehood.
+
+They saw their vantage ground, and followed close with such
+invectives as women only know how to hurl against whomsoever they
+assail.
+
+"Strangers," she could not call them ladies, "I can only speak out
+of my own experience of this person who a few months ago was unknown
+to me. He has ever treated me with all delicacy and respect. I have
+ever found him to be a gentleman. I cannot, will not, believe your
+assertions," she said with emphasis, a sudden strength coming over
+her.
+
+"If you do not believe us, then seek one proof of his wrong dealing,
+which you can find any day, at a small cottage near the uplands, on
+the road to L--. 'Tis only a mile from here, Miss, and we would
+advise you to acquaint yourself with the fact. Take our good advice
+and leave this house. That is all we can say to you. Of course, if
+you remain here, you will not be admitted into respectable society."
+
+"I will not leave his house while he remains the friend and brother
+he is to me now."
+
+"No virtuous woman will permit you, then, to enter her house;
+remember this, Miss Vernon," and the tall lady assumed an attitude
+of offended dignity.
+
+"I see," she continued, "our visit has done but little save to
+arouse you. It may be at some future day, you will thank us for our
+advice to you this morning. We must go now. Good day, Miss."
+
+"Good morning," replied Miss Vernon, rising and accompanying them to
+the door, scarce able to repel the strong tide of grief, or bear up
+under the weight of sadness that was bearing down her soul.
+
+"My brief, happy days so soon, O, how soon, gone by, and over," she
+said, after she had closed the door; and she sank on her knees and
+prayed as only those have prayed before, in like trouble.
+
+She knew not how long she knelt there, but she was roused by Dawn's
+sweet voice, which was always music to her soul, saying, "Please,
+may I come, Miss Vernon?"
+
+She rose and held out her arms to receive the little one, who stood
+hesitatingly on the threshold of the library, then pressing the dear
+child to her heart, found a sweet sense of relief in doing so.
+
+"I know what makes you feel so, Miss Vernon."
+
+"What, Dawn, tell me all you feel," and she sank upon a seat and
+rested her face on her hand.
+
+"I was looking over the drawings, and feeling very happy, when the
+room grew dark and cold, so cold I was frightened. Then I heard
+something say, 'Fear not, Dawn,' and I laid my head down upon the
+couch, and saw you standing in a damp, cold valley, on either side
+of which were beautiful green mountains, whose tops overlooked all
+the towns around. They were so steep that no one could climb them.
+While you stood there, a great cloud came directly over your head.
+It was full of rain, and it burst and flooded the whole valley. I
+feared you would be drowned; but you rose with the water, instead of
+its going over you, and when the tide was as high as the mountain,
+you stepped to its highest point, on the beautiful green grass, and
+sat down. Slowly the waters went down and left you on the
+mountain-top, where you could never have gone without the flood.
+Then I looked up, and the room was all full of sunshine just as it
+was before. I felt cold, and I heard the women go, and then-"
+
+"Then what, Dawn?"
+
+"Then I came to you. The cloud is over you now, but the high green
+mountain is more lovely than the valley, and overlooks all the
+pleasant vales and hills around. Do you care if the clouds burst
+now, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"No, child, I will stand firm and sure while the rain descends. O,
+Dawn, so justly named, come and soothe my brow, for it aches so
+hard."
+
+The child passed her soft, white hands over the forehead of Miss
+Vernon, and the throbbing pain passed away under her magic touch.
+
+The bell rang for dinner long before they were ready for the
+summons, but they soon took their places at the table, yet with
+little appetite for food.
+
+"A poor compliment you pay my dinner," said Aunt Susan, as she came
+to remove the dishes, and prepare for dessert. "I suppose you are
+both lonely without Mr. Wyman. I, too, miss his pleasant face and
+smile to-day."
+
+How Miss Vernon wished she had not spoken his name just then.
+
+The form of dinner over, Miss Vernon and Dawn dressed themselves for
+their walk, knowing that they must start in good season, as it was a
+long way to the house, and they would need to rest a little before
+their return.
+
+"I almost question, Dawn, if I should go to Miss Evans while this
+cloud is over me," remarked Miss Vernon, feeling as though she was
+seeking counsel from one her superior in wisdom, rather than
+addressing a mere child.
+
+"Why, Miss Evans is just what you need to-day. She is as calm as the
+lovely lake on which we sailed last week."
+
+"Well, I need her to-day; but should I carry my state to her?"
+
+"Why, she is like a great stream that carries all lesser streams to
+the ocean of truth," said Dawn, in a voice not her own, and so deep
+and thrilling that it made her teacher start and gaze with new
+wonder upon the child.
+
+"Then we will go this very minute, Dawn; and through the pleasant
+fields, that we may avoid the dusty road."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Miss Evans sat quietly reading, when a gentle ring at the door,
+which seemed to reach her heart rather than her ears, aroused her
+from an intensely interesting chapter; but she laid the book aside,
+and promptly answered the call.
+
+Her face looked the welcome her heart gave them, as she asked Dawn
+and her teacher into her cool, airy room. It was one of those snug,
+homelike spots, made bright by touches of beauty. Here a vase of
+flowers, there a basket of work; books, pictures, every chair and
+footstool betokened the taste of the occupant, and the air of home
+sacredness that pervaded all, soon made Miss Vernon at ease.
+
+"We could n't help coming," said Dawn, as Miss Evans removed her hat
+and mantle, and her glowing features confirmed the assertion.
+
+"Just the kind of visitors I like, fresh and spontaneous. We shall
+have a nice time, I know, this lovely afternoon."
+
+"Can I walk in your garden, Miss Evans?"
+
+"Certainly. But are you not too tired, now?"
+
+"O, no," and Dawn was out of sight the next instant.
+
+"I have brought you a book, Miss Evans, which Mr. Wyman requested me
+to bring, myself."
+
+"O, yes," she said, glancing at the title, "the one he promised to
+loan me so long ago. Is he away from home?"
+
+"He left this morning."
+
+"You must miss him very much."
+
+"We do."
+
+Miss Evans saw, with a woman's intuition, that something was
+weighing on the mind of her visitor, and kindly sought to divert her
+thoughts. The conversation brightened a little, yet it was apparent
+that Miss Vernon's interest flagged, and that her mind grew
+abstracted.
+
+"I shall not relieve her, unless I probe the wound," said Miss Evans
+to herself, and she boldly ventured on grounds which her subtle
+penetration discovered to be the cause of her gloom.
+
+"You find my friend, Mr. Wyman, an agreeable companion, I hope, Miss
+Vernon?"
+
+"He has ever been so, and very kind and thoughtful."
+
+"He is a true gentleman, and a man of honor, as well of refinement
+and noble character."
+
+Miss Vernon breathed freer.
+
+"You have made him very happy," resumed Miss Evans, "by consenting
+to remain with him and his daughter. They are both much attached to
+you."
+
+A flush of pain she could not conceal passed over the face of the
+caller. "O, if I might but speak to you as I would," she said,
+almost fainting with emotion.
+
+"Do tell me in words what you have already so plainly told me in
+your looks. Tell me freely the cause of the shadow that hangs over
+you."
+
+In response to this appeal, Florence related the experience of the
+morning.
+
+"I am not at all surprised at this," said Miss Evans, after the
+statement had been made, "for well I know the dark surmisings that
+the dwellers in this little village have worked up into imaginary
+evils. Sages would no doubt assert that all rumors have some degree
+of truth, however slight, for a foundation. This may be true; at
+least I will not deny that it is so, but the instigators of the
+cruel slanders in this case have nothing but ignorance upon which to
+base them. Hugh Wyman is what some might call eccentric. The fact
+is, he is so far beyond the majority of his fellow men that he
+stands alone, and is the cause of great clamor among those who do
+not know him. He expresses his views upon social questions freely
+but wisely. His opinions respecting the social relations that should
+exist between men and women, and their right to selfhood, are not
+his alone, but are held by the best minds in the world; and his home
+is often visited by men and women of the largest culture and
+ability, both as thinkers and writers. I do not wonder for a moment
+that your equilibrium was disturbed by these shallow-brained women.
+And now before I advocate my friend's honesty and virtue farther, I
+will tell you, what no one save myself and he knows, of one of the
+women who called upon you this morning. It is your due, after what
+has occurred, and belongs to this moment. I believe in such moments
+it is right to raise the veil of the past. Listen:--
+
+"A few years ago, one of that number who came to you, sought by
+every subterfuge and art, to gain the affections of Hugh Wyman.
+Intellectually, spiritually, in every way his inferior, of course he
+could not for a moment desire her society. Yet she sought him at all
+times, and when, at last, he told her in words what he had all along
+so forcibly expressed by his acts, that he had not even respect for
+her, and bade her cease her maneuverings, she turned upon him in
+slander; and even on his wedding day asserted that his fair Alice
+was a woman of no repute--abandoned by her friends. Nor is this
+all;-one year after the marriage of Hugh, she gave birth to a child;
+it was laid at night at his door, and he was charged with being its
+father."
+
+"But was she married, then?"
+
+"No. She subsequently went to a small village in N--, and married."
+
+"Did the town people believe her story?"
+
+"A few-but proofs of his innocence long since established the
+falsity of the charge, except in the minds of those who seem to
+delight only in that which dispoils the character of another."
+
+"But his wife? did she too suffer with doubt?"
+
+"Never. Not for a moment was her faith in her husband clouded."
+
+"And this child must be the one they spoke of to deceive me."
+
+"It is. I will go with you some day to see him, and if your eyes can
+detect the slightest resemblance to Hugh Wyman, I shall think you
+are gifted with more than second sight. I do not wish to weary you,
+Miss Vernon, but my friend's character is too sacred to me to be
+thus assailed, and I not use all my powers to make known the truth,
+and prove him innocent."
+
+"I believe his views upon marriage are rather radical, are they not,
+Miss Evans?"
+
+"They are. I join him fully in all his ideas, for long have I seen
+that our system needs thorough reformation, and that while the
+marriage bond is holy, too many have desecrated it. I believe some
+of the most inharmonious offspring are brought into the world, under
+the sanction of marriage-children diseased, mentally and physically;
+and worse than orphans. I do not say this to countenance
+licentiousness. Indeed, I know that licentiousness is not all
+outside of wedlock. It is to purify and elevate the low, and not to
+give license to such, that earnest men and women are talking and
+writing to-day. I do not blame you, Miss Vernon, for wishing proof
+of Mr. Wyman's purity and honor. I like a mind that demands
+evidence. And now, tell me, have I scattered or broken the cloud
+that hung over you?"
+
+"You have. I shall trust Mr. Wyman till I have some personal proof
+that he is not all I feel him to be."
+
+"That is the true course to pursue, my friend. In that way alone you
+have your own life developed. If by word, look or deed he ever
+betrays your trust, I shall call my intuitions vain, and all my
+insight into human character mere idle conjecture."
+
+"But I must go now, Miss Evans. I thank you much for the light which
+you have given me, and your sympathy, all of which I so much
+needed."
+
+"Your position was indeed trying, but do you not feel that your
+character will be deeper and stronger for this disturbance?"
+
+"I feel as though I had lived through a long period."
+
+"I have one question to put to you, which you must answer from your
+soul's deep intuition, and not from your reason alone. Do you
+believe Hugh Wyman guilty of the crimes charged against him?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+There was no hesitation in the answer; their souls met on
+sympathetic ground, and those two women loved Hugh Wyman alike, with
+a pure sisterly affection.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+
+
+
+There are pauses in every life; seasons of thought after outward
+experiences, when the soul questions, balances, and adjusts its
+emotions; weighs each act, condemns and justifies self in one
+breath, then throws itself hopefully into the future to await the
+incoming tide, whether of joy or sorrow it knows not.
+
+In such a state Florence Vernon found herself a few days after her
+visit to Miss Evans. She thought when with her that no doubt could
+ever shadow her heart again; but fears had crept over her, even
+though she desired to be firm.
+
+"Shall I stay and trust his nature, or go away and take up my old
+life, and be again desolate and lonely? Which?" She kept asking this
+again and again to herself. "I have been so happy here; but, if I
+go, it must be before he returns. No! I will not. I will stay and
+brave the talk, and-"
+
+"Miss Vernon, please come down, papa has come!
+
+"O, why did he come so soon? How I dread to meet him," were the
+words that Florence found springing to her lips; but not hearing his
+voice, she thought that Dawn must have been only in jest.
+
+She listened again. Yes, Mr. Wyman was talking to Dawn in the hall.
+She sat very still, and soon heard them both go into the garden;
+then all was still. Again alone, she tried to analyze her emotions,
+and see whether her deepest feeling was that of peace and rest, the
+same she felt when she first entered the home of Mr. Wyman. It was
+there, as it had been, but so agitated that the effort to ascertain
+its presence gave back no deep trust to her questioning heart. The
+bell rang for tea. She would gladly have stayed away, but could fame
+no excuse, and after bathing her eyes, which were red and swollen,
+she went slowly down stairs.
+
+"I suppose you are surprised, Florence, among the rest, at my
+unexpected presence. I did not myself expect to be at home so soon,
+but meeting one of the firm with whom my business was connected, I
+was but too glad to adjust it and return at once. I have felt very
+weary, too, since the first day I left home, as though some cloud
+was hanging over my home. My first thought was of Dawn, but her
+rosy, happy face soon put to flight the apprehensions I had for her;
+yet you, Florence, are not looking well; are you ill?"
+
+"I am quite well, thank you."
+
+He looked deeper than her words, and saw within a tumult of
+emotions. He did not notice her farther, but talked with Dawn during
+the remainder of the meal, and when they were through went alone to
+walk.
+
+"He shuns me," she said, as she went into her room and sat down, sad
+and dejected, "what but wrong can make him appear so? But I will not
+leave it thus. I will know from him to-night whether these reports
+are true, and then if true, leave here forever. Happiness, like that
+I have experienced the past few months is too great to last."
+
+He sat alone in the library; she rapped softly at his door.
+
+"Come in," he said kindly, and rose to meet her as she entered.
+
+She motioned him back to his seat. "Stay, do not rise," was all she
+could say, and fell at his feet.
+
+He lifted her gently, as a mother might have raised a weary child,
+and placed her beside him. Then, taking her hand, cold with
+excitement, in his own, said,--
+
+"I knew, Florence, by my depression, that your grief called me home.
+Some slander has reached your ears. Is it not so?"
+
+"It is. I have trusted and doubted, until I scarce know my own
+mind."
+
+"Do you feel most at rest when you trust me?"
+
+"I think-yes, I know I do. Forgive me," she continued, "if these
+shadows had not fallen so suddenly on my path, I never should for a
+moment have lost my trust in you. I have been shaken, convulsed, and
+scarce know my best thoughts."
+
+"You have, indeed. I know not who have thus disturbed you, but may
+they never suffer as we both have, and more especially yourself. I
+say I know not, and yet my suspicions may not be entirely without
+foundation. And now remember, Florence, the moment you feel that I
+am not what your ideal of a friend and brother should be, that
+moment we had better part."
+
+She started, and grew pale.
+
+"I do not allude to the present, or to the scandal which has
+unnerved and disturbed your state; nor can I expect you who are
+learning to trust impressions rather than experiences, to feel
+otherwise than you have. It was natural. I only wonder that you did
+not go at once. Your remaining has shown me your worth, and a trait
+of character which I admire. Now that the ordeal is passed, I shall
+feel that you are my friend, even though slander, vile and dark, may
+be hurled against me, as it is possible, for I have a battle to
+fight for you, my friend, and all womankind. The rights of woman,
+which have been ignored, or thought but lightly of, I shall strongly
+advocate, as opportunity occurs. I shall be misunderstood, over and
+underrated in the contest, but for that I care not. I only am too
+impatient to see the day when your sex shall not marry for mere
+shelter, and when labor of all kinds shall be open for their heads
+and hands, with remuneration commensurate with their efforts. I am
+anxiously looking for the time when their right to vote shall be
+admitted them, not grudgingly, but freely and willingly given; for
+is not woman God's highest work, and his best gift to man? Now, if
+the shadows come again, in shape of scandal, think you, you can
+trust me?"
+
+"I can. I do, and can never doubt again. Forgive the past. I was
+weak-"
+
+"There is nothing to forgive," said Mr. Wyman, as he leaned over and
+kissed her forehead.
+
+The seal of brotherhood was set, and Hugh and Florence knew from
+that hour the bond which bound them, and that it was pure and
+spotless.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Deane sat rocking, and casting impatient glances at the little
+clock upon the mantle. The book which she had an hour previous been
+deeply interested in, lay closed upon her lap, while the nervous
+glancing of her eye towards the door, told that she was anxiously
+awaiting the arrival of some one. The clock struck ten, and rising
+from her seat, she went to the window, and drawing the curtain
+aside, looked out on the soft summer night. It was one of those
+lovely evenings towards the close of the season, when the slightly
+chilled air reminds one of cosy firesides, and close companionship
+with those dearest to the heart. But her thoughts were not of a
+peaceful cast. She was alone, and jealous of him who had left her
+so. A moment later and the sound of footsteps was heard upon the
+piazza; a sound which in earlier years she had heard with thrills of
+pleasure. But to-night they only loosed the tension of long-pent
+passion, and selfish thoughts of neglect. She sank into a chair, and
+sat with the air of one deeply wronged, as her husband entered the
+room.
+
+"What, up and waiting for me?" he said, going towards her, his face
+glowing with mental exhilaration.
+
+She turned coldly from him, and took up her book. He drew it gently
+from her, saying,--
+
+"Listen, Mabel, to me. I want to talk with you awhile. You can read
+when I am away."
+
+"Yes, sir, I find ample opportunities for that," and she cast on him
+a look of keen rebuke.
+
+"Don't, Mabel; listen to me."
+
+"I am all attention; why do you not proceed?"
+
+"Do you think I can talk while you are in such a frame of mind?"
+
+"Why, what would you have me do? I am waiting for your words of
+wisdom, or, maybe, a lecture on the foibles of the sex in general,
+and myself in particular; proceed, it's quite a relief, I assure
+you, to hear a human voice after these lonely evenings, which seem
+interminable."
+
+"Why, Mabel, what do you mean? I have not spent an evening away from
+you for nearly a year before this. My absence this evening has been
+purely accidental, although I have passed it very agreeably."
+
+"And may I ask where you find such delightful entertainment, that
+kept you away till this late hour, for it is nearly midnight?"
+
+"Yes. I have spent the evening with Miss Evans."
+
+"That detestable strong-minded-"
+
+"Mabel! I will not hear her spoken of in this manner."
+
+"O, no indeed. All the men in L--are crazy after her society,--so
+refined, so progressive, so intelligent. I am sick of it all. I
+suppose you think we poor wives will submit to all this. No, no; I
+shall not, for one. You will spend your evenings at home with me.
+Howard Deane, you have no right to leave me for the society of any
+woman, as you have to-night."
+
+Having thus expended her breath and wrath, she sank back into her
+hair and gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. To her
+limited sight, she was an injured woman. How different would she
+have felt could she have kindly listened to the words which he was
+longing to speak to her.
+
+"O, Mabel, if you would only listen to me. To-night I have heard
+such glorious thoughts that my whole being longed to share them with
+you. Thoughts that would make any man or woman live a nobler and
+better life. O, Mabel, be my helpmate. Do not turn from one who
+loves you."
+
+"A strange way to manifest your love for me, spending your hours
+with other women,--"
+
+"Stop, Mabel. I will, at least, have myself heard, and be free to
+hear the thoughts of other women, as well as those of men. I begin
+to believe that the words of Hugh Wyman are too true, 'marriage, in
+nine cases out of ten, is a bondage-a yoke of tyranny, keeping two
+souls fretting and wearing each other's lives away.'"
+
+He stopped, fearful that he had gone too far, and looked earnestly
+on the cold features of his wife. Forgive him, reader, he could not
+help comparing her then with Miss Evans, the latter so calm,
+earnest, and deep in her love for humanity and progressive life.
+
+He stepped close to her side, and taking her hand as tenderly as a
+lover might, said,--
+
+"Mabel, forgive me; I was excited, and said too much. I love you, as
+you well know, as I love no other woman, but I must have the
+innocent freedom of enjoying a friend's society, even though that
+friend be a woman.
+
+"O, certainly, Mr. Deane. I would not for a moment debar you from
+social pleasures. I see I am not congenial, and do not attract you.
+Perhaps Miss Evans is your soul-affinity; if so, I beg you not to
+let me stand in your way. I can go to my father's, any day."
+
+"Mabel!" It was all he could utter, and went out of the room.
+
+Alone, and left to her own reflections, she became more calm. A tear
+of real penitence for her hasty words, stole down her cheek. "I will
+go and tell Howard I am sorry for my unkind remarks," she said, as
+she brushed it from her face, and she rose to do so. At that moment
+a short, quick ring of the doorbell shook away the resolve, and she
+trembled with fear, unable to answer the summons.
+
+How thankful she felt to hear her husband's firm, manly step in the
+hall, and then his voice, low and rich as ever, welcoming her own
+parents. Why were they here? and what could have happened? were the
+questions which came to her mind, as her mother rushed into the
+room, followed by her father, with a carpet-bag and sundry packages.
+
+"We have given you a surprise this time, I guess, Mabel," he said,
+kissing her as tenderly as he used to when she sat upon his knee,
+and listened to almost endless stories of his own making.
+
+"But why is it that you are so late?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"The cars were delayed three hours by an accident, so instead of
+arriving in good time, we have come in rather out of order, but not
+unwelcome, Mabel, I know."
+
+He did not see her face, or he might have feared that the welcome
+was not as warm as usual. She answered quickly:
+
+"Why, yes, father, you and mother are welcome at any time of day or
+night," and yet she wished she was alone with Howard that moment.
+
+"I told father," said her mother, looking at the clock, "that it was
+so late we had better go to a hotel, but he would come, saying,
+Howard would not mind getting up to give the old folks a welcome."
+
+"We should have been very sorry to have had you done so. O, here
+comes Howard," and the husband of Mabel entered, looking very pale.
+
+"Late hours don't agree with you, my son. What has kept you up so
+long?"
+
+"Some winged messenger, I suspect, knowing you were coming; but you
+must be weary," and he offered the new-comers refreshments from the
+side board. Mabel, however, had flown to the dining-room and
+prepared them something more substantial in the way of cold meats,
+and a cup of tea, which she made in an incredibly short space of
+time.
+
+It was a relief when she had shown them to their room. She went
+below and sat alone, hoping Howard would come to her. He had gone
+into his study, where he sometimes passed a greater part of the
+night in writing, for he was a lawyer by profession, being a man of
+more than average abilities, his services were sought for many miles
+around. Mabel waited, but he came not, and being unable longer to
+bear delay, she sought him in his retreat.
+
+"Mabel, you ought to be in bed; its now half past one. You will
+scarce be able to entertain your father and mother, I fear, if you
+do not go now," and he resumed his writing.
+
+"So cold! Well, I can live without his love," she said to herself,
+and turned to leave the room. He glanced at her lithe form, and all
+the lover-like feelings of early years came over him. He longed to
+fold her once more to his heart, and rose to follow her.
+
+"Good night, sir," came from her lips in icy tones, and he returned
+to his labors, chilled, heart-sick and weary, where we will leave
+him and turn back one chapter to the cause of all this
+misconception, and see if we find in it aught but words of truth,
+and principles which should be understood by all.
+
+Like too many women, Mrs. Deane had striven to keep her husband
+wholly to herself. She could not realize that one who is determined
+in her own way and time to get the whole, may not get even a part.
+She wanted him entirely for herself, ignorant of the fact, or if
+knowing, rebellious against it, that his being would flow to herself
+after a temporary receding, far richer in love. Alas, how many women
+are dwarfing noble men, and cheating themselves out of the highest
+enjoyments of life.
+
+Of Miss Evans she knew nothing, save by report. Like the many, she
+allowed her prejudices to control her, and avoided all opportunities
+of making the acquaintance of a worthy woman, one who was fast
+becoming life and light to minds of a high order. The thoughts which
+had thrilled the heart and soul of her husband we will record for
+the benefit of those who may be struggling for light.
+
+Howard Deane walked to the village post office that evening with no
+other thought than of receiving his papers and returning home. While
+there, he met Hugh Wyman, who requested him, as it was on his way,
+to take a magazine to Miss Evans. He did not hesitate to grant the
+request of his friend. Reaching her home he found her alone, and
+common courtesies led them into conversation. This at first touched
+only upon daily events, but soon it led into deeper channels, and
+their individual thoughts were brought out upon religious subjects,
+each receiving suggestions from the standpoint of the other.
+
+"I am impatient, I know," said Miss Evans, as the subject warmed and
+brightened under the glow of words, "to see the day when my long
+cherished ideas will be wrought into actual life. Will it not be
+grand when religion shall no longer be an abstract, soulless
+science, a musty theology, but a living, vital truth, lived and
+acted, not merely professed and preached; when the human family
+shall be united in one bond, and man love to do his brother good;
+when he who is strong, shall care for him who is weak; when daily
+deeds of kindness shall be accepted as true worship; when the golden
+rule shall be the only creed of mankind, and woman shall throw upon
+her erring sisters the blessed veil of charity. The world is full of
+need to-day. It never so much needed the labor of every earnest man
+and woman as now. All can work for its advancement; some speak, some
+write, others act, and thus unitedly aid in ushering in the
+millenium of humanity. Religion is to me only a daily life of
+goodness. The church has little but form. We want vital christianity
+flowing from heart to heart; and prayers, not at stated times, but
+when souls mount heavenward, whether in words or deeds, to be
+recognized as true worship. When our churches shall be adorned by
+art; when the theatre, now so little understood, is employed as a
+lever of moral power, equal if not greater than the church, for
+reaching the heart, and enriching the intellect; when these two
+forces approach each other, then shall we have a real church and
+true worship. Art in every form must be acknowledged as the great
+mediator between God and man, and when this is done we shall have a
+completeness in our worship, which is little dreamed of now. To my
+mind, the drama appears as the great instructor of the coming time--
+greater than the church, more potent, hence more effectual, and
+will, I think, at some day occupy its place. I have talked long, but
+the fullness of the theme must be my excuse."
+
+"I am but too glad to hear expressions of such thoughts from any
+one. I have been for a long time reaching for something more
+satisfactory than I have received. The forms of worship have long
+been dull and void of life to me."
+
+"Too long have our minds been lumbered with doctrines, instead of
+principles," said Miss Evans, her face glowing with earnest thought,
+"but the signs of the times are now glorious. Men will no longer
+feed on husks and dry bones. The call is every day for light, more
+light, and theories are fast giving place to human experiences. A
+strong current of individual life, too, is setting in, which
+inspires every speaker and writer with high and noble thoughts, and
+they are forced to give bread and not stones to the multitude. We
+shall, I hope, Mr. Deane, live to see the coming of the new day, for
+surely we have little but darkness now, and yet all the light we
+could use, I suppose, else it would have come before."
+
+"I trust we shall, and if men and women are true to the light they
+have, the day will soon be here. But, really, Miss Evans," he said,
+looking at his watch, "'t is almost ten o'clock; how rapidly the
+moments have flown."
+
+"I lose all idea of time when I feel the beating and pulsing of a
+human soul," responded Miss Evans. "I hope you will come again and
+bring your wife; I only know her by features; I really wish to know
+her through her thoughts."
+
+"I will, I thank you," and he left, full to overflowing, impatient
+to impart to his wife the thoughts of an earnest soul. We have met
+him in his home, and know the result,--the sharp reverse side of most
+of life's best experiences.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Deane found the hours drag heavily while her parents remained.
+She was not like her former self, and they could not but notice the
+change.
+
+It was the first time in their married life that she wished them at
+home. One hour alone with her husband would have set all right; but
+there were none, for business seemed to press in from all quarters,
+and every moment of his time, far into the night, was occupied in
+writing.
+
+They saw nothing of each other save in the presence of their
+parents, for Mr. Deane only snatched a few hours' sleep at early
+dawn, and awoke just in time to prepare for breakfast. They were
+estranged, and circumstances to embitter the sad state of affairs
+seemed to daily multiply.
+
+The fourth evening after the arrival, there was a slight pause in
+the pressure of his business, but feeling no inclination to join the
+family, knowing that Mabel and himself would be in feelings miles
+apart, he called again upon Miss Evans.
+
+To his relief he found her alone, for he longed for another
+communion with a mind so comprehensive, and a soul so pure as her
+own. She noticed the look of sadness on his face, and was glad her
+own heart was light and her soul strong in trust, that she might
+administer to him.
+
+Had he come last night, she said to herself, how little could I have
+done for him, for my own soul was dark with grief, my lips dumb. His
+face bore a more buoyant look as her words of hope and thoughtful
+sayings appealed to his good judgment, and before long it glowed
+with joy like her own. He forgot the cloud that had arisen over
+himself and Mabel; forgot her words that so wounded his soul; and
+only her best and true self was mirrored on his heart, as he
+listened to the vital truths which flowed from the lips of the noble
+woman in whose presence he sat.
+
+"Our conversation the other night," he said, "awakened such new
+emotions, or rather aroused feelings which were dormant, that I
+could not resist the strong impulse I felt to call on you again and
+renew our conversation."
+
+"I am very glad you have come, for it does my soul good to see
+others interested in these newly-developed views, and recognizing
+the great needs of humanity, and the imperative demands of our
+natures."
+
+"I have felt," remarked Mr. Deane, "for a long time that the church,
+the subject of our last conversation, needs more life; that it must
+open its doors to all rays of light, and not longer admit only a
+few, and that those doors must be broad enough and high enough, that
+whatever is needed for the advancement of mankind may enter therein,
+come from whence it may, and called by whatever name it may be. In a
+word, the church must go on in advance of the people, or at least
+with them, else it will be left behind and looked upon as a worn out
+and useless institution."
+
+"I am glad to hear you express your thoughts thus, and hope you will
+give them as freely at all times, for too many who entertain these
+views do not speak them, standing in fear of what their friends or
+the church may say or do. Of such there are tens of thousands. Give
+them utterance. Every honest man and woman should, and thus aid in
+hastening on the day of true life and perfect liberty. While I value
+associative effort, I would not for a moment lose sight of
+individual thinking and acting. We do not have enough of it. The
+church has much to adopt to bring it into a healthy condition.
+To-day it ignores many valuable truths which retired individuals
+hold, while it feeds its hearers on husks. Finding better food for
+their souls outside, they go, and cannot return, because the truths
+they hold would not be accepted."
+
+"We have made rapid advances in art and science, Miss Evans, but the
+church has lagged behind, until at length we find that more
+christianity is found outside than inside its walls."
+
+"True. The best men and women I have ever known, have never sat at
+the table of the Lord, so called, have never broken the bread and
+drank the wine, yet their souls have tasted life-everlasting when
+they have given in His name food to the hungry and clothing to the
+naked. Each soul is a temple and each heart a shrine. The only thing
+the church can do to-day is, to reach forth and take its life from
+the world. All the accessions of art must be unfolded, if she would
+keep alive. Fortify it with these things, and we shall not see, as
+we do now, in every town and city even, the whole burden of its
+support resting on one or two individuals. If it has life enough it
+will stand; if it refuse light, such persons only retard its
+progress, although strictly conscientious in their position. I think
+one of its greatest errors is in keeping one pastor too long. How
+can the people be fed, and draw life from one fount alone?"
+
+"True," he said, "and is not that view applicable to our social and
+domestic as well as to our religious state? Can we draw life always
+from one person?"
+
+"No; nor was it ever intended that men and women should so exhaust
+each other. The marriage law is too arbitrary; it allows no scope
+for individual action, and yet the subject is so delicate, so
+intricate, that none but the keenest and nicest balanced minds dare
+attempt to criticise, much less improve it. The misconstructions of
+a person's motives are so great that many who see its errors,
+tremble and fear to speak of them. But if we are to bring any good
+to the covenant, so sacred in its offices, we must point out its
+defects and seek to remedy them, and I sometimes think it will be my
+mission to help it to higher states. Although such a task would be
+far from enviable, I will willingly give my thoughts to those who
+are struggling, at the risk of being misunderstood nine times in
+ten, as I probably shall be."
+
+"Then please give me your best thoughts, Miss Evans, for I need all
+the light I can get, not only for myself, but for others."
+
+"I am but a scholar, like yourself, Mr. Deane, and I sometimes think
+that all I may hope to do will be but to lift the burden an instant
+from the pilgrim's shoulder, that deeper breath may be taken for the
+long and often dreary journey."
+
+A sharp ring of the door-bell interrupted further conversation, and
+Mr. Deane, bowing to the intruder, as such she seemed at that moment
+to be, bade Miss Evans good evening, and departed.
+
+The caller was a gossiping woman, who kept many domestic fires alive
+with her fuel of scandalous reports.
+
+"Dear me, Miss Evans," she said, as soon as comfortably seated, "was
+n't that Mr. Deane? Yes, I thought so; but my eye-sight 'aint over
+good, and then he looked so sad-like; maybe he 'aint well," and she
+looked inquiringly to Miss Evans, who replied,--
+
+"I think he is in his usual health; a little worn, perhaps, with
+business. How is your family, Mrs. Turner?"
+
+"O, tol'rable, thank ye. But Mr. Deane did n't say anything, did he,
+about his folks?
+
+"His folks? What do you mean, Mrs. Turner?"
+
+"Law me, I might as well tell as not, now I've said what I have. Why
+you see Miss Moses who nusses Mrs. Baker, was up ter Mrs. Brown's
+last night, and Mrs. Deane's hired gal was there, and she told Mrs.
+Brown's man that Mr. Deane and his wife had some pretty hard words
+together, and that her folks-her father and mother-was 'goin ter
+take her home."
+
+"Mrs. Turner, I have no interest in this gossip; we will change the
+subject if you please."
+
+"Lor, don't be 'fended; I only-I mean I meant no harm."
+
+"You may not; but this idle habit of retailing the sayings of
+others, is worse than folly. It's a great wrong to yourself and the
+individuals spoken of."
+
+"Well, I did n't think to have such a lectur'," said the woman,
+affecting a feeling of good nature, "I say as I said afore, I meant
+no harm. I like Mr. and Mrs. Deane very much, and thought it was too
+bad for such things to be said."
+
+"Is marm here?" inquired a coarse voice at the door, and a red,
+chubby face was thrust in the narrow opening.
+
+"Why, Josiah Turner, I told you ter go ter bed an hour ago. Well, I
+must go, Miss Evans. I 'spose my boy won't go without me," and
+taking her son by the hand, she departed.
+
+"A storm upon their domestic horizon, I fear, is coming, if not
+already there," said Miss Evans, setting down and resting her lead
+upon her hands. "I wish he had not come. Something may be charged to
+me-but why should I fear. I have said simply what I felt was right.
+I must expect to encounter many storms in this voyage whose haven of
+peace is-where? None knoweth."
+
+She fastened her door, and after lifting her heart in prayer for
+guidance, retired.
+
+Mr. Deane found his wife alone when he returned, and one could have
+seen by his manner how glad he was to find her so.
+
+"It seems a month, Mabel, since I have seen you alone."
+
+She only remarked that she feared her parents felt his absence from
+home.
+
+"I do think, Howard," she continued, "that you could give us a
+little of your time. It is due to my parents. It must seem to them
+that you willingly absent yourself, and it is hard for me to
+convince them to the contrary."
+
+"I am sorry that any such impression should have worked its way into
+their minds. They ought to know that it is quite a sacrifice for me
+to devote myself so closely to business. I hope, Mabel, you are
+wrongly impressed as regards them, and it may be that your own state
+has more to do with it than theirs. This is the first evening I have
+had to myself since they have been here."
+
+"And why was this not spent at home?"
+
+"Because I cannot assume to be what I am not, and you know I am not
+at rest; that our harmony is disturbed. Could I have seen you alone,
+I should have been at home before this."
+
+"You have sought society, I suppose, more congenial?"
+
+"Mabel, be careful. You may so unnerve me that I may say much that I
+shall be sorry for."
+
+"Howard?"
+
+"Well, Mabel."
+
+"I think I shall return with father and mother. They will go home
+day after to-morrow."
+
+He did not raise his eyes, nor appear in the least anxious to detain
+her, but merely said:
+
+"Where are they this evening?"
+
+"At Mrs. Norton's. They went to tea. I felt too ill to accompany
+them."
+
+"Are you very ill, Mabel?"
+
+"I feel far from well, and yet it does not seem to be from physical
+indisposition. It is something deeper."
+
+"True, my poor wife, we have become estranged; and what has caused
+it?"
+
+She looked thoughtfully at him a moment, but no answer came from her
+lips.
+
+"I think we had better part awhile. It will do us both good."
+
+She started, scarce expecting such a remark from him.
+
+"Then my presence has, indeed, become irksome to you?" Her tone and
+manner implied more than she cared to display.
+
+"You know better than that, Mabel; but I-we both are sadly out of
+harmony; perhaps have exhausted each other. Let us part, and each
+find ourselves. We shall be brighter and happier when we come
+together, Mabel; shall we not?" and he laid his hand tenderly on her
+head.
+
+O, why cannot two at least see things in their true light? Why was
+it that she remained so blind to the real state of affairs? Either
+ignorance or wilfulness kept her from the light, and coldly bidding
+him good night, she left the room.
+
+The next day was indeed gloomy. Mabel's parents had become
+acquainted, not with the facts, but with a distorted view of the
+case, and in their eyes she was a greatly abused woman. It was no
+longer any use for her husband to exert himself for their happiness,
+the poison of prejudice had entered their minds, and tinctured every
+thought.
+
+It was a painful parting. Misconception on one side, and deep
+suffering with pride, upon the other. No lighting of the eyes, no
+pressure of the hand, no warm good-bye, to keep his heart alive
+while she was away.
+
+He stood, after the cars had left, deeply pondering the strange
+affair, until the crowd jostled him, and brought him back to the
+external world, with its toil, its sounds of mirth, and its varied
+forms of life.
+
+What a break in his usual peaceful life; what a void he found in his
+soul when he entered the silent home. There was no lingering
+atmosphere of love about the rooms; everything was put away out of
+sight. The order was painful, and he left to seek companionship if
+not sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+
+
+
+"What is it like, Dawn?"
+
+"Like a great Soul that has absorbed a million lives into its own,
+and cannot rest, it is so full of joy and sadness," and she fixed
+her gaze more intently on the foam-crested waves.
+
+It was the first time she had seen the ocean, and her father's keen
+enjoyment watching her enraptured, wondering gaze, afforded Miss
+Vernon another source of pleasure, aside from the wide expanse of
+beauty, which stretched from shore to horizon.
+
+The three, according to Mr. Wyman's promise, had come to enjoy the
+pleasures and beauties of the seaside for a few weeks, as well as to
+see the different phases of human character which were daily
+thronging there.
+
+It was intensely interesting to Miss Vernon to watch the child's
+eager interest in this glorious display of nature, and her strange
+insight into the character of the people with whom they were in
+daily contact.
+
+There was one faint, gentle girl, about twenty years of age, who
+walked every evening alone, and whom Miss Vernon watched with great
+interest.
+
+"I like her, too," said Dawn, coming close to her teacher one
+evening, as she walked up and down on the beach.
+
+"Who? and how do you know I like her."
+
+"Why, the lady there, walking in front of us. I feel you like her."
+
+"I am glad you do, Dawn. And now tell me why you love her."
+
+"I love her because she is white."
+
+"You mean that she is pure. I think she is."
+
+"Yes. I mean that and something else."
+
+"What?"
+
+"In one of my lessons, you told me, that some objects were white,
+because they absorbed none of the rays, but reflected all."
+
+"You must explain your singular application-or in plain words, tell
+me how she reflects all, and takes none."
+
+"Why, because she don't take the life from people, but gives to
+them."
+
+"You know just what I mean-she throws it back to themselves purified
+by her light." And the child's face was not her own, another's shone
+through it.
+
+"Very good, Dawn, I hope we shall sometime know this pure young
+lady, and receive a brightness from her," said Miss Vernon, talking
+more to herself than the strange child who was dancing at that
+moment in time to the waves.
+
+"According to your scientific symbol, I suppose we shall see some
+black people here before we go," she said laughingly to the child.
+
+"Yes, there are plenty of those everywhere. They take all the light,
+and give none out. But see, Miss Vernon, the lady is sitting on a
+rock and weeping, may I go to her?"
+
+"Would it not be an intrusion?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes, but not now. May I go? Papa would let me, I think."
+
+"You must ask him. I had rather not give you such a liberty."
+
+"Then I will," and she flew at the top of her speed to the bank
+where he was sitting.
+
+"May I go and see that lady out on the rock, papa?"
+
+"Why? Do you know her?"
+
+No, but I must go," and as she spoke Dawn's eyes had that strange
+look which betokened an inner vision.
+
+"Yes, daughter, go," was his answer, and she bounded from his side,
+and was close to the weeping stranger, in an instant.
+
+Her father watched her with the deepest interest, and almost wished
+himself within hearing.
+
+She did not approach the stranger quietly, but with one bound sprang
+and threw her arms around her neck, saying in a voice deeper and
+stronger than her own:
+
+"Pearl, I am here. Weep no more!"
+
+The young girl thrilled, but not with terror, for to her such things
+were of frequent occurrence. Yet the proof to her now of the
+presence of the unseen was of such a positive nature, more tangible
+than she had felt for months, that all her accumulated doubts gave
+way, and the pure waters of faith flowed over her soul.
+
+Here, among strangers, where none knew her name, or her grief, had
+the voice of her loved one spoken. Why should she doubt? Why should
+thousands, who have every day a similar experience?
+
+She rose from her position, and taking the hand of the child, which
+thrilled strangely to her touch, walked towards the house.
+
+"Do you love the sea?" she asked of the little stranger.
+
+"O, ever so much. I mean to ask papa to live here forever," and she
+looked enthusiastically towards the receding waves.
+
+"Do you live here?" asked Dawn.
+
+"No; my home is far away. I come here to rest."
+
+"Was that what made you weep? Was you weary?"
+
+"Yes, dear. My soul is very weary at times."
+
+"Is the sea weary when it moans?" and she looked wonderingly over
+the wide expanse of changing waves.
+
+"I think it is; but I must leave you now; I see your friends are
+looking for you."
+
+But Dawn would not let her pass on. She held her hand tighter, and
+said:
+
+"This is my papa, and this is my teacher."
+
+"I hope my child has not annoyed you, Miss," said Mr. Wyman, as he
+gazed on the face of the beautiful stranger before them.
+
+"Far from it, sir. She has comforted me. Children, under ordinary
+circumstances, are ever welcome, but when they bring proof-"
+
+She stopped, fearful that she might not be understood.
+
+"I comprehend it, Miss. I saw another life than her own in her eyes,
+else I should not have permitted her to have gone to you."
+
+"I thank you both," said the gentle girl, and bowing gracefully, she
+went towards the house.
+
+"Is she not white, Miss Vernon?" asked Dawn, exultingly, when the
+stranger was out of hearing.
+
+Yes, she is beautiful and pure."
+
+"I hope she was comforted, for her face has a look of sorrow, deeper
+than we often see on one so young," remarked Mr. Wyman, who had been
+enlightened by Miss Vernon on Dawn's strange application of
+soul-science.
+
+"Yes, she was, papa. Some one in the air made me speak and call her
+name. It's 'Pearl'; is n't it pretty? O, see those clouds, papa,"
+she cried, with thrilling ecstasy; "I hope they will look just like
+that when I die."
+
+"You are weary now, darling; we must go in," said her father,
+watching with jealous eyes the snow-white and crimson clouds which
+lay on the horizon, just above the foaming waves.
+
+"There are some people here from L--," said Miss Vernon, as she and
+Mr. Wyman sat together on the piazza the next morning, watching the
+changing sea.
+
+"Ah, who are they; any of our friends?"
+
+"I have never seen them at your house. Two ladies,--a Mrs. Foster and
+sister. Do you know them?"
+
+"I know that there are such people in L--. When did they arrive? I
+have not seen them."
+
+"Last evening; but you do not look particularly pleased. Will they
+disturb you?"
+
+"I do not mean they shall, although they are busybodies, and know
+every one's affairs better than their own."
+
+"So I judged by their conversation last evening, which I could not
+but overhear, as they talked so loud, their room being next to mine,
+and their door open."
+
+"Of whom were they speaking?"
+
+"Of a Mr. and Mrs. Deane. I think I have heard you allude to them."
+
+"I have; nice good people too. As usual, I suppose they were
+charging them with all sorts of foibles and misdemeanors."
+
+"I heard one of them assert that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had parted, and
+that she had gone to live with her parents."
+
+"It cannot be! Howard Deane is too just and honorable for anything
+of that nature; but if they have, there are good reasons for it. I
+think I will write him this very morning, and urge him to come and
+bring his wife to this beautiful spot for a few days. Will you lend
+me your folio, Florence? Mine is up two flights of stairs, and I
+would really like to be waited on this morning."
+
+She flew to her room, and returned and placed it before him, and
+then went in search of Dawn.
+
+Selecting a delicate sheet from its orderly arranged contents he
+commenced,--
+
+"My Dear Friend Howard.
+
+"Come and spend a few days in this loveliest of--"
+
+At this point a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and another
+placed over his eyes.
+
+"I am here;" said a well-known voice, "so throw aside pen and paper.
+We will commence in a better way."
+
+"Why? when? where did you come from, and how came you to select this
+place?"
+
+"I came this morning; arrived ten minutes ago from L--. Did not
+'select' this place; the place drew me here. Now I have answered all
+your interrogatories, may I ask you how long you have been here, and
+why you did not let me know you were coming?"
+
+"Two days only. I should have told you, but did not suppose you
+could leave for a moment, knowing the pressure of your business. But
+how is your wife? She is here of course?"
+
+His averted face did not reveal the look of pain which passed over
+it, as he replied:
+
+"She is not well, and went home with her mother."
+
+"So you was lonely and betook yourself to this scene of life to pass
+the hours away. You could not have chosen a better place. I hope the
+period of your stay here is not limited to a few days."
+
+"Instead of that it is indefinite."
+
+The tone of his voice was too sad to be mistaken, and Mr. Wyman
+began to think that there might be some truth in the rumor which
+Florence had heard.
+
+He glanced at Mr. Deane's face, and read all he had failed to see
+when he first met him.
+
+"I hope nothing has occurred to mar your pleasure while here; at
+least nothing but what the waves will wash away?"
+
+"The sea is a good place for the soul-weary, as well as for the
+light of heart. I cannot, however, leave my burden here. I am,
+indeed, very sad, Hugh. Are you much engaged? If not, we will take a
+walk together," he said, in tones which plainly implied a need of a
+companion like Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I have nothing to do, now you have arrived and saved me the
+laborious effort of writing to you."
+
+"Then you wished me here?"
+
+"I did. My thoughts went out to you this morning. I felt that you
+needed a change."
+
+"I do indeed;" and they walked together for awhile, then sat beneath
+the shade of a tree, whose long outstretched branches seemed to wave
+benedictions on their heads.
+
+"I need change, but human sympathy most. Mabel has gone from me. It
+is not a corporal separation only, but one of soul and heart."
+
+"Mabel gone! Is it, indeed, true? But the separation cannot last;
+she will surely return to your love and protection. Howard, I am
+glad you are h; ere. Some unseen power must have brought you to this
+place, where you can unburden your grief, and take better and
+clearer views of the case."
+
+"Then you think she will come again to me?"
+
+"Certainly; and you will both be stronger for the temporary
+separation."
+
+"I could bear it better were I not so sensitive to the opinion of
+the world."
+
+"You must rise above that. There is no growth to him who, seeking
+the new, fears to lose his grasp on the old. These backward glances
+retard the pilgrim on his way. Do what you feel to be right, and
+care for no man's words or opinions."
+
+"I wish I had your strength, Hugh."
+
+"I think you were sent here to me to be strengthened. God's hand is
+in the cloud as well as the sunshine, and I know He will work good
+from the seeming evil that encompasses you."
+
+"Your words cause me at least to hope."
+
+"This separation will work good for both of you."
+
+"I felt myself, when I found my love doubted and my truthfulness
+questioned, that it would be best for us."
+
+"Then you favored it?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"I am glad it was so. You will each have an opportunity to know
+yourselves, and how much you are to each other. When together, words
+take the place of thoughts, while absence ever kindles the flame of
+holy love, and by its light we see our own short-comings, and our
+companion's virtues. Were I you, I should look on this as one of the
+greatest opportunities of my life to test my heart's true feelings
+towards one whose affection had grown cold, or rather whose
+understanding had become clouded; for I doubt not her heart is as
+warm as when you led her to the altar. Like yonder receding wave,
+her love will return to you again, while to her restless soul you
+must be as firm as this rocky coast."
+
+"Woman's love," he continued, "is stronger, mightier than man's. It
+is no argument against their devotion that they are changeable. So
+is this ocean. Each hour a different hue comes upon its surface, but
+the depth is there. Thus is woman's soul full of varied emotions;
+the surface play is sometimes dark, at others reflecting the blue of
+the heavens above. Yes, they are deeper, higher than ourselves, and
+every day's experience attests to the fact of their superior
+delicacy and nicer perceptions. Their keen insight into daily
+matters, their quick sense of everything pertaining to religious and
+social life, are to me proofs of their fine qualities."
+
+"But their inconsistency at times wars with your assertions."
+
+"No; it is sterner stuff that reasons most; they are nicer in their
+perceptions, and feel instinctively their way into questions over
+which we work and solve alone by long reasoning."
+
+"I believe it is so."
+
+"Then you have advanced one step. We cannot appreciate woman too
+highly. That many do foolish things is no proof that many are not
+wise and good, bearing crosses day after day which would make you
+and I ready to lie down and die-they ever do great things, either
+good or bad, and men, I hope, will some day place her image next to
+his maker's, and look upon it as to him the holiest and highest on
+earth-the best gift of God."
+
+"Why, Hugh, you are wild upon this subject."
+
+"I am awake, and hope I shall never slumber."
+
+"Your words have given me rest, and stirred my best emotions. I will
+write to Mabel to-night. But yesterday and I felt that all women
+were as fickle as these waters. I am changed, and your remarks have
+caused me to think differently.
+
+"I have not changed your mind, I have only brought some of your
+better feelings to the surface."
+
+"And what is that but change?"
+
+"It may be, that it is. Do you not see that something mightier than
+yourself brought you here, where your morbid feelings will pass
+away,--though I do not wonder that you felt as you did, neither can I
+blame you. The human soul has many sides, and turns slowly to the
+light."
+
+"If I had your penetration, I could bear the discords of life."
+
+"We must learn not only to bear them, but to gather wisdom from
+their teachings. If we cannot grow under to-day's trial, we surely
+cannot under to-morrow's."
+
+"I begin to feel that we shall both be better for this
+estrangement."
+
+"You will, and come together, on a higher plane. Married people live
+in such close relations that each becomes absorbed by the other, and
+then having nothing fresh to give, what was once attraction becomes
+repulsion. I see these things so plainly myself that the criticism,
+and may be, censure of a multitude, jealous of personal freedom,
+affects me no more than the passing breeze. I know that if I stand
+upon a mount and behold a beautiful scene beyond, that it is there,
+although the people below may declare with positiveness that it is
+not. A man knows nothing of the value of his wife who sees not other
+women and learns their thoughts."
+
+"True. I have felt for a long time that I needed a fresh mind with
+which to hold converse, and my seeking one, although accidental, has
+brought about this state of things."
+
+"And that person?"
+
+"Was Miss Evans."
+
+"I remember; and the evening, I asked you to call and leave the
+magazine. Little did I think of such a result, which I should
+regret, perhaps, did I not fully believe that all things are ordered
+and arranged for our best good. Long and prayerfully I have studied
+this question, so vital and so closely allied to our best interests.
+I could not gleam even a ray of truth did I not live above the crowd
+and fearlessly pursue my own way. I see no escape from our thraldom,
+but through soul expanse, and this is produced only through soul
+liberty. I loved my Alice most when I was learning her through
+others; I am still learning and loving her each day, through my
+child and our friend Miss Vernon. With all our laws, we have and
+ever have had haunts of vice. Will the emancipation of soul increase
+their number? I think not. If men and women can be brought together
+on loftier planes we shall not have these excresences. The sexes
+need to be purely blended; they will approach each other, and it is
+for society to say how. Block up harmless social avenues and we
+shall have broad roads to destruction. I know husbands and wives who
+are consuming, instead of refreshing each other's lives. Yes,
+Howard, this is your great opportunity to take your position and
+draw your wife up to it. Life will be a new thing to you, and all of
+us who can accept these truths. Our present forms and ceremonies
+hold us apart, and there is scarcely a ripple of spontaneity upon
+life's surface. The highest hours, and those most productive of
+good, are when two souls converse and reflect each other's innermost
+states."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+
+
+
+It was not by words that they knew each other, but when their eyes
+met each felt that the other had passed some ordeal which made their
+souls akin.
+
+The stranger to whom Miss Vernon had been so drawn, met her on the
+beach the next morning, and asked her to walk with her.
+
+"I would like to tell you," she said, "of my strange experience last
+night; perhaps these things are not new to you," and she went on in
+a confiding tone at Miss Vernon's visible look of deep interest;--
+
+"I was weeping, as you may have noticed, when your strange and
+lovely pupil came to me,--weeping for the loss of one to whom I was
+betrothed. No mortal save myself knew the name which he gave me on
+the day of our engagement. It was 'Pearl.' My own name is Edith
+Weston. Judge of my emotion and surprise, when that child-a total
+stranger-came and spake my name in his exact tones. I have had other
+tests of spirit presences as clear and as positive, but none that
+ever thrilled me like this. Do you wonder that I already love that
+child with a strange, deep yearning?"
+
+"I do not. I have myself had proof through her that our dear
+departed linger around, and are cognizant of our sorrows as well as
+our joys."
+
+"Perhaps you too have loved."
+
+"Yes; but not like yourself. My mother's love is the only love I
+have known."
+
+"And you are an orphan like myself?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"That is what drew us together. And may I know your name?"
+
+"Florence Vernon. And I was attracted to you the first time I saw
+you."
+
+"I cannot tell you how glad I am to experience these proofs of human
+ties. It is a pleasure to me to think that wherever we go we shall
+meet some one who loves us. I am a dependent character, as you no
+doubt have perceived. I need the assurance and support of stronger
+minds even when I see my own way clear. Some there are who can see
+and go forth. I need to be led."
+
+"I hope you are fortunate enough to have some stronger mind about
+you. We are not all alike, and the vine nature must have something
+upon which it may cling and find support, or otherwise it will trail
+in the dust."
+
+"I am not thus fortunate. I have no one on whom to lean, or to whom
+I can look for guidance. Shall you remain long here?" she asked,
+fearing she had spoken too freely of herself.
+
+"We shall stay until we have received all that this atmosphere and
+these scenes can supply us with. It will then be our duty to go."
+
+"I like that. I must go away very soon to join my aunt who is
+obliged to remain among the mountains, as the sea air does not agree
+with her. But look, Miss Vernon, here comes Mr. Wyman and another
+gentleman!" and she seemed greatly disappointed at the interruption.
+
+"Miss Weston, Mr. Deane," said Florence, introducing them, and the
+next instant she watched with earnest gaze the look of admiration
+which he gave the timid girl. It was not a bold or intrusive look,
+but such an one as a man might have bestowed were he suddenly
+ushered into the presence of his highest conception of female worth
+and loveliness.
+
+Every line of his features betokened the keenest admiration, while
+her glance was far over the sea. Hugh saw the look, too, and was
+glad.
+
+Miss Vernon trembled, she knew not why. She wished that he had not
+come to the sea-shore, and that the beautiful stranger was all her
+own.
+
+The four walked together on the beach, until the heat of the day,
+and then Miss Weston withdrew.
+
+"The finest face I ever saw," said Mr. Deane, watching her figure
+till she was out of sight, "and as lovely in soul as in form and
+features, I perceive." Then turning to Miss Vernon, he said:
+
+"I see you harmonize. I am really glad it is so, for you can help
+each other very much."
+
+Mr. Deane dropped the conversation, and assumed an air of
+abstraction, his gaze fixed on the blue waves-his thoughts none knew
+where.
+
+Hugh and Florence walked to the house and seated themselves in the
+shade, within view of the sea. Then he told her in his clear, brief
+way, of what had transpired between Mr. Deane and his wife, with the
+remark that it was far better she should be informed of the true
+state of affairs, and thus be guarded against the evil of false
+reports.
+
+"I saw your look of concern when he met Miss Weston-"
+
+She looked wonderingly in his face.
+
+"You feared for him, and her then. That was natural. I see beyond,
+and that no harm will come from any attachment that may arise. I
+hope to see them often together."
+
+"Mr. Wyman, if I did not know you, I should sometimes fear your
+doctrines."
+
+"I have no doctrines."
+
+"Well, theories then."
+
+"No theories either. I follow nature, and leave her to perfect all
+things. Sometimes you think I am not sufficiently active; that I sit
+an idle looker on.
+
+"What! do you know my every thought-everything that passes through
+my mind?" she asked, a a little agitated.
+
+"Nearly all, or rather that which goes with your states of
+progression."
+
+She was vexed a little, but as the lesser ever turns to the greater,
+the earth to the sun for light,--so she, despite difference of
+temperament and mental expansion, was inclined to rest on his
+judgment.
+
+"This pure girl will give him a deeper faith in woman, unconsciously
+to herself, and he will become a better man; therefore fear not when
+you see them together, that he will lose his love for his wife. Yes,
+she will do him good, as you, Florence, are every day benefiting
+me."
+
+"Do I? Do I make you better?" she asked in a quick, nervous way; and
+her soul flooded her soft, brown eyes.
+
+"You do, Florence, and make me stronger every day; while your
+deepening womanhood is my daily enjoyment. You give me an
+opportunity to know myself, and that there are many holy relations
+between men and women beside the conjugal."
+
+Mrs. Foster lost no time in informing the people of L--of the
+movements of Mr. Deane. She well knew there were persons who would
+circulate the report, and that it would finally reach his wife, even
+though she was several miles away. The report was, that Mr. Deane
+had brought a young lady to the sea-shore, and was seen walking with
+her every day and evening, and that they both were greatly enamoured
+with each other.
+
+Strange to say, Mrs. Deane, weary and sad, left her parents and
+returned to her home just before her husband's letter reached its
+destination, and just in time to hear the narration of his strange
+conduct.
+
+Howard gone, no one knew where, save from the vague and scandalous
+report of a few busy tongues; no letter telling where he was, and
+her soul sank, and all its good resolves faded away. When she left
+her parents that morning, she fully resolved to meet him with all
+the love of her heart, for she had found that love beneath the
+rubbish of doubt and jealousy that had for a time concealed it. It
+was not strange, therefore, that all the fond trust died out when
+she realized that he had gone, and the bitter waters returned
+stronger and deeper over her hope.
+
+Shall we ever reach a world where we shall not have to plod through
+so much doubt and misgiving, and where our real feelings will be
+better understood?
+
+"He will surely come back soon," she said again and again to
+herself, while the veil of uncertainty hung black before her
+troubled vision. Every day she listened for his footsteps, till
+heart-sick and weary she returned to her parents, and told them all
+her grief and all her fears.
+
+An hour later they handed her his letter, received an hour after her
+departure, and which her father had carried every day in his pocket
+and forgotten to re-mail to her.
+
+While every one in L--was rehearsing the great wrong which, in
+their estimation, Mr. Deane had done his wife, she was eagerly
+absorbing every word of his warm-hearted letter, which he wrote on
+the day of his conversation with Mr. Wyman. Could she have received
+it before she returned again to her old home, how different would
+she and her parents have felt towards him. It was only for them she
+cared now. In vain she argued and tried to reinstate him in their
+good graces; but words failed, and she felt that time and
+circumstance alone were able to reconcile them.
+
+She longed to go to him, but he had not asked her, and only said at
+the close:
+
+"I shall return when I feel that we are ready to love each other as
+in the past. Not that I do not love you, Mabel, but I want all the
+richness of your affection, unclouded by distrust. We have been much
+to each other; we shall yet be more. When I clasp you to my heart
+again, all your fears will vanish. Be content to bear this
+separation awhile, for 'tis working good for us both."
+
+She read it over a score of times, felt the truthfulness of his
+words, but could not realize how it was possible for the separation
+to benefit them. To her the days seemed almost without end. To him
+they were fraught with pleasure, saddened they might be a little
+with a thought of the events so lately experienced, but gladdened by
+the sunshine of new scenes, inspirited with new and holy emotions.
+It was well for her weak faith that Mrs. Deane did not see him that
+very evening walking with Miss Weston upon the sea-shore, engaged in
+close conversation. She would have questioned how it was possible
+that under such conditions his love for herself was growing more
+intense; not thinking, in her shallow philosophy, that the contrast
+of two lives exhibits more fully the beauties of each, and that it
+was by this rule she was growing in his affections.
+
+"We must wait awhile for our friends, Miss Weston; I see they are in
+the rear," and he spread his shawl upon a rock, motioning her to be
+seated, close by the foam-white waves.
+
+Mr. Wyman and Florence soon came along. They had forgotten the
+presence of every one. Nothing engaged their attention but the
+lovely scene before them, while the moon's light silvered the
+rippling surface of the waters. Their communion was not of words as
+they all sat together that lovely summer eve. Soul met soul, and was
+hushed and awed in the presence of so much that was entrancing, and
+when they separated each was better for the deep enjoyment they had
+mutually experienced.
+
+"I may seem strange," remarked Miss Weston to her new friend, Miss
+Vernon, the next morning, as they sat looking at the sea, so changed
+in its aspect from that of the evening before, "that I should in the
+company of comparative strangers, feel so little reserve. I know my
+aunt would chide me severely, but I have not felt so happy for many
+years. It may be that the influence of the ocean is so hallowed and
+peaceful that our souls live their truer lives, but I have never
+before opened my heart so fully to strangers. I wonder if I have
+overstepped any of the lines of propriety?"
+
+"I might have thought so once, but I see and feel differently now. I
+think the soul knows its kin, and that it is not a matter of years
+but of states which causes it to unfold."
+
+"I am glad you feel so. I seemed so strange to myself, ever
+conservative, now so open and free. I do not feel towards any of the
+others here as I do towards you and your friends. I regret that I
+have not a few days more to enjoy you all," she said quite sadly,
+"as my aunt has written for me to come to her the last of this
+week."
+
+Miss Vernon could not help thinking how much more this fair being
+had to impart to her aunt, for this season of rest and enjoyment. "I
+wonder if the time will ever come," she often asked herself, "when
+we can go when and where we gravitate, and not be forced
+mechanically."
+
+"I wish people could follow their natural attractions once in a
+while, at least," said Miss Edith, and she fixed her fair blue eyes
+on the sea.
+
+Florence started; for it seemed as though she had read her thoughts.
+
+"I suppose these limitations and restrictions are for our good, else
+they would not be," replied Miss Vernon.
+
+"And the desire to shake them off is natural, if not right; is it
+not?"
+
+"Natural, no doubt, and pleasant, if we could have the desire
+granted; but duty is greater than desire, and circumstances may at
+times impel us to the performance of the one rather than favor us
+with the gratification of the other. What I mean is, that it is our
+duty sometimes to take a part in scenes in which our hearts cannot
+fully sympathize."
+
+"And yet you say you are attracted heart and mind to Mr. Wyman and
+his daughter. Is it not possible that, notwithstanding this, your
+duty calls you elsewhere,--that some other soul may be in need of
+your presence?"
+
+"You have questioned me very close, Miss Weston, but I will answer
+you promptly: I know of no one who needs me, else I should certainly
+go. Remember this,--in following our attractions we should never lose
+sight of our duties. They should go hand in hand."
+
+"Very true. I feel that my aunt needs me, and I will go at once;
+this very day. I have lost a part of my restless self, and gained
+the repose I so much needed, since I have been here; and I am
+indebted to you and your friends for the exchange. Now I will go
+where duty calls."
+
+"You have decided right, and I have no doubt you will be amply
+remunerated for the seeming sacrifice you are making of the few days
+of happiness you would have had in longer remaining here, had not
+the summons come for you to leave."
+
+"I do not doubt it; and yet Miss Vernon, I need your atmosphere. How
+I wish our lives could mingle for awhile."
+
+"If there ever comes a time when no earthly tie binds you, when duty
+will permit you to follow this attraction, come and live with us,
+and remain as long as you wish."
+
+"With you?" exclaimed the astonished girl. "Can I? Is Mr. Wyman
+willing?"
+
+"He has authorized me to invite you."
+
+"But would it be right? Will it certainly be agreeable to him?"
+
+"Most assuredly. We all love you, and as for Mr. Wyman, he never
+invites those to his home in whom he has no interest. So come. I
+know you will."
+
+"Thank him, for me," warmly responded Miss Weston, "and I trust the
+time will arrive when I can more practically demonstrate how much I
+thank you all for your kindness."
+
+The morning was spent by Miss Weston in packing her trunk, and
+making ready for her departure, much to the surprise of Mr. Wyman,
+and to the disappointment of Mr. Deane, who had hoped for a longer
+enjoyment of hours of communion with one so rich in goodness and
+innocence of heart.
+
+In her atmosphere all his hardness seemed to pass away. She was balm
+to his troubled soul; light to his darkened vision. She would go
+that day, and life, busy life, close over the fresh, happy hours,
+and perchance never again before his vision would come that fair
+young face.
+
+He asked permission to ride with her to the station, and see to her
+baggage and tickets. It was cheerfully granted, and in a moment all
+was over. The train came, stopped but a second, then moved on, and
+was soon hid from sight by a sharp curve. Then his past life came
+over this little break, this brief respite, and he felt that he,
+too, was ready to go and kindle anew the waning flame upon his
+domestic hearth.
+
+Dawn, to the surprise of her father, was greatly delighted when she
+found Miss Weston was going.
+
+"She is wanted there; some one in the air told me," she said, and
+clapped her hands in glee.
+
+Her departure made quite a break in the little party, and when Mr.
+Deane made ready to go the next day, Florence and Mr. Wyman both
+felt that their own stay was about over.
+
+Judge of their surprise two days after, to receive a note from Miss
+Weston, saying that her aunt had been seized with paralysis of the
+brain the day she arrived, and would not recover.
+
+Every test of this nature strengthened Mr. Wyman in the belief in
+his daughter's vision, and he felt that there could be no safer
+light placed in his path for him to follow; a light which no more
+interferes with man's individuality or reasoning powers than the
+falling of the rays of the sun upon the earth.
+
+The cry of the multitude is, that mediumship and impressibility
+detract from individual life, lessens the whole tone of manhood, and
+transforms the subject to a mere machine. Such conclusions are far
+from correct. Our whole being is enriched, and made stronger and
+fuller by true impressibility. Are we in any degree depleted if we
+for a time become messengers to bear from friend to friend, words of
+love, cheer and encouragement? Are we mere machines, because we obey
+the promptings of the unseen and go where sorrow sits with bowed
+head, or want and misery wait for relief? If so, we are in good
+service, and have the consciousness of knowing, that, being thus the
+instruments of God's will, we cannot be otherwise than dear to him.
+
+All matter is mediumistic. Life is tributary, one phase to another,
+and soul to soul speaks suggestively.
+
+The ocean has its fullness from tributary streams which flow to its
+bed.
+
+Lives alone are great that are willing to be fed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Summer's soft foliage changed to gold and red, and the distant
+hill-tops rested their brown summits against blue and sapphire
+skies. A soft mist lay over the scene, almost entrancing, to the
+soul, while the senses seemed wrapped in that dream-cloud which
+borders the waking and sleeping worlds.
+
+Seven times had the cyprus turned to a golden flame, beside the
+grave of fair Alice.
+
+Seven times had the pines nodded over the snow-white bed, under
+which lay her sacred dust.
+
+Seven years had gone by with their lights and shadows, since he laid
+her form beneath the green sod-and wept as only those have wept,
+whose light has gone out from their dwelling.
+
+Rich and full had these years been in their strange experiences,
+while firm as a rock had grown his faith in the unseen whose love
+and guardianship is round us as the atmosphere is about the earth.
+It was a fact to him and not sentiment alone, that, though his Alice
+had passed on to a higher existence, her life was more clearly than
+ever blended with his own. Like warp and woof, their souls seemed
+woven, and he would sooner have doubted his material existence, than
+question her daily presence.
+
+The days grew richer in glory, till one by one, the dry leaves
+withered and fell to the ground, as even our brightest hopes must
+sometimes fade and fall. The sky was darker and more lowery. The air
+lost its balmy softness, and was harsh and chilly, till no sign of
+foliage was seen,--nought but the leafless branches stretching their
+bare arms towards the sky. The meadows were brown and cheerless. The
+silvery brooks trilled out no merry song. Life grew hushed and still
+without, while more joyous became the tones of happy hearts within
+pleasant homes. Fires blazed on the hearth-stones, and charity went
+abroad, to administer to those whom Christ has said, "Ye have always
+with you." Cities were gay with life, and people went to and fro
+from homes of plenty, with quick, earnest steps, as though life was
+a continuous chain of golden links.
+
+The thoughtful walked amid all these lively scenes, and wondered if
+the gay plumage covered only happy breasts.
+
+The gay passed on, and thought only of joy and their own pleasures,
+dreaming not that saddened lives had an existence near at hand.
+
+Afar from all this life and gaiety, stood a low, brown cottage in a
+barren spot, upon the brow of a hill. No trees sheltered it, giving
+that air of protection which ever sends delight to the beholder. No
+indication of taste or culture met the sight; naught but a bare
+existence, and every-day toil to sustain it, impressed the
+passer-by.
+
+One day when the wind blew loud and bleak, and the snow fell fast, a
+young girl looked from that cottage window, upon the scene before
+her, with that abstraction which one feels when all hope has
+withered, and every fresh impulse of a young heart has been chilled.
+
+She scarcely realized that the afternoon was fast wearing away,
+until the entrance of one, who, in a sharp, shrill voice, thus
+addressed her: "Well, Margaret Thorne, I hope you have looked out of
+that ere winder long 'nough for one day. I've been inter this room
+fifty times at least, and you hav n't stirred an inch. Now go and
+get supper, milk the cows, and feed the pigs; and mind, don't forget
+to fodder that young heifer in the new stall-and look here, you lazy
+thing, this stocking won't grow any unless it's in your hands, so
+when supper's over, mind you go to work on 't."
+
+Margaret went quickly to her duties, glad to escape from the sound
+of that voice, and be alone with her own thoughts.
+
+This was but a portion of her daily life of drudgery. The old house
+was no home to her, now that her dear mother was laid in the little
+church-yard. She could just remember her. It was years before, when,
+a little child, she used to hear a sweet voice singing her to sleep
+every night. The remembrance of that, and of the bright smile which
+greeted her each morning, was all that made her life endurable. She
+had no present-no future. It was this bright recollection on which
+she was pensively meditating that stormy afternoon.
+
+Margaret's mother, Mary Lee, had married when very young, a man
+greatly her inferior. She was one of those gentle, timid beings, who
+can not endure, and brave their way through a cold world, much less
+a daily contact with a nature so crude and repulsive as that of her
+husband's. She longed to live for her child's sake, but the rough
+waves of life beat rudely against her bark-it parted its hold, the
+cold sea swept over it, and earth, so far as human sight went, knew
+her no more.
+
+One balmy spring day, when the blue skies seemed wedded to the
+emerald hills, they laid her form away, and little Margaret had lost
+a mother's earthly protection.
+
+In less than a year after that sweet face went out of the home,
+another came to take her place; a woman in form and feature, but in
+nature a tyrant, harsh and cruel.
+
+For little Margaret she had no love, nought but bitter words; while
+her father, growing more silent and morose each day, and finding his
+home a scene of contest, absented himself, and passed most of his
+leisure hours with more congenial companions in the village.
+
+Margaret grew to womanhood with but a limited education; indeed, a
+very meagre one, such only as she could obtain from an irregular
+attendance at the village school, in summer when the farm work was
+lightest, and in winter, a day now and then when the bleak weather
+and the rough, almost impassable roads allowed her to reach the
+place which was to her far more pleasant than any other on earth.
+
+It was her hands which done the heaviest and hardest work of the
+family. No word of cheer or praise ever passed her mother's lips.
+All this, and it was no wonder her life was crushed out, that her
+step had no lightness, and her eye none of the vivacity of youth.
+The out-door work, such as caring for the cattle, was, at last added
+to her other burdens; yet all this she would have done willingly,
+could her soul have received something which she felt she so much
+needed-the light and blessing of love. She was deeply impressed with
+this when she entered other homes on errands, and she longed for the
+warmth of affection she saw manifested in every look and word of
+their happy inmates. Yet her poor, crushed nature dared not rise and
+assert its rights. She had been oppressed so long, that the mind had
+lost all native elasticity, and one whose sympathies were alive
+would have looked on her as a blighted bud-a poor uncared for
+flower, by life's road-side.
+
+It was quite dark when she finished her milking, and went to give
+the young heifer her hay. She loved this animal more than any living
+thing beside the old house dog, and as she patted her soft hide, the
+creature turned on her eyes which seemed full of love, as if to show
+to her that there is some light in the darkest hour, something
+compensatory in the lowliest form of labor. Margaret lingered beside
+the animal, and thought how much better she loved her than she did
+her present mother. "I love you, Bessie," she said, as the creature
+stretched forth her head to scent the warm milk in the pail. "I 've
+a good mind to, Bessie; you want some, don't you?" and without
+stopping to think of the consequences, she turned some of the
+contents of the pail into Bessie's trough.
+
+"Margaret Thorne! I wonder if you don't know when it's dark. It's
+high time your work was done!" screamed her mother at the top of her
+voice. She seized her pails and ran to the house, making all
+possible haste to strain and set the milk away. But Mrs. Thorne took
+it from her hands, saying, "Go and 'tend to the supper. I'll do this
+myself."
+
+"There ain't as much as there ought to be inter two quarts," said
+her mother, returning and looking the girl squarely in the eye.
+"What does this mean? I'd like to know."
+
+Margaret was awe-struck. She dared not tell her that she had given
+some to Bessie, and yet she could not tell an untruth. One struggle,
+and she answered: "I gave some to Bessie," letting fall a dish in
+her fright. It broke into atoms.
+
+"Careless jade you! Break my dishes and steal my milk; giving it
+without my leave to a dumb beast. There, take that," and she gave
+her a sharp blow on the face.
+
+It was not the blow that made the poor girl's blood tinge her
+cheeks, but the sense of degradation; the low life she was living,
+in daily contact with one so overbearing, coarse, and rude.
+
+She did not weep, but one might have known by those suppressed sobs,
+that the heart's love was being sapped, all its feelings outraged.
+
+At that moment her father came in, and finding supper delayed,
+commenced scolding in a loud voice.
+
+"I tell ye what, woman, I won't work and provide, to be treated in
+this ere way. D' ye hear?" and he came close to Margaret and looked
+into her face.
+
+"Yes, sir. I was late to-night."
+
+"Yer allus late, somehow. Why don't yer stir round and be lively
+like other gals, and be more cheery like?"
+
+His poor, rough nature was beginning to feel the need of a better
+life.
+
+"Let her work as I have, and she'll be thankful to have a roof over
+her head, let alone the things I make her," broke in Mrs. Thorne.
+"When I was a gal, I had to work for my bread and butter." Having
+thus relieved her mind, she flew busily about, and the supper was
+soon ready, to which they sat down, but not as to a homelike repast.
+Such a thing was not known in that house.
+
+The evening, as usual, passed in a dull routine of drudgery, and
+Margaret was, as she had been hundreds of times before, glad to
+reach its close and retire to her room.
+
+Thus wore the winter slowly away, and the days so full of labor,
+unrelieved by pleasure of any kind, were fast undermining the health
+and spirits of the sad girl.
+
+When spring came, her step was slower and her cheek paler, but there
+was no eye of love to mark those changes, and her labors were not
+lessened. At length her strength gave way, and a slow fever coursed
+through her veins as the result of over-taxation. The languor it
+produced was almost insupportable, and she longed for the green
+woods, and the pure air, and a sight of running waters.
+
+Mrs. Thorne saw that something must be done, and finally consented
+that Margaret might take a little recreation in the manner she had
+proposed, accompanying her consent with the remark that she thought
+it a very idle way of spending one's time.
+
+Margaret's constant companion in her rambles was the faithful dog
+Trot, who highly enjoyed this new phase of life, and with him at her
+side she had nothing to fear.
+
+The change brought new life to her wasted system, and as she conned
+over the beauties around, watched the sparkle of the running brooks,
+and listened to the songs of the free birds, she wished that her
+life was as free and beautiful.
+
+One day while trimming a wreath of oak leaves, she thought she heard
+footsteps, and the low growl of Trot, before she had time to turn
+her head, confirmed her impression that some one was approaching.
+
+She turned, and encountered the gaze of a stranger, who said in a
+deep, pleasant voice:
+
+"I have lost my way, I believe. Is this Wilton Grove, Miss?"
+
+"It is," she answered, not daring to raise her eyes.
+
+"Thank you. I was not quite sure, yet I thought I followed the
+direction," said the stranger, and gracefully bowing, departed.
+
+In all her life so bright and manly a face had never crossed her
+path. And that voice-it seemed to answer to something down deep in
+her soul. It kindled a fire which was almost extinct, and that fire
+was hope. Perhaps she would some day see people just like him, live
+with them, and be young and happy.
+
+Old Trot seemed to share her new-found pleasure, and looked
+knowingly into her face, as much as to say, "There are some folks in
+the world worth looking at."
+
+She went home that night to dream of other forms and faces than
+those she had been so long accustomed to, and slept more sound than
+she had for many months.
+
+Weeks passed away, and the bloom came back to Margaret's cheek, a
+new life was in her eye, for the voice of love had spoken to her
+heart, and the blood leaped till the color of her face vied with
+that of the roses.
+
+The young man whom she met that day in the grove, often found his
+way to that spot, not by mistake but by inclination, attracted by
+the fair face of Margaret. Again and again he came, till his glowing
+words kindled the flame of hope to love, and it became a source of
+greatest pleasure to him to watch her dreamy eyes glow with
+brightness under his repeated vows of constancy.
+
+Clarence Bowen was the only son of a city merchant of great wealth,
+acquired by his own indefatigable industry. His son had inherited
+none of his father's zeal for business, and after repeated efforts
+to make him what nature had never intended he should be, he sent him
+to study law at the college in D--, a thriving town a few miles from
+Margaret's home. It was while there, and in an hour when weary with
+study, he wandered away to the spot where he accidentally met her.
+His nature being not of the highest order, he did not hesitate to
+poison her mind with flattering words, until at length he won her
+heart, not as a pearl of great price, a treasure for himself, but as
+a bauble, which he might cast aside when its charm had departed.
+
+Sad indeed was the day to her in which he told her she could never
+be his wife. Pity her, ye who in happy homes have kind friends to
+guide your hearts into peace, and refresh your souls with a true and
+perfect love. Have charity, and raise not hand nor voice against one
+who, had her life been cast in as pleasant places as yours, would
+not have trusted so fondly in a broken reed, or listened so
+confidingly to the siren voice of the tempter. She had pined for a
+warm heart and a faithful love. She had trusted and been betrayed.
+You owe her your pity, not your condemnation.
+
+"Did you say you were not going to marry me, Clarence?" and asking
+this, she cast her eyes to the ground, and sobbed like a child.
+
+"No, girl; you ought to have known I could not. I have no money but
+that which my father supplies me with to pay my board and expenses.
+I have nothing to support--"
+
+She looked so pale he dared not say more.
+
+"Go on," she at length said, pressing her hand closer to her heart,
+lest its strong beating might too plainly betray her feelings.
+
+"And even could I support you, my father would disown me were I to
+take such a step."
+
+"Then you never loved me, Clarence. You only sought your own
+pleasure and--and my--my ruin?"
+
+She broke down. Life had nothing now for her but shame and sorrow.
+Alas, the world has no pity for its children.
+
+Hard indeed must have been his heart, had it not relented then. He
+went and placed his hand upon her head, saying,
+
+"I would marry you, Margaret, if I had money enough," and just that
+moment he meant it.
+
+She looked up through her tears to him, and seeing the expression
+which accompanied his words, mistook it for real sorrow at parting
+from her, and answered in a hopeful, bright voice,--
+
+"I can work ever so hard, and we might be married privately if you
+chose, as no one knows us, and go away. You don't know how hard I
+can work, Clarence."
+
+"And then, sometime we might become rich," she continued, without
+looking at his face, "and I would study, too, and improve myself.
+Then we could return to your parents and be forgiven. They surely
+could not blame us for loving each other. You will not forsake me,
+will you, Clarence?"
+
+He bowed his head. She thought he wept, and she continued her words
+of cheer till he could bear it no longer.
+
+She laid her bursting head upon his bosom saying, "I will go away
+from here to-day, Clarence, and be no burden to you, till you can
+support us both."
+
+He nerved himself for the desperate emergency, and shook her off as
+though she was poison, saying, in cold, measured words, not to be
+this time misunderstood,--
+
+"No, it cannot be; don't deceive yourself; you can never be my
+wife," and then he left her.
+
+Angels pity her. Heaven have mercy on her who sank prostrate with
+grief that bright day on the green lap of earth. One heart-piercing
+cry went up for help and mercy from above, and hope and love went
+out of that heart, perhaps forever.
+
+Faster and faster flew the betrayer, as though he would elude a
+pursuer from whom he could not escape. But he could not close his
+ears to that pleading voice, nor his eyes to that agonized look.
+Aye, erring mortal, that sound will pierce your soul till some
+reparation, some pure, unselfish deed, washes the sin away.
+
+"Why, Clarence, you look as pale as a ghost; what on earth has
+happened to you!" exclaimed his college chums, as he walked
+breathless and weary into the house.
+
+"I am sick," he answered, and went by himself to evade further
+questions, which he knew would rend his soul with anguish. He early
+repaired to his room, but found no rest, and finding himself unable
+to attend to his studies the next day, obtained leave of absence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+How long Margaret laid there, she never knew, but when she came to
+consciousness she found herself in her own room, and her father
+bending over her, with a look she had never seen on his face
+before,--one of deep anxiety for her.
+
+"All this ere comes from letting her go out in the air every day,"
+were the first words which broke the silence, and conveyed to her
+senses that any one beside her father was in the room.
+
+All the recollection of her misery came over her then. She had
+forgotten all, save that her father looked with eyes of love upon
+her. The shrill voice broke the heavenly spell, and Magdalen knelt
+again in prayer at the Saviour's feet.
+
+She closed her eyes as though she would shut out the sorrow from her
+soul, while a look of deep pain settled on her features which her
+father mistook for physical suffering. There was something in her
+pale face then, that reminded him of her dear, dead mother. It
+touched the long buried love which had lain in his uncultured nature
+many years, and he drew his sleeve roughly across his eyes to wipe
+away the tears which would come, despite the searching glance of his
+wife, who looked upon any demonstration of that kind as so much loss
+to herself.
+
+He thought Margaret would surely die. It must be some terrible
+disease that caused her to look so white, and made her breathing so
+low and still, and he resolved to go for a physician.
+
+His decision met with little favor from Mrs. Thorne, who fretted
+continually about the extra work and expense of a sick person,
+interspersing her growls with the remark which seemed stereotyped
+for the occasion:
+
+"A nice job I've got on my hands for the summer."
+
+"Come, I 'll have no more grumbling to-night. How long the poor girl
+laid in the woods nobody knows. May-be she fainted and fell, and
+them ere faintin' spells is dreadful dangerous, and I'm going for
+the doctor, if it takes the farm to pay for 't."
+
+When Caleb Thorne spoke like that, his wife well knew that words of
+her own were of little avail, and she wisely concluded to keep
+silent.
+
+Margaret might have remained as she had fallen, faint and uncared
+for in the woods, for a long time, had not the faithful dog, who
+instinctively knew that something was wrong, ran furiously to the
+house, and by strange motions and piteous pleading moans attracted
+the attention of Mr. Thorne from his work. Trot would not act as he
+did without cause. Caleb knew that, so he left his work and followed
+the dog, who ran speedily towards the woods, momentarily looking
+back to be sure that his master was close at hand, until he reached
+the spot where Margaret laid.
+
+He thought her lifeless, and raising her from the ground, bore her
+home, while a heavier burden at his heart kept his eyes blinded, his
+steps slow, and his walk uneven.
+
+When the physician arrived, he saw, at a glance, that some great
+trouble rested, like a dense cloud, on the girl's mind. Her restless
+manner and desire to remain silent, showed plainly that some great
+anguish was working its sorrow within, and silently he prayed to
+heaven, that the young heart might find that relief which no art or
+skill of his could impart. He could only allay the fever into which
+her blood was thrown, and as he went out, left his orders, saying,
+he would call again on the morrow.
+
+"She's as well able to work as I am, this blessed minit,"
+impetuously exclaimed Mrs. Thorne, who could ill brook the state of
+affairs.
+
+"If looks tell anything, her pale face aint no match for yourn in
+health, Huldah," remarked Caleb, as he glanced somewhat
+reproachingly at the full, red features of his wife.
+
+"A white face aint allus a sign of sickness; here I might be next to
+death, and my face be getting redder and redder at every pain,--but
+then who cares for me? No one, as I knows on."
+
+She turned and found she might have left her last words unspoken,
+for Caleb had gone to milk the cows, and she was alone.
+
+It was no sudden thought. Every hour since the day they found her in
+the woods insensible, she had busily matured her plans. Those
+words,--"You can never be my wife," made life to her of no moment,
+save to find a spot of obscurity in which to conceal her shame, and
+spare her old father the grief she knew it must bring him.
+
+She must leave her home, none but strangers must know of her sorrow;
+and when health returned and she went about her daily toils, a short
+time prior to the crisis of her grief, she deeply thought upon where
+she might turn her weary steps. She had heard of a factory in N--,
+a town twenty miles distant, where girls earned a great deal of
+money. She would go there and work until-O, the pain, the anguish of
+her heart, as the terrible truth came close and closer every day
+upon her. And then she would go. Where? No mother's love to help
+her, no right granted her to bring another life into being. How
+keenly upbraiding came to her at that moment the great truth, a
+truth which cannot be too deeply impressed upon every human mind,
+that no child should be ushered into this world without due
+preparation on the part of its parents for its mental, moral and
+physical well-being. Let pity drop a tear, for sad indeed was her
+lot.
+
+One day she gathered what little clothing she possessed, and made up
+a small parcel preparatory to her departure, and as her only time of
+escape would be in the night, she carefully concealed it, and went
+about her work in her usual, silent manner.
+
+One moonlight night when all was still, she took her little bundle
+and went softly down stairs. Noiselessly she trod across the kitchen
+floor, pulled the bolt, lifted the latch, and stood outside. For an
+instant she paused. A rush of feelings came over her, a feeling of
+regret, for it was hard even for her to break away from familiar
+scenes, and leave the roof that had sheltered her; but it would not
+do to linger long, for Trot might bark and arouse her father. Then
+she could not bear the thought that she should never see the
+faithful old dog again; and almost decided to go to him, but the
+thought had scarcely entered her mind ere her old companion was at
+her side. His keen sense of hearing had caught the sound of her
+movements, though to her they had seemed noiseless, and he had come
+from his kennel and stood at her side, looking up in her face as
+though he knew all her plans.
+
+Her courage almost forsook her as he stood there, wagging his tail
+and eyeing her so closely. She feared that he would follow her, and
+thought she must go back to her room and make a new start; but now
+she was out of the house, and, perhaps she could not escape another
+time without disturbing her parents. This thought nerved her to
+carry out her resolve, and she walked rapidly away. One look at the
+old house, as her step was on the hill which would soon hide it from
+her view. One more look at old Trot, then she waved her hand for him
+to go back, and swiftly walked as though borne by some unseen power.
+The grey light of morning touched the eastern hills just as she lost
+sight of her native village.
+
+New scenes were before her, and from them she gathered fresh
+inspiration. The houses scattered along the roadside, from which
+persons were just coming forth to labor, gave her new feelings and
+enlivened her way, until at length something like fear that she
+might be recognized and sent back came upon her; but her fears were
+groundless, and she passed on and soon came to a deep, wooded road,
+closely hedged on either side by tall trees, whose spreading
+branches seemed to her like protecting arms. There she could walk
+slower, and breathe more free, and for the first time for many days
+her mind relaxed its tension.
+
+She was plodding along, musing upon the past and trying to discern
+some outline of her future, when the sound of steps following her
+caused the blood to leap to her face. Looking around she beheld
+Trot, and ordered him back; but words were of no avail; he had
+scented her footsteps thus far, and seemed determined to follow her
+to her journey's end.
+
+"Poor fellow," she said, patting his head, "I would not send you
+back if I had a home for you," and she tried again to induce him to
+return, but he only gave a sigh, or sort of moan, as though
+imploring her to keep him with her.
+
+She could no more bid him depart. Was he not her only friend, and
+did he not love her as none other did? So she patted him again and
+said,--
+
+"Perhaps God will provide for us both. Come on, dear, old brave
+fellow," and then the faithful animal's eyes lit up with almost
+human gratitude, and he ran on joyfully before her.
+
+The tall trees waved their branches in the morning breeze, and their
+music touched her soul, and attuned it to sweeter harmony than it
+had known for years. The flame of hope began to kindle anew. There
+might be some one, after all, who would pity her, who would not
+wholly condemn her; while the music of the tall pines seemed like
+angel voices, saying: "Yes, love her, pity her, and all on whom the
+blight of sorrow falls."
+
+She loved the music of the singing trees, and was grieved when the
+road turned off towards a hill, and she was obliged to part with the
+protection and seclusion which they afforded her. But taking fresh
+courage from the guide-board, which indicated her approach to N--,
+she travelled bravely on. She had provided herself with provisions
+for a single day only, and had scarcely dared to take even that from
+the plenty of her father's home. Reaching a sheltered spot by the
+roadside, and feeling faint and weary, she sat down and shared her
+food with her dog.
+
+Ten miles of her journey had been passed, and more rapidly than she
+could hope to continue, and she found that on a renewal of it, she
+must proceed more leisurely.
+
+A sad, but interesting picture they made. She, with her young, fair
+face, touched by lines of grief; the once dreamy eyes, so soft, now
+full of nervous fire, and wild with restless fear. Her bonnet was
+thrown back from her shoulders, and the golden sun of morning
+touched her wavy hair, till it glowed and seemed like a halo of
+light about her pale brow.
+
+When their little repast was over, she rested her head upon her
+hands, and from her soul went forth a prayer for guidance and
+protection,--more deep and earnest than words can portray.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Morning broke in all its splendor over the little village she had
+left behind.
+
+Dewy flowers, touched by the rising day, glittered in their beds of
+green, while mists, etherial as air, hung over the verdant meadows.
+Long lines of hills whose tops rested against the blue sky, mirrored
+their heads in the waters which flowed at their feet.
+
+Beauty was on every hand. In whatever direction the eye turned, it
+beheld the smile of God, and all nature seemed a psalm of
+thanksgiving.
+
+Caleb Thorne arose, and shaking off dull sleep, called Margaret to
+her morning duties, while his wife bustled about the house in her
+usual manner.
+
+Neither looked on the lovely scene before them. If their eyes
+chanced to turn in its direction, their souls took no cognizance of
+all the wealth of beauty which was before them.
+
+"What on earth keeps that gal up stairs so long," said Mrs. Thorne,
+"I'll call her and bring her down I guess,--Mar-ga-ret-Mar-ga-ret
+Thorne; it's most six o'clock-get up."
+
+No sound; no footstep. She waited a full half hour, then Caleb
+returned from the barn, having milked the cows, a labor which he had
+performed since Margaret's illness.
+
+"That gal ain't up yet," said his wife, as he came and placed the
+pails on the table.
+
+His breath came fast, for he feared she might be ill, or dead,
+perhaps.
+
+"Go and see what the matter is," he said to his wife. But as she was
+somewhat afraid to enter a room where all was so silent, she
+hesitated. At length she mounted the stairs very slowly, calling
+Margaret's name at each step. When she had reached the landing, she
+found the door wide open, but no Margaret was there, and the bed was
+undisturbed. Pale and trembling, she went down stairs.
+
+"She's-she's gone!" were the words with which she met her husband's
+inquiring gaze. "Yes, gone; run away, I s'pose, in the night."
+
+Mr. Thorne sank into the nearest seat, almost paralyzed with emotion
+and apprehension.
+
+"Gone?" he repeated; it was a long time before he could take in her
+meaning. It came at last; not as some truths do with a flash, but it
+dropped like lead into his soul, down-down-to depths he knew not of.
+And she had gone, just when he was waking to realize a fraction of
+her worth; just as he was learning to look with a single spark of
+love on her young, fair face, growing every day so much like her
+dear, dead mother's.
+
+He leaned his face upon his hands and wept. The fount of feeling
+long dried was touched, and his heart felt a tenderness it had never
+known before, for his child.
+
+Through the dark atmosphere about his soul a ray of light broke in.
+Down through long years it crept, and seemed to carry him back to
+the time when his Mary was a bride.
+
+There comes a moment to every soul, when its treasures are truly
+appreciated; when hearts God has given to love and bless us are
+rightly valued. Well is it for us if that moment comes while they
+are with us in the earthly form.
+
+It seemed but yesterday when she was a bride, white in soul, as well
+as attire. How vividly the scene now stood before him, and he felt,
+as he then did, the beating of her young, trusting heart, which she
+gave into his keeping.
+
+Down through all these years flowed the light of recollection, and
+brought to mind the morning when a tiny babe was placed beside its
+mother for him to love and cherish. Grief shook his soul to its
+foundations. Through his rough nature crept a tenderness he had not
+known for years, for those two treasures-one beneath the sod; the
+other,--where?
+
+"I s'pose you did n't look to see if the door was onbolted, did
+you?" remarked his wife, wondering what made him so long silent.
+
+"Come to think 'ont, 't was," he answered, like one awaking from a
+dream.
+
+"Then, the ungrateful thing's gone; and I am glad, if she could n't
+be more thankful to us for her home."
+
+"Yes,--Margaret's gone." His voice sounded far off, as though his
+soul was off in search of her.
+
+"Margaret Thorne has run away!" went from mouth to mouth, and harsh
+comments, bitter words, flashed through the village a few days, and
+then all was still again.
+
+Wild and fearful emotions rushed through the mind of Margaret, when,
+after a long, weary walk, she reached the town of N--, with old Trot
+at her side.
+
+It was a small white house, apart from others, and far from the
+road, at which she applied for board, drawn thither by its quiet,
+home-like appearance, and a strange feeling within her mind which
+she had not fully learned to trust.
+
+She felt that her weary feet could go no farther, as she walked up
+the path, bordered by flowers, and knocked timidly at the door.
+
+It was opened by a woman of about forty years, whose pleasant face
+smiled upon her, as she invited her to enter.
+
+Margaret took courage from the kind manner in which she was met, and
+at once made known her desire to obtain a boarding place, designing
+to work in the factory near at hand.
+
+"I have no room at present for any one," she answered, "but if you
+are to work in the factory there are boarding houses built by the
+corporation, at which you can obtain accommodations. The first step,
+however, will be to call upon the overseer, and if you like I will
+go with you after you have rested."
+
+Margaret was too grateful to reply in a satisfactory manner, but her
+face looked what her tongue could not speak.
+
+Mrs. Armstrong glanced at the young girl, and thought how unfitted
+she seemed for such a place of labor. With her large experience, for
+many had wandered there before, burdened with heavy struggles, she
+quickly saw that grief, or want, perhaps both, had driven her from
+home, or shelter, whichever it might be.
+
+She shrank as she thought of the rough influences to which she would
+be subjected, and though she knew she could not avert the fate of
+this wanderer, or any of those who came to her for love and
+sympathy, yet she inwardly resolved to befriend her, and do all that
+she could to aid one so young and innocent, through a cold world.
+
+"I'll get you a cup of tea, and something to eat," she said, and
+hurried out of the room before Margaret could reply.
+
+This was not the first one to whom her bounty had been given; not
+the first lonely stranger who had supped at her table.
+
+Old Trot sat on the door-step during this time, his eyes riveted on
+the house, and his ears poised to catch every sound within.
+
+When all was ready, Mrs. Armstrong called Margaret to partake of a
+good substantial meal, which her busy hands had so speedily
+prepared, and knowing that the young girl might feel diffident,
+seated her alone at the table, while she busied herself about the
+room.
+
+How Margaret longed to share her meal with Trot. What was her
+surprise to see Mrs. Armstrong gather some scraps of meat and bones,
+and carry them to the hungry animal.
+
+No wonder the girl thought her an angel; she rose from the table,
+her eyes too dim to see her newly-found friend, and her heart too
+full to thank her for all her kindness.
+
+In a short time Mrs. Armstrong was in readiness to accompany her to
+the factory, and the two left the house, the former making the walk
+pleasant by her familiar conversation and the sympathy she
+manifested for the wanderer. Trot followed them, and, as if
+conscious that his young mistress had found a friend, occasionally
+ran on before, looking up in their faces, and leaping as if wild
+with joy.
+
+After a short walk through the most retired part of the village,
+they reached the factory building and entered.
+
+The noise was so great that Margaret thought she should be stunned,
+and put her hands upon her ears, to keep out the sound. She had
+never been in a factory before, and the thought of having to bear
+all that confusion, every day, sent a feeling to her heart somewhat
+akin to terror; but she must labor, and where else could she go?
+
+The curious gaze of the girls, as they entered the weaving room, was
+most trying to her sensitive nature, and Margaret's face crimsoned,
+as she followed Mrs. Armstrong to the farthest part of the room,
+where Mr. Field, the overseer, was conversing with one of the
+operators.
+
+He was a black-eyed, sharp-featured person, and there was something
+in his look which caused her to shudder, as Mrs. Armstrong made
+known her errand.
+
+"Have you ever worked in a factory?" he asked, in a quick, impatient
+manner.
+
+"No sir."
+
+"A new hand, then," he said, with a little more suavity.
+
+"We need another hand in the carding-room, so you may go there. I
+will show you the room."
+
+He led the way, Margaret following, yet keeping close to her new
+friend.
+
+The noise of the room was almost as great as that of the other, but
+it was sunnier, and the windows were adorned with some beautiful
+plants. The girls seemed more modest and less inclined to stare at
+visitors. Mr. Field was about to leave, when he suddenly turned to
+Margaret and inquired when she intended to commence.
+
+"To-morrow, sir, if you are ready for me?"
+
+"All right. Be on hand at the ringing of the bell."
+
+"I had almost forgotten an important part of my errand," said Mrs.
+Armstrong, "and that is, a boarding place for this young lady."
+
+"Ah, she wishes to board in the Corporation. Well, there is a place
+at Mrs. Crawford's. I think she has a spare room. Her house is on
+Elm Street, third block."
+
+It was a relief to feel the fresh air again, and to be away from the
+noise and confusion of the factory. As soon as they had reached the
+street, Margaret inquired of Mrs. Armstrong, the way to Mrs.
+Crawford's.
+
+"O! I shall go with you," said that kind lady, to the great relief
+of the young and timid girl, already worn and weary with fatigue and
+excitement.
+
+"Thank you," in low, but sweet tones, came from her lips, and the
+two wended their way along, with Trot close behind.
+
+They passed pleasant private dwellings, and then turned into a long
+and narrow street, with blocks of houses on either side. Margaret
+had supposed by the name, that the street must be very pretty, with
+rows of trees on each side. She was just learning that there are
+many misnomers in life, and that this was one.
+
+The house in the third block was reached, and Mrs. Armstrong rapped
+with her parasol on the door. A red faced, but good-natured
+appearing woman answered the call.
+
+"We have called to see if you have a spare room for a young lady who
+wishes board," said Mrs. Armstrong.
+
+"We 've got a spare bed for a factory girl, if that's what you
+want," she replied, grinning, and eyeing Margaret from head to foot.
+
+"But have you no room she can have by herself?"
+
+"Bless your stars, no my lady. We don't take them kind o' boarders.
+There's plenty of places where genteel folks are taken, if they like
+to be starved out and out," and her face glowed with such genuine
+good nature, that her questioner felt that whatever else one might
+have to endure, they would at least have a sunny face to cheer them.
+
+"This young woman can sleep with other folks, can't she?" inquired
+the good-natured woman, and her smile, not of sarcasm, but true
+goodness, though rough, saved Margaret's tears.
+
+"If you have no other, she must," said Mrs. Armstrong,
+disappointedly, for she saw from the first, a native dignity and
+delicacy in Margaret which would shrink from the contact with
+others, and intended to have paid the extra price demanded for a
+room herself, if one could have been obtained.
+
+At that moment, old Trot came in through the open door, and looked
+around, as though he did not like the appearance of things.
+
+"That dog can't come," said the woman, losing for the first time her
+pleasant smile. "May-be he's your's though, madam?" she said
+apologetically.
+
+"No, he's mine, and I must have him with me," broke in Margaret,
+"and I cannot-"
+
+She stopped short, frightened at her own earnest words and manner.
+
+"I think he will be better off with me," said Mrs. Armstrong; "I
+will keep him for you."
+
+"I would n't care myself about the cur," said Mrs. Crawford,
+following them to the door, "but my boarders are so agin anything in
+the shape of a dog."
+
+"Certainly; she could scarcely expect you to take him; and besides,
+I want him to watch my chickens and garden. I took a fancy to him
+the moment I first saw him."
+
+Having thus made all satisfactory in regard to the dog, as far as
+Mrs. Crawford was concerned, they bade her good-day, and reached
+home just before dark.
+
+"You are too kind," said Margaret to Mrs. Armstrong, who told her
+that she must remain all night with her, and then she could say no
+more, but broke down completely.
+
+The kind woman took her at once to a neat little bed-room, and
+permitted Trot to lie on a mat close to the door of his mistress.
+
+Weary and worn, she gladly went to bed. Sleep came at last, and the
+tired, intense state of her mind was lost in slumber. She dreamt
+that she was at her home again, and that she was going to marry
+Clarence. They were walking to the village church together, over the
+soft green meadows. The air was balmy and full of sweetness; the
+sunshine lay in golden bars at her feet, and her whole soul glowed
+with happiness, life, and love. The bells--her marriage bells--pealed
+out joyously on the air, while she turned to Clarence, saying, "I
+had a terrible dream; I thought you had deserted me." Another
+peal,--merry and full-then the meadows that were so warm and sunny,
+grew cold and wet; and a cloud came between her and the golden sun.
+The bell rolled forth another peal-it sounded like a knell-and she
+awoke.
+
+The factory bell was ringing, calling the operatives to labor.
+
+A sweet voice broke on her utter desolation just at that moment,
+saying:
+
+"That is the first bell; you will have just time enough to dress and
+take your breakfast."
+
+Mechanically she arose, dressed, and forcing back her hot tears,
+went below, to sit again at the table of one who ever remembered
+these words: "As ye have opportunity."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+
+
+
+There comes to every one at times the inquiring thought, of what use
+is life? What will be the result of all this seemingly useless toil,
+these states of unrest, these earnest efforts of the soul
+unappreciated, these best endeavors misunderstood? Such questions
+flood the reason at times, and we are ready to lay down our life
+weapons, scarce caring how the busy scene goes on.
+
+Then, through the parted clouds, the rays of truth illumine the mind
+again, and we take up the life-song once more, not as we laid it
+down, but with a richer melody, a fuller and sweeter strain. The
+soul feels new pinioned, and spreads its wings for loftier flights,
+rising, height after height, up and on to the fields of the
+infinite.
+
+This questioning state is sure to come to the most earnest,
+truthful, and thoughtful worker. All along the pathway of life these
+weary, yet hopeful pilgrims, sit waiting for "light, more light."
+
+In such a mood sat Miss Evans, at the close of one summer day, as
+the sun was going slowly to his fold of gold and crimson clouds. A
+sort of mental twilight had gathered over her, dimming the sharp
+lines of thought which gave her words at all times such force. All
+her best and most earnest endeavors seemed as nought. Words which
+she had spoken, warm with life, vital with her own enthusiasm, had
+become metamorphosed, till their real meaning was lost to her.
+
+"Alas! we must remain a riddle to ourselves forever," she said, and
+her deep brown eyes, always warm with affection, now seemed cold, as
+she turned her thoughts inward to sound herself more thoroughly, and
+if possible detect any other than a desire for advancement.
+
+How long she might have searched we cannot say, for just as her
+thoughts were most abstracted, Hugh came and sat down by her side,
+before she knew that any one had entered.
+
+"Why, Hugh!" was her exclamation of surprise.
+
+"You are not at home, I see."
+
+He brought her back with those words.
+
+"Really, I was away; but how glad I am to see you," and her glowing
+features endorsed the truth of her assertion.
+
+"How far had you wandered?" he asked, his face full of glowing
+sympathy; "far enough to gather a new impetus for the soul?"
+
+"I fear not. I was questioning my motives, and looking for my
+shortcomings."
+
+"I fear I should have been absent much longer on such an errand," he
+said, and then dropping their badinage they resumed their true
+earnest relation to each other.
+
+"Tell me, Hugh, you who have so often illumined my dark states, if
+all this contest is of any avail; if it is any use to put forth our
+words and have their meaning misinterpreted?"
+
+"I question," she continued, "if we should project our thought until
+mankind is impelled by the actual need of something new, to seek
+it."
+
+"Our thoughts and soul exchanges are not like the merchant's wares,
+to be held up for a bid. The soul is too grand and spontaneous a
+creation to be measured. Yes, we must often speak our deepest
+thoughts, even though they are cast away as nought, and trampled
+upon. There would be little richness or worth without this free
+offering, this giving of self for truth's sake, even though we know
+that we and our words may be spurned. You are cloudy to-day, my
+friend; you have been too long alone, and are consumed by your own
+thoughts."
+
+"I am mentally exhausted, Hugh. I needed you to-day, for my soul has
+lost all vision. I know by my own experience, that we must speak
+when we are full, no matter who misapprehends or turns upon us. It
+is this fear that keeps too many from great and noble utterances. We
+forget that truth can clear itself, and that principles are not
+dependent upon persons. You have given me myself, as you ever do,
+when the mist of doubt hangs over me."
+
+"Yes, we must give when there is no approving smile, no look of
+recognition; give when our giving makes us beggars, alone and
+friendless in the chill air of neglect."
+
+"This is but your own life. I have but put it into words for you
+to-night."
+
+"O, Hugh, you are ever on the mount, looking with calm, steady gaze
+over the dark mists. Your head rests in eternal sunshine, like the
+towering hill whose top is mantled with the golden light, even
+though its base is covered with fog. Shall we ever see the day when
+these inner, pivotal truths will be accepted?"
+
+"We shall behold it in the lives of thousands. It matters not when,
+or where. Our part is to labor, to plant the seed, though it may not
+be our hands that garner the harvest."
+
+"True. I was selfish and looking for grain."
+
+"Not 'selfish.' The human soul seeks recognition, and finds it often
+a difficult task to wait for the presence of that human face which
+says in every line and feature, 'I know you; I feel your salient
+thoughts and motives.' A long time it takes us to learn to do
+without the approving smile of man, and go on our way with none but
+God and angels to sanction our efforts. I, too, have hours of
+darkness. All souls are at times tossed on heaving waters, that they
+may rise higher than their weary feet can climb."
+
+"You have done me good to-day; but do not go," she said, seeing him
+rise to leave.
+
+"I must; but first tell me if I can have your aid in a material
+matter, which I had nearly forgotten?"
+
+"I am at your service."
+
+"Well, then, I am going to have a party, which I suppose is the last
+thing you would have imagined of me."
+
+"I should have thought of any thing else; but what has put such an
+idea into your head?"
+
+"Some fairy, perhaps. I expect to get some life out of it, and the
+satisfaction of seeing my guests enjoying themselves. I shall bring
+together a strange medley,--counterparts, affinities, opposites, and
+every form of temperament which our little village affords, besides
+drawing on places largely remote from here. I must go now. Will you
+come and help us to-morrow?"
+
+"I will. My love to Dawn and Miss Vernon."
+
+"Thank you," and he passed out, leaving her bright and full of hope.
+She felt the transfusion of his strong life into her own, and
+neither herself nor her friend was the same as yesterday.
+
+The day for the party was fair and balmy. Dawn and Miss Vernon rode
+to the green-house and purchased flowers for the occasion, and the
+home seemed like a fairy bower, so artistically and elegantly had
+they arranged the fresh and fragrant blossoms.
+
+Miss Evans glided from room to room, placing a vase here, and a
+statuette there, as her feeling suggested, and what was her fancy
+was Hugh's, for their tastes were one, and their lives ran parallel
+in natural, innocent ways, never able to translate their feelings to
+another, but giving and enjoying each other more and more at every
+meeting.
+
+Poor Mrs. Norton thought how pleasant it would be to her, to see a
+room full of beautiful things, pleasant faces, and elegant clothes:
+it would be such a contrast to her own dull life, which would be
+still more lonely but for the frequent visits of Mr. Wyman's family,
+and the substantial evidence often given by them that they did not
+forget the poor and needy. She arrayed herself neatly in her black
+alpacca, the gift of a friend; and when she looked in her little
+glass which hung above the table, just were it did thirty years ago,
+when her good husband was alive, a rush of better thoughts and
+feelings came over her. She lived over again the happy days of her
+married life, and almost thought she was making ready to walk by her
+husband's side to the little church on the hill. Then the scene
+changed, years rolled away, and it seemed but yesterday when she
+leaned over the coffin, and looked on the still, pale face that
+would never light her home again. Thoughts grew into words, and she
+said,--
+
+"How little to keep me here. I have far more to recover by death
+than to lose; and somehow it seems as though it would not be long
+ere I go."
+
+She was not sad; far from it. The thought was pleasant to her, and
+folding her white handkerchief over her breast, she surveyed herself
+once more, and then putting on her shawl and bonnet, was soon on her
+way to Mr. Wyman's, thinking again and again how much good it would
+do her to see so many people together.
+
+Mrs. Clarke wondered if Mrs. Simonds would be dressed in great
+style, for she had a wish not to be outdone in that direction, and
+yet possessed a sufficient degree of good sense to feel that
+overdress would be out of place at such a gathering; so she arrayed
+herself in a blue silk, not over-trimmed, and put pearls in her dark
+hair to match her jewels.
+
+And thus, from different sections, arose a kind of magnetic life, as
+each individual's thoughts went out and centered there.
+
+Dawn was dressed in white, with scarlet sash, and coral ornaments.
+She seemed like a ray of light flashing through darkness. Her soft,
+brown hair hung in wavy curls over her shoulders, and the
+involuntary exclamation was, "How beautiful," as the pure light and
+brightness of her inner being shone through and over the external.
+
+At dusk, the carriages began to appear, winding up the long avenue,
+which led to the house. Then came a few persons on foot, and in an
+hour all the bustle and stir attendant upon a crowd was heard in the
+hall, on the stairs, and in every room. The house was all aglow with
+life, and lines of care and sorrow were swept away by radiant
+smiles.
+
+Masks were drawn over aching hearts; jealousies, envyings, and all
+strifes were put at bay, and the better natures of all were called
+forth, and responded, each to each. Palm grasped palm, that had not
+in the ordinary relations of life thrilled with contact for many
+years. Hearts that had grown cold and callous under slights, and
+chilling indifferences, were warmed anew in the social atmosphere
+which filled the whole house; and then the sound of music swept
+through the rooms, lifting all out of their narrowness into higher
+and better states.
+
+Mr. Wyman had a word of cheer and love for all, and delicately
+brought such temperaments together as could best enjoy
+companionship, and for the time kept himself aloof from those he
+loved best, that others might partake of their genial natures.
+
+"Can you tell me who that tall, graceful lady is?" asked Miss
+Vernon, before Mr. Wyman was aware that she was at his side.
+
+"A Mrs. Hammond," he replied, without looking at her.
+
+"She is very elegant," continued Miss Vernon.
+
+"She is, externally."
+
+"What, not lovely in mind? Can it be that such an exterior covers
+unloveliness?"
+
+"I fear it does. I have known her many years, and although she is a
+woman of decorous manners, and some polish, she has none of the
+elements of a true lady, to me."
+
+"Why, Mr. Wyman, see how thoughtful she seems of those around her,"
+said Florence, her eyes still fixed upon the engaging stranger.
+
+"Yes, I see all that, and all the externalism of her life. It is all
+acting. Within, that woman is cold and heartless. She is sharp
+enough, and quick in her instincts, but give me hearts in
+conjunction with heads."
+
+"Why, then, did you invite her?" she accompanied this inquiry with a
+most searching glance.
+
+"For the same reason I invited all. I want them to mingle, for the
+time to lose their sense of individual importance, their feelings of
+selfishness, or in a few words, to throw off the old and take on the
+new."
+
+"Are you enjoying yourself, Florence?"
+
+"Yes, very much. I like to see so many people together, and absorb
+the spirit of the occasion."
+
+"I am glad you do. Come this way." He led her to a remote part of
+the room, where stood a tall, dark-eyed stranger.
+
+"Miss Vernon, Mr. Temple" and he watched their eyes as they met, and
+knew he had linked two souls for at least one evening's enjoyment.
+
+A bustling woman, who could not conceive of any christianity outside
+of church-going, came and stood beside Miss Evans, and commenced a
+conversation by saying,--
+
+"There seems to be plenty of people in our village, though we don't
+see many of them at church."
+
+This was put forth as a preface, designed to exhibit the character
+of a forthcoming volume, but Miss Evans adroitly changed the subject
+to one of general interest.
+
+Just at this point, a stir was made, a rustling of silks was heard,
+and the way opened for a young prodigy in music, considered by his
+parents to be the wonder of the nineteenth century; one of those
+abstracted individuals who seem to live apart from the multitude,
+speaking to no one, save in monosyllables, and walking about, with
+an air of superiority, constantly nurtured by his doating parents'
+admiration,--at home a tyrant, abroad a monkey on exhibition.
+
+After a flourish of sounds, and several manipulations, each
+accompanied with a painful distortion of countenance, he commenced a
+long and tedious sonata,--tedious, because ill-timed. On a suitable
+occasion it would have been grand and acceptable. Of course the
+music was wasted on the air, because it had only a mental rendering.
+
+The anxious parents looked around for the expected applause. It did
+not come. Only a few murmured, "How very difficult," while a sense
+of relief was so manifest, that none could have failed to realize
+that such elaborate performances should be reserved for a far
+different occasion. But we are slow in learning the fitness of
+things, and that everything has its proper time and place.
+
+The next performer was a sprightly girl of seventeen, who played
+several airs, and sung some sweet and simple songs, charming all
+with their light and graceful beauty.
+
+Mr. Wyman then led his friend and guest, Mr. Temple, to the
+instrument. He touched it with a master hand. One forgot everything
+save melodious tones; forgot even that there was a medium, through
+which those tones were conveyed to the senses. The performer lost
+self, lost all save the author's idea, until, at length, the
+ecstatic sounds came soft and clear as light from a star. There was
+no intervention of self; his whole being was subordinate to the
+great creation--the soul of the theme. Eyes grew moist as the music
+floated on the air in one full, continuous strain. Hearts beat with
+new pulsations; hopes soared anew; sorrows grew less; life seemed
+electric, full of love; sharp lines, and irregularities of mind were
+touched, softened, and toned to harmony under the swelling notes,
+now soft, sweet, and dulcet; now broad, high, and upsoaring. No
+words broke the heavenly spell when the performer left the
+instrument, but each thrilled heart became a temple, in which only
+love and beauty dwelt.
+
+There, in that holy atmosphere, a soul burst its fetters and went
+home. Old Mrs. Norton, who came with such glorious anticipations,
+sank back upon the pillow upon which she was resting, while
+listening to the soul-ravishing sounds, and died.
+
+No feeling of awe came over the people assembled; but all felt as
+though they, too, had entered within the confines of the silent
+land.
+
+Gently they raised her form as one would a child who had fallen
+asleep.
+
+There, in the presence of the still, pale face, they parted, with
+better, truer natures than when they met.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+The months wore away, and Margaret applied herself closely to her
+labor, and became a favorite with her companions. Gladly would she
+have changed places with most of them, but they knew not the secret
+sorrow which was wearing her bloom away. Her sighs grew more
+frequent, as the time rapidly approached when she must leave them.
+
+Again and again she resolved to go to Mrs. Armstrong, and tell her
+all her grief, but the remembrance of her kindness made her cheek
+turn scarlet when the thought suggested itself. No, she could not
+reveal it to one whom she loved so well. She must go far away, and
+hide her shame from the eyes of all who had befriended her, and she
+had made many friends, yet would have lingered a few weeks longer,
+had she not one evening just at dark espied an old gentleman from
+her village, an acquaintance of her father's. She could not bear the
+thought that she must be carried back, to scenes so closely allied
+to her sufferings, and bear the scorn of those who knew her. She
+could not endure that, and fearing that the person whom she had seen
+might some time meet and recognize her, she hastened the
+preparations for a change. Again she collected her clothing, now
+more valuable, packed it and awaited some indication of the
+direction in which she should move.
+
+She must once more see the face of that good woman, who had been so
+faithful and kind to her; and after many efforts to call upon her,
+finally gained courage and did so.
+
+A strange thrill came over Mrs. Armstrong, as she heard the gate
+close, and a well-known step on the gravel walk. Margaret patted her
+old friend Trot as she approached the house, and somewhat surprised
+Mrs. Armstrong with her presence when she entered.
+
+"I am glad to see you," said Mrs. Armstrong, with her usual kind
+look of welcome, but with a deep tremor in her voice. "Come and sit
+by me, Margaret, and let me see if your hard labor is wearing you
+out. I have thought for some weeks that you looked pale."
+
+Margaret trembled in every limb, as she took the seat her friend
+offered her, for a searching glance accompanied her friend's words.
+Just then a strange thought flashed through Mrs. Armstrong's mind-a
+thought she could not put aside, and she tried in every way to win
+the poor girl's confidence, and perhaps might have succeeded had
+there not been heard the sound of footsteps outside. Trot's loud
+bark made them both start and turn their faces to the window.
+Margaret gave one glance,--and she needed not a second to assure her
+that the caller was none other than the old gentleman she had seen
+on the street. In a moment there was a knock at the door. While Mrs.
+Armstrong answered the call, Margaret made one bound from the
+sitting room to the kitchen, and from thence into the open air, and
+flew as fast as her feet could carry her, towards her boarding
+house.
+
+As she turned from the principal street, a woman accosted her, and
+inquired the way to the Belmont House. Glad of anything that would
+even for a moment take her thoughts from herself, she offered to
+show her the way.
+
+The darkness was so great, she had no fear of being recognized, as
+she walked in silence with the stranger. One thought filled her
+whole being, and the problem with her was, how she could escape from
+N--, and where should she find shelter?
+
+"Perhaps you can tell me," said the lady, in a clear, silvery voice,
+"of some young girl, or two, or three even, whom I can get to return
+with me to B--."
+
+"I am here," she continued, "in search of help; good American help.
+I am so worn with foreign servants that I can endure them no
+longer."
+
+Margaret's heart gave one bound. Here was her opportunity, and she
+only needed the courage to offer her services.
+
+"Perhaps you would go?" said the stranger, who looked for the first
+time on Margaret's face, as they stopped in the light that shone
+brilliantly in front of the Belmont House. "Or, maybe you do not
+work for a living. Excuse me, if I have made a blunder."
+
+"I do," answered Margaret, "and would like to go with you if I can
+earn good wages."
+
+"I will see that you are well remunerated, provided you suit me. I
+shall go to-morrow, in the noon train. If I do not succeed in
+getting any others beside yourself, will you meet me at the
+station?"
+
+Margaret replied in the affirmative, and retraced her steps,
+pondering upon how she should secrete herself during the intervening
+period.
+
+She walked rapidly back to her home, and thought how fortunate it
+was that her room-mates were absent that night, and good Mrs.
+Crawford would never suspect that the quiet girl up stairs was
+planning how she could escape with her clothing. The darkness of the
+evening favored her, and the noise within prevented any that might
+be without, from being noticed.
+
+She enclosed the balance due for her board, in an envelope, sealed,
+and directed it to Mrs. Crawford, and laid it on the little table at
+which she had stood so many mornings, weary in body and sick in
+soul.
+
+She hoped she would not encounter any one on the stairs, and to her
+relief she did not. For an instant she paused, as she heard the
+footsteps of the good housewife walking from the pantry to the
+dining-room, intent on her useful life, uncouth, illiterate, but
+kind and well-meaning. A tear stole over her cheek as she listened
+for the last time to that firm step, which never seemed to flag in
+its daily rounds, and one which often, when the day's work was over,
+went lightly to the bedside of the sick. But no time must be lost;
+the door was opened and closed, and she was once again out in the
+world, a wanderer. She knew not what her next step was to be.
+Standing there in the silence and darkness of the night, she clasped
+her hands, and with earnest prayer, implored Divine guidance.
+
+Down through the earthly shadows, through clouds of oppression,
+swept a mother's pure, undying love. Love for her wronged child, and
+pity for her state; for angel's missions are not in halls of light,
+amid scenes of mirth, but far away in desolate homes, with the
+oppressed and the forsaken, bringing hope to the despairing, comfort
+to the lonely, joy to the sad, and rest to weary hearts.
+
+A thought darted through her mind, and she rose firm and collected,
+as though a human hand had been outstretched for her aid. Who shall
+question that it was a mother that spoke to her at that moment?
+
+She arose, and as noiselessly as possible wended her way to a small
+and obscure dwelling, inhabited by a strange old woman, known to all
+the villagers, as possessing a wondrous power of vision, by which
+she professed to foretell the future, and decide questions of love
+and business.
+
+Margaret had often heard the girls in the factory speak of her, and
+knew that they frequently consulted her; but she had always shrank
+from the thought of going to her dwelling, though often importuned
+by them to do so. Now, how gladly her feet turned that way, as to
+her only refuge, for she well knew if she was searched for, no one
+would think of going there to find her.
+
+She reached the place at last, and with beating heart and dizzy
+brain, raised her hand and rapped very softly at the door. Then the
+thought flashed over her, that some one might be there who knew her,
+and hope fled for an instant.
+
+The rap, low as it was, soon brought the old woman, who opened the
+door and said in a voice tremulous but sweet, "Come in, my dear. I
+saw last night that a stranger was to visit me at this hour; yes,
+it's the same face," then motioned for her to pass in.
+
+Margaret's first thought was that some evil was intended, and she
+trembled and grew pale.
+
+"No fears, my child," said the woman, as though she had read her
+very thought, "angels are around you, guarding your life. I do only
+my part of the work, which is to keep you to-night."
+
+And this was the strange woman of whom she had heard so munch. Her
+fears vanished, she took the proffered seat, and without a shadow of
+distrust, drank the glass of cordial which was passed to her.
+
+A feeling of rest came over her,--a rest deeper than sleep imparts.
+She leaned back in the chair, pillowed her head against the cushion,
+and felt more peaceful than she had for many months.
+
+A strange curiosity pervaded her being, as she watched the woman
+moving about the room, to know of her former life-the life of her
+maidenhood,--and learn if others beside herself had loved and been
+betrayed.
+
+"I shall have no visitors to-night," said the woman, seating herself
+opposite to Margaret.
+
+"Do you often afford a shelter to strangers, as you have to me
+to-night?"
+
+"Yes, child; many a sorrow-laden traveller, worn with life, seeks my
+lowly cot."
+
+"Sorrow-laden and worn with life," said Margaret, repeating the
+words to herself; "she must have known my past experience;" and she
+wished she would go on, for somehow her words comforted her.
+
+"Yes, there are more sinned against than sinning," she continued. "I
+knew that you was coming, or rather some one, for last night in my
+dreams I saw a form, and now I know it was your own, floating on a
+dark stream. There was no boat in sight, no human being on shore, to
+save you. The cold waters chilled you, till you grew helpless, and
+the waves bore you swiftly to the ocean. I cried for help, and was
+awakened by my effort. That stream represents your past, and here
+you are now in my dwelling. Some one has wronged you, girl?"
+
+She did not see the tinge on the pale cheek of Margaret, but
+continued, "Yes, wronged; but I see clouds and darkness before you,
+and then happiness, but not the joys of earth. Something higher,
+holier, my child."
+
+A light seemed to have gathered over the face of the speaker, and
+her words, although strange and new to Margaret, seemed full of
+truth and meaning.
+
+"Shall I find rest on earth?" she inquired.
+
+"No, not here; above," the old woman lifted her eyes toward heaven,
+then said:
+
+"You are stepping into sorrow now; going with one who will degrade
+you. Do not follow her. Though her outer garments are of purple and
+fine linen, her spiritual robe is black and unseemly."
+
+"Where? O, tell me, then, where to go," exclaimed Margaret, her
+whole face pale with terror.
+
+"Go nowhere at present. I see nothing now; all is dark before me.
+Stay beneath my roof, till light breaks. I see that you will need a
+mother's care ere long."
+
+Here the poor girl's long pent up tears flowed in torrents; tears
+such as angels pity. It was a long time ere she grew calm; and when
+peace came, it was like that of a statue, she was cold and silent.
+No future stretched before her, nothing but a present, sad and
+hopeless, in which circumstances had placed her.
+
+"Shall I tell you the story of my girl-life," said the strange,
+weird woman, putting a fresh supply of wood upon the fire, which had
+fallen into embers.
+
+Margaret's interest manifested itself in her face, as she answered,
+"I would like to know if others have suffered like myself?"
+
+"It will help you bear your own burden better, and perhaps show you
+that none escape the fire. I will proceed with my narrative."
+
+"Many years ago, so many that it seems as though ages must have
+intervened, I loved a young and elegant man, who returned my
+affection with all the devotion which an earnest, exacting nature
+like mine could desire. I was the only child of wealthy parents, who
+spared no pains or expense on my education. With them I visited
+Europe, and while there, met this person, who seemed to be all that
+mortal could aspire to; refined, educated, and the possessor of a
+fortune. The alliance was the consummation of my fond parents'
+wishes. I will pass over the weeks of bliss which followed our
+engagement, and speak of scenes fraught with the most intense
+excitement to myself and others. We were at Berlin when my
+engagement was sanctioned by my parents. A few weeks subsequent,
+there arrived at the hotel at which we were stopping, a family of
+most engaging manners. We were at once attracted to them, and in a
+few days words of kindly greeting were exchanged, and finding them
+very genial, a warm friendship soon existed between us. The family
+consisted of parents, three sons, and two daughters. Laura, the
+eldest, was the one to whom I was particularly drawn. She was tall,
+graceful, and had about her an air of elegance, which showed
+unmistakably, her early associations. But to the point: I had been
+walking with my lover one evening, in the summer moonlight, and had
+retired to my room, strangely fatigued. I had never before parted
+from Milan, my betrothed, with such a lassitude as then pervaded my
+entire being. I had always felt buoyant and strong.-That night, as I
+laid on my bed, seeking in vain the rest which sleep might give me,
+I seemed suddenly to float out in the air, to rise above my body,
+and yet I distinctly felt its pulsations. The next moment, the sound
+of voices attracted me, and though I was in my room, and the persons
+in conversation in a distant apartment, yet I could hear every word
+which was uttered. What was my horror to see, for my sight was open
+as strangely clear as my hearing, the beautiful Laura sitting beside
+Milan, his arm encircling her waist. I tried to speak, but no sound
+came from my lips. I shook with fear and wonder. I had surely died,
+I thought, just then, and this is the vision and hearing of the soul
+released from flesh. 'O, Milan, hear me, hear me,' I cried in
+anguish. But no sound of my own lips floated on the air. Nothing was
+heard but their words, which I was obliged to hear. And O, how my
+heart was turned to stone, and my brain to fire, as these words came
+to my ears:
+
+"'Love her! Why, dearest Laura, whom I have adored so long, and whom
+chance has again brought into my path,--how can you question my
+affection for you,' and then I saw that he knelt at her feet!
+
+"'I think I heard but yesterday, that you were engaged,' continued
+the fair and brilliant girl, at whose feet he still remained.
+
+"'O, angel of my heart, will no words convince you that I love you
+beyond, above all women? I have in times past exhausted the language
+of love in speaking to your heart, Laura, are you heartless? I can
+plead no more.'
+
+"'I saw the tears glitter on her face as purely white as marble,
+then her lips parted and these words fell on my ear,--
+
+"'O, Milan, I would that I could divine my feeling towards you. My
+heart is full of love for you, but my reason falters, and something
+within me tells, I must not accept you. I feel thrills of horror at
+times, even when my affection turns toward you. I cannot fathom the
+strange mystery.' She bowed her face in her hands and wept. I saw
+him rise from his kneeling posture, and walk away to hide his
+emotions. I felt the fearful contest going on within himself, and
+then all grew dark. I heard no sound again, though I listened
+intently. I seemed back again in my form-sleep at last came to my
+weary senses. In dreams, then, I was walking again with him, by a
+beautiful lake, over which a storm had just passed, leaving a lovely
+rainbow arching its bosom. I felt the pressure of his hand, as he
+held mine, and saw his eyes beam tenderly into mine own.
+
+"'The storm is over,' he said, 'see how the waves are tipped with
+golden rays.'
+
+"Cheered by these words, I looked on the scene-the calmed lake, the
+bow of promise,--with a feeling of rapturous delight thrilling my
+whole being. Gazing thus earnestly, my attention was drawn to a
+curious ripple on the lake's surface. Then I beheld a female form
+rising from the waters, upon whose broad, white brow were these
+words:-Loved and Deserted. Startled by this, I turned to look upon
+Milan, but I saw him not. He had fled, and I was alone. All was
+lonely and still as death.
+
+"Tremblingly I pursued my way back. The sun was sinking behind the
+hills, and darkness would overtake me before I could reach home. I
+quickened my speed, when suddenly I stumbled over something in my
+path. A light from the heavens, a flash of summer lightning revealed
+a grave, from which the form of a fair, sweet girl arose, and said,
+'Beware! He, too, loved me, and for his love I pined and died.' The
+form vanished and the air seemed full of sounds of admonition, while
+around me appeared hosts of beings of another world. My senses
+reeled. I called for help, and must have cried aloud, for just then
+I heard my mother's voice from the adjoining room,--'What is it,
+Sibyl?' and when I awoke she was at my side.
+
+"'Bring a light,' I cried, as I placed my hand on my forehead, which
+was cold and damp with perspiration. Mother went to her room, and
+returned with a candle and came to my bed side.
+
+"I can remember her look of horror, as though it was but
+yesterday-and her voice when she sobbed, rather than spoke these
+words:-'My child, O, my poor child, what has happened?' Then she
+fainted.
+
+"I learned on the morrow, that my beautiful hair had turned white;
+not one thread of my deep brown tresses was left, and my features
+too, were shrunken. That night's vision had done the work of years
+of suffering, and Sibyl Warner, the belle, the heiress, was no
+longer an object of love.
+
+"A physician was summoned the next morning, who pronounced me
+suffering under mental hallucination, for I had told my mother all
+my strange dream or vision. I had no way to prove that my lover was
+treacherous, and I alone must suffer. But Laura. What was my duty
+towards her? was my dominant thought, even while I sat writing, a
+day or two after, a note to Milan, releasing him from his
+engagement. Vainly my mother entreated me to see him just once more.
+I was inexorable, and there being nothing now to bind us to Europe,
+we made all possible haste to return to our native land.
+
+"Laura came to bid me good-bye. I tried to speak my fears to her,
+but my tongue seemed paralyzed. I kissed her warmly, and the tears
+flowed over her pale, lovely face. We parted. I knew she would be
+his bride ere long. I hoped she would be happy; but the revelation
+of that night led me to fear that such might not be the case.
+
+"The first week of our voyage home was very pleasant, but soon
+after, a gale arose, and then a fearful storm set in. After being
+tossed by wind and wave five days, our ship went down. O, that
+morning so vividly present to my memory now. My parents were both
+lost. I was saved with a few of the passengers, and most of the
+ship's crew,--a vessel bound to my own native port, took us on board.
+But what was life to me then, alone, and unloved as I must ever
+after be.'
+
+"It was not the Sibyl Warner who stepped on shore the day of our
+arrival who had left it years before; not the young girl of
+seventeen, but a woman, with love, trust, hope, all departed-a wreck
+of her former self, and yet within, a strange light glittering. As
+one sees, hung over dangerous, impassable ways at night, or half
+sunken rocks, a light telling of danger, so I had thrown over my
+entire being a blaze of fire, which, while it guided others, seemed
+to be consuming myself. I possessed what is now called 'second
+sight,' and could see the motives of persons, and their most secret
+thoughts and designs. Life became burdensome because I could not
+balance the power with any joy, until I learned that I must live for
+others and not for myself, alone.
+
+"My father's estate was settled at last, and I had means enough to
+live in luxury and ease the rest of my days; but a strange inward
+prompting continually urged me to give up my former mode of living.
+I disposed of my property, exchanging it for ready money, and one
+day found myself penniless, through the treachery of one who
+professed to be my friend. I had not been allowed to learn his
+motives, and fraudulent designs, because, as I subsequently saw, my
+experience must be gained through toil and want, but when others
+were in danger of losing their material goods, I could readily
+discern their perils, and warn them.
+
+"Since then, I have travelled years and years, following this light;
+when I did not, I have failed in my mission. I am not understood.
+This little village, to which seven years ago I found my way, has
+not a soul in it that knows me as anything but a 'Witch'-a diviner
+of events. I have sat in halls of splendor, and revealed strange
+things to men and women. I have visited the sick and
+down-trodden-and everywhere this power has gone with me, carrying
+comfort and light. I think my earthly mission is almost over. I seem
+to see a light, like the glimmer of a lamp which shines for a
+traveller to guide him home."
+
+She paused. The story was told. Margaret sat silent, too much
+occupied with her own deep thoughts, to look on the woman's face.
+
+It was past midnight. The fire was out, on the hearth. A strange
+stillness pervaded the room. It grew oppressive. Margaret rose and
+went towards the old woman, who seemed to have dropped asleep. She
+took the withered hand in her own. It dropped lifeless. She was
+dead; the two whose lives had become as one by suffering, were
+parted. Sibyl had gone to that world where the erring are forgiven.
+Margaret was left to struggle on with an adverse fate, and thereby
+ripen for the kingdom.
+
+The morning flooded through the narrow windows of the humble cot,
+and lit up the pale, dead features with a strange light. Margaret
+must leave. Though heeding the woman's words of warning, and
+resolving to avoid the stranger she had met, she saw but one course
+before her, and that was, to go to the city and seek refuge in some
+hospital, during her approaching need. She struggled with her
+feelings a long time at leaving the dead alone, and so irreverently,
+but circumstances were pressing her on; she could not do otherwise,
+and stepping out from the shelter, where her soul had been so deeply
+thrilled, she walked rapidly to the station, and sat with her veil
+closely drawn, awaiting the hour for the departure of the train. It
+came at last, though the time seemed very long to her, the more so,
+as she was in constant fear of being recognized, but fortunately no
+one saw her whom she knew.
+
+She trembled all over, as she took her seat in the car, and saw an
+elegantly dressed woman enter and look about as though in search of
+some one; for under the "purple and fine linen" was the stranger,
+the willing destroyer of hundreds of young, innocent lives. To her
+relief, however, the woman passed on to another car, and Margaret
+felt as though all danger was over. It gave her a respite from her
+fears, that was all, for she did not know that the woman's keen eye
+recognized, and was quietly laying her plans to ensnare her.
+
+One weary form was through with its earthly toil; one bark was
+moored to celestial shores, beyond this rough clime, this imperfect
+world, in which all are judged by externals. She was no longer old
+and wrinkled,--"But a fair maiden in her father's mansion."
+
+The town buried her and sold the few articles of furniture to defray
+expenses. Thus ended the life of one who was once the belle of a
+great city, the child of luxury and tender care, and her body was
+laid in the town lot among the graves of the poor. All supposed she
+died alone, at night, and a few words of real pity fell from some
+lips as all that remained of her on earth was borne through the
+streets.
+
+Before the winter snows fell, Mrs. Armstrong planted a white rose
+beside her grave, remarking to her husband, that it was hard for one
+to die alone unloved, and a stranger to all about her. "She may have
+been once lovely and beloved," she said, as she pressed the sod
+close about the tree. "I should not like to die away from my
+kindred, with none to care for my last resting place." This done,
+the kind woman walked home happier for the deed of goodness she had
+performed, while unseen hands dropped their heavenly benedictions on
+her head.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a small parlor in the city of Berlin, where, fifty years ago,
+young Sibyl's heart had thrilled to words of love, sat a party of
+young men, over their wine, while mirth and song flowed freely.
+
+Light-hearted, and free from care, they had met to pass the evening
+hours, with songs and wondrous tales.
+
+"Come my good fellows," said the eldest, who appeared to be the
+leader of the group, "we must relate our stories, as the hours are
+waning. Krepsel, we will hear from you first, to-night."
+
+"Shall the tale be sad or gay?" said Krepsel, looking around the
+group.
+
+"Either," exclaimed the voices in chorus. He took a glass of wine
+and then commenced.
+
+"Many years ago a young man was studying in a Military Academy in
+this city, who, a few weeks after his entrance, had a strange dream,
+or vision, which changed all the future which he had mapped out for
+himself. He had a great love of art, and was often found with his
+pencil and paper, apart from others, instead of mingling in their
+recreations. For several nights, he dreamed that a lovely female
+approached his bed-side, and bent over him with a look of
+affectional interest.
+
+"The vision so vividly impressed him that he employed his first
+leisure moment in sketching the lovely face. At every touch and
+line, his admiration grew more intense, until at length he could
+scarcely keep the fair image from being ever prominent in his mind.
+It haunted his day dreams, till he could scarcely conceal his
+impatience to relate the strange vision to his mother and sister.
+The fair one stood each night at his side, until the first day of
+his vacation season arrived, and he left to pass its days at home.
+When within a few miles of his destination, he saw the same face
+before his waking vision. This time her features were sad, but not
+less lovely. Indeed the air of melancholy gave the features a deeper
+charm, and more strongly than ever he desired to reach his home, and
+find, if possible, a solution of the strange apparition.
+
+"At last the hills of his native town rose to his view; then the old
+pines which sheltered his home. Soon he felt the warm tears on his
+cheek, and the soft arms of his mother and sister around his neck.
+
+"'Where is Reinhold?' he asked, after he had released himself from
+their embrace.
+
+"He is away to-day; gone to a fair, but will be back by supper time,
+and bring his fair affianced.
+
+"'Reinhold engaged!' exclaimed Conrad, in tones so strange that
+Marie, his sister, turned pale. But his quick return to himself
+assured her that he was not angry, as she supposed, only surprised;
+and taking his proffered arm they walked together in the
+garden-talking of old scenes and pleasures, till even the fair face
+of his vision was forgotten, and he rested his eyes in tender,
+brotherly love, on the fair girl at his side.
+
+"They were in close conversation, so earnest, they did not hear the
+approaching footsteps, when the well-known voice of his brother
+called:
+
+"'Welcome, Conrad; welcome home,' and the next instant a pair of
+stout arms were around him.
+
+"'I believe he is stronger than you, Con., with all your military
+drills,' said Marie, laughing to see her brother trying to extricate
+himself.
+
+"'I am so glad you have come,' said Reinhold, 'I want you to see
+your new sister,' then he called her from where she stood apart from
+them, behind a clump of trees. Conrad's back was towards her when
+she approached, and he turned, at his brother's words.
+
+"'Miss Rosa,--Conrad, my brother,' and for the first time he looked
+on the face that had so long haunted his dreams.
+
+"'My God!' he said, 'It is the same,' and fell prostrate on the
+ground.
+
+"The poor girl flew to the house, laid her head on the shoulder of
+Reinhold's mother, and wept bitterly. She, too, had seen his face in
+her dreams, and supposed it an ideal which she should never meet.
+She had seen it before she met Reinhold, and thought as she looked
+on him, that he approximated somewhat to it, nearer then she even
+hoped to see, and had grown day by day to love him, not as one ought
+a lover, but tenderly like a brother.
+
+"The deepest anxiety seized the good parents, and Marie, to fathom
+the cause of Conrad's strange state. They carried him to the house,
+where he lay insensible for hours, but once only his lips parted,
+and then he breathed the name of 'Rosa,' in accents so tender, that
+his brother, who stood bending over him, in agony of grief at his
+state, flew from the room.
+
+"In half an hour Conrad started as though shot, and rose from the
+bed with blood-filled eyes, and wildest terror on his features. He
+placed his hand upon his heart, and then sinking on his knees,
+cried, imploringly, 'God forgive me; I have killed my brother!'
+
+"'Go and call Reinhold, Marie,' said the affrighted father, 'and
+prove to the poor boy that his brother is alive and well. O, what
+has come over our happy home.'
+
+"Marie flew from room to room; no Reinhold was to be found. Then to
+the garden, calling his name at each step. A wild fear seized her
+young heart; her brain grew giddy; yet on she went, calling again
+and again his name. As though impelled by an unseen force, she flew
+till she reached the edge of a wood, where herself and brothers had
+played together. She went on. Something lay on the ground; an
+object, she could not at first discover what. A cold chill run
+through her frame. The blood seemed to stagnate in every vein, for
+there, under an old oak, lay the lifeless body of Reinhold.
+
+"She fainted, and fell. The cool air blew on her temples and
+restored her to consciousness. She passed her hand over her
+forehead, as though trying to recall some terrible dream,--and then
+it all burst upon her mind, more fearful and appalling in its
+rebound.
+
+"'My mother, my father,' were the only words that broke from her
+lips, and she went back, slowly, for the fright and agony had almost
+paralyzed her brain and limbs.
+
+"'You were gone a long time,' said her anxious parents, who did not
+see her face when she entered; 'where is Reinhold?'
+
+"She had no words. The deathly face, the beating heart, and the
+trembling limbs, told all. She led them to the spot, and the mystery
+appeared still deeper.
+
+"Seven days Conrad lay in a raging fever. At their close, reason
+returned, and they learned from him the vision which had so haunted
+him, and wondered over the strange phase of life, in which action
+had been involuntary, but dual.
+
+"They buried Reinhold under the tree where he had shot himself, and
+kept it covered with flowers, watered by tears.
+
+"Poor Rosa returned to her home with her good parents, and pined
+slowly away. Conrad held his brother's memory sacred, and never
+breathed words of love to his affianced. 'She will be his in
+Heaven,' he said, as he walked with his sister one day to his grave;
+and when the Summer flowers faded they made another beside it, for
+Rosa went to join Reinhold, and to guard, with tender love, Conrad
+and Marie."
+
+Krepsel rose from the chair. The hours were waning.
+
+"We can have but one more," said the leader, "and from whom shall it
+be?"
+
+"From Berthhold," cried several voices.
+
+"I have seen his eyes full of strange, weird tales to-night," said
+one.
+
+"I know by his far-off look he has something interesting to say,"
+said another.
+
+"Berthhold, take the chair," said the leader.
+
+He rose, walked like one in a dream, took the seat, gazed a few
+moments around, and then commenced:
+
+"My story will be told in a few words. It is not of tradition, but
+experience."
+
+All eyes turned to the youth, whose face glowed with a strange
+light, as he commenced.
+
+"While sitting here to-night, listening to the story just narrated,
+my eyes have seen something I never saw before, and I pray I may not
+again see, at least until my nerves are stronger."
+
+"What was it? What was it like?" they all cried together, while
+Berthhold looked around the room, as though expecting the vision to
+be repeated.
+
+They were called to order by their leader, and he went on,--
+
+"A soft, misty light filled the room, and rested at last just before
+me. I strained my eyes to assure myself that I was not dreaming, and
+looked upon all your faces to assure myself that I was of the earth,
+and not a spirit. Then my eyes seemed to be fastened upon the light.
+In vain I tried to remove them; I could not; and only hoped none of
+you would notice me.
+
+"Soon a face, radiant and fair, burst from the mist; one almost too
+lovely to gaze upon. I was spellbound as I gazed, then the vision of
+the face faded. I seemed to float away, far over the sea, and there
+came before my sight a low, humble cot, whose walls offered no
+resistance to my vision. They seemed like glass as I looked through
+them, and saw sitting in a chair an old woman, wrinkled and faded,
+her hair white as snow, but on her face a peace which gathers on
+those who sleep the last sleep.
+
+"I also felt conscious of another presence, but could not see any
+one. Then all was dark again. I saw neither mist nor cot, but
+something spoke to me. A voice whispered in my ear, 'Tell Milan I
+forgive him.' That is the name of my mother's father."
+
+"How strange," said the listeners, who had followed him closely to
+the end.
+
+"Does your grandfather still live?" inquired one.
+
+"He was alive this morning, and is now, for aught I know."
+
+The party were about to separate, when a messenger entered in great
+haste, and called for Berthold, stating that his (Berthold's)
+grandfather was very ill, and greatly desired his presence.
+
+He was not long in answering the summons, leaving those who had
+listened to his story wondering over it, which wonder was not a
+little increased by this sudden call.
+
+It was thought that the old gentleman was dying, but when Berthold
+went and sat by his side he brightened up, and motioned for the
+others to leave the room.
+
+"I have been very ill," he said, grasping the hand of his grandson,
+"and have had a terrible dream. For fear I may some day depart
+suddenly, I wish to tell you of a portion of my early life, that you
+may avoid the sin, and escape the suffering which I have endured."
+
+He then related the wrong of his early years, in deluding a young
+and pure girl, while loving another.
+
+"Have you a picture of the one you allude to," asked Berthold.
+
+His grandfather started as though a voice from the other world had
+spoken to him.
+
+"Why, how do you know that? No one but myself knows that I carry her
+miniature about me."
+
+"May I see it?" asked his grandson, not a little alarmed at the
+excited manner of the sick man.
+
+"Yes,--that is if no one knows it,--not even Laura. Mind, Berthold,
+your grandmother knows nothing of this,--not a word."
+
+Berthold's word was sacred, and the old man drew from his pocket an
+oval case of blue velvet, ornamented with pearls.
+
+"Here, look, and be quick; I fear some one may come; and if, if I
+should die, Berthold, take this and keep it forever."
+
+"I will," said the faithful boy, as he unclasped the case.
+
+Was he dreaming? There, before him, was the same; yes, the very same
+fair face he saw in the mist. He could not take his eyes from the
+picture, so strange was the spell.
+
+"I have seen this face to-night, grandfather," said Berthold, going
+close to him, and laying his hand upon his brow.
+
+"Seen what! seen her? Sibyl! O, God, she must have died."
+
+He sank back exhausted on his pillow.
+
+"Did it-did she speak?" he gasped, as he revived.
+
+"Yes. She said, 'Tell Milan I forgive him!'"
+
+"Berthold, Laura, quick! O come,--my breath is go-. I--am--dy--."
+
+He, too, was gone; gone before his wife could be summoned; gone to
+meet one he had so greatly wronged, perhaps to learn of her
+beautiful truths, which her sad life experience had taught her; and
+perchance to woo her soul, this time with truth and love.
+
+Berthold kept the miniature, and when, after a few months, the club
+met again, confirmed the truth of the story he had startled them
+with that night. He could never account for the lowly cot, and the
+old wrinkled woman, but he remembered his grandfather's dying words,
+and never wooed where he knew he could not give his heart and soul;
+nor was his vision ever again unfolded, but one of heaven's
+choicest, purest women was given him to love, and in her high and
+spiritual life, his soul grew to sense that which by sight he could
+not obtain.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Three years had swept by, with their lights and shadows, bringing no
+change to the house of Mr. Wyman, save the daily unfolding of Dawn's
+character, and the deepening happiness of all.
+
+Mr. Wyman had promised Dawn that when she was eighteen he would take
+her to Europe.
+
+Miss Vernon passed her time very happily, dividing it between
+teaching, study, and labor, and found herself improving daily, both
+spiritually and physically; indeed, such a change had come over her
+whole nature, that she could scarce believe herself the same being
+that entered Mr. Wyman's home, three years previous. Life opened
+daily to her such rich opportunities for usefulness and growth, that
+no day seemed long enough to execute her plans.
+
+Mr. Temple, whom the reader will remember as one of the guests of
+the party, came often to Mr. Wyman's, and soon found himself greatly
+interested in Miss Vernon.
+
+It was a new experience to her to contrast him with Hugh, and to
+learn to analyze the new feeling which suffused her being,--that
+deep, undercurrent which lies beneath all surface emotions and
+interests, namely, Love.
+
+How broad, deep and rich her being grew. How near and dear to her
+now seemed Hugh, her friend and brother. How sharply were the lines
+of their true relation defined,--a relation as pure as untrodden
+snow. Her heart overflowed with thankfulness to the giver of all
+good, who had brought her feet into such pleasant paths of peace.
+
+In the same spot where ten years ago Mr. Wyman and fair Alice were
+seated, sat Herbert Temple and Florence. The night was as fair and
+cloudless, while the rustle of the trees alone broke the stillness.
+Pale moonbeams rested at their feet, while words of love flowed
+between them.
+
+"I think I found my way to your heart the first evening I saw you,
+for I felt my being thrill as though I had another life pulsing with
+my own; am I right?"
+
+She raised her eyes to his, and answered in words which he ever
+treasured,--
+
+"It was so, Herbert. I felt as though I was stepping from my own
+confines; as though some strong hand had taken mine, and infused new
+life into my being. It was when you played, Herbert, that I was
+absorbed in your soul."
+
+"It was you, Florence, who helped me to play. I felt and was
+inspired by your interest, your appreciation, for no one can do such
+things alone. I never play as I did that night, when alone. Now,
+that I shall have you always to help, shall we not be happy?"
+
+"O, Herbert, will these days last? Will love bind us the same in
+years to come?"
+
+"No, not the same; but deeper, holier, if we do not exhaust
+ourselves by free ownership."
+
+"You talk like Hugh," she said, resting her hand on his arm, and
+looking out on the soft, still scene before them.
+
+"I would I could talk like him. While I admit no oracles, I confess
+I admire his views, and his life which is a perfect transcript of
+his theories."
+
+"He is a noble man, Herbert, and has done much towards my
+development. I thought I loved him all I could, but since you have
+come to my life, I feel nearer than ever to him."
+
+"Such is the law, and beautiful it is, that true love expands our
+being, while the opposite contracts it. Hugh's views at first seemed
+wild, and rather disorderly, but close contact with the man, and
+opportunities of knowing him, in public and private, have made me
+acquainted with his worth. Love him always, Florence, and when I
+take you to my home never fear that I shall not understand you need
+to see him at times alone, for he will need you. You have been
+friends, and friends need each other. I am not taking you from him
+in soul and heart; I will but help you to give yourself to him, with
+your being made richer by my love."
+
+Florence had no words with which to thank him. She only nestled
+closer to the heart which loved her so well.
+
+"How lovely this night is," she said, breaking the long silence
+which followed; "the stillness is so sacred, I would not for worlds
+disturb it with a sound, even of the sweetest music."
+
+"Your words give me much comfort, Florence, for long have I wanted
+some one who could sympathize with me on that subject. To most
+persons, sound alone is considered music; to me, a night like this
+should not be jarred save by soft vibrations of aeolian strings. And
+the same of beautiful scenery. I cannot bear to hear one burst forth
+in song, for the landscape is to me, in itself, a Te Deum, a perfect
+song of praise."
+
+"I am made happy by your words, Herbert, for there are moments when
+music seems to me to be so sadly out of place, that I feel almost
+like crushing the instrument and performer together. And now may I
+ask you, why the music of some performers gives me pain instead of
+pleasure? I know, but I want your answer. We will take Miss York,
+for instance; she is full of hearty, earnest life, robust and
+strong. I know she plays in time and tune, and sings correctly, but
+I feel all out of tune, and completely disharmonized when she
+performs in my presence."
+
+"I fully comprehend your feelings. I have had the same myself, and
+my interpretation of it is that I cannot accept the music through
+her organism; or, rather, her atmosphere being between the subject
+and the auditor, the latter feels only time and sound, not music,
+not the idea the composer designed to convey. Is not that it?"
+
+"Exactly. After all, there are very few who are organized
+sufficiently delicate to translate music."
+
+"True, Florence; how many seek the glorious art, not for its
+uplifting power, but as a means of display. Let us love it for the
+good it does for mankind, and use it, not for the end, but as a
+means, of enjoyment."
+
+"I play but seldom, Herbert, dearly as I love it."
+
+"I am not sorry to hear that. I think that greater good is obtained
+by not being too much in its immediate sphere. Of course greater
+mechanical skill is acquired by constant practice, but I know by my
+own experience that when the soul has reached a certain height of
+culture, the physical nature becomes subordinate to the spiritual,
+and is controlled by it, because the two natures are then replete
+with harmony, and the fullness of the one finds expression through
+the other,--the hand moves in complete obedience to the spirit.
+Dearly as I love music, I cannot hear or execute it too often. On
+this I am pleased to see we agree. The air is growing chilly; we
+will go in and sing one song before we part. What shall it be?"
+
+"The Evening Song to the Virgin," she answered.
+
+Seating himself at the instrument, he played the prelude soft and
+low, then their voices mingled in that graceful, gliding song, as
+only voices can mingle that are united in the harmony of love.
+
+It filled the whole air with sweetness, and Hugh's senses revelled
+in the holy spell, as he sat alone on the piazza, thinking of the
+past, his lovely Alice, and the beautiful child which was left to
+bless his years.
+
+No other song followed; none could. Florence listened to the
+retreating footsteps of her lover, and then sat in the moonlight to
+think of her joys.
+
+Howard Deane was weary. Life had not gone pleasantly with him, since
+we introduced him to the reader. His business, so lucrative and once
+full of interest, demanding his closest attention, now seemed of no
+account. Existence had become to him a round of duties mechanically
+performed. The very air was leaden, and void of life. He needed a
+revivifying influence, something to invigorate him. His energies
+languished, and there seemed no one to extend to him a helping hand,
+as his wife was at deadly variance with those who could have given
+him what he was so much in want of.
+
+The fire had gone out on his domestic altar, for no trusting wife
+sat there. She was dark and heavy in soul. They had become strangers
+to each other, not by roaming, but by a too close relationship.
+
+Mrs. Deane had returned only bodily to her home; her heart and mind
+were on a sea of doubt, at the mercy of every wind and wave. No
+ripple of love broke their long silence, as they sat together in
+their home. They each felt lonely, and would have been far less so
+apart. Mr. Deane at length broke the spell, by saying,--
+
+"I am going to the mountains next week, Mabel; would you like to
+go?"
+
+"I am going home. Mother has sent for me. I may as well be there as
+here; no one will miss me."
+
+She had better have left the words unsaid, and saw it herself in the
+dark, contracted brow of her husband, who replied,--
+
+"I shall go alone. It is best I should. You can remain with your
+parents the remainder of the season, for I shall not be back for
+months," then abruptly left the room.
+
+The words were as decisive as his manner. She felt she had gone too
+far, and would have given worlds to retract. But it was too late; he
+was now out of hearing.
+
+What had come over their lives? They were treading a road thick with
+dust, which rose at every step, soiling their once white garments.
+Surely they needed a baptism to make them pure.
+
+The cloud which overhung their sky held the heavenly water which
+would make them clean.
+
+It came in the form of sickness. Their eldest boy laid ill and near
+unto death. Hope and fear alternated in their hearts as they stood
+beside the little one, and saw a raging fever course through his
+veins, and day by day the full form wasted away. Thus the baptismal
+waters flowed over their souls, and they wept together. Joy beamed
+from their faces when the dread crisis was past, and they were told
+he would live. Through sorrow they were reunited. They had wandered,
+but were returning with life and love in their hearts, and crowns of
+forgiveness in their hands. Thus do we ever become strong through
+our sufferings, and seeming evils work our good, for they are parts
+of the great unity of life.
+
+Mrs. Deane lessened her prejudices, and learned to know and love
+those whom her husband had found worthy, and among them, Miss Evans.
+With her she passed many pleasant hours, and that noble woman made
+known to her, many paths of rest and peace which she had previously
+through her ignorance and jealousy, persistently shunned.
+
+The years sped on; some were gathered to their homes above; some
+found new relations and strong ties to bind them here, until, at
+length, Dawn's eighteenth birth-day came, bright and sunny over the
+eastern hills. On the morrow, with her father, she was to leave for
+the city where they were to embark for England. The morning was
+passed in receiving the calls of friends, and later Mr. and Mrs.
+Temple and Miss Evans came to dine with them. The evening was spent
+by Dawn alone with her father.
+
+The next day, Florence, now a happy wife and mother, came to see
+them off. It had seemed to her for a month previous that all her
+partings with them had been final adieus, and now the moment was at
+hand which was really to separate them-for how long she knew not. It
+was not strange that a vein of sadness ran through the pleasure of
+the hour. But each strove to conceal aught that would mar the joy
+with which Dawn anticipated her journey, and the gladness which
+Florence would experience on their return was by her made to do
+service at this their time of departure.
+
+Hugh took the hand of Florence in his own, and held it so closely
+that his very soul seemed to vibrate its every nerve. Then his lips
+touched her brow; fond good-byes were exchanged, the quick closing
+of the carriage door was heard, and they were gone.
+
+Statue-like stood Florence for several moments, then going to the
+room she had for so many years occupied, she permitted her tears to
+flow, tears which she had kept back so nobly for their sake. Her
+husband walked through the garden with a sense of loneliness he
+scarce expected to experience; and then back to the library, where
+he awaited the appearance of his wife.
+
+She came down soon with a smile on her face, but the swollen eyes
+showed the grief she had been struggling with.
+
+"We must look cheerful for Miss Evans' sake," he said, kissing her;
+for, somehow he felt as though she too had gone, and he must assure
+himself that it was not her shadow alone that stood before him.
+
+"It is so nice," she said brightly, "that Hugh has prevailed on Miss
+Evans to remain here during his absence. It would be so lonely with
+only Aunt Susan at home. As it is, we can see the library and
+drawing-room open, and we shall not feel his absence so keenly."
+
+"And what a charming place for her to write her book in," remarked
+Herbert, walking to the bay-window that overlooked the garden.
+
+"We can come over every week and see her and the house, which will
+be next thing to seeing Dawn and her father," said his wife,
+earnestly.
+
+Despite all his theory, his large and unselfish heart, a strange
+feeling came over him, a cloud flitted over his sunny nature. It was
+hardly discernable, and yet were it to take a form in words, might
+have displayed itself thus: "I fear she loves them better than me."
+He shook the feeling off, as though it was a tempter, and said
+fondly:
+
+"As our friend Hugh arranged that we take tea in his home to-night,
+we will go and meet Miss Evans, who, I think, must be near by this
+time."
+
+It was Mr. Wyman's desire that Miss Evans should be at his house as
+soon after they were gone as possible, and establish herself within
+it. She granted his wish, and requested them to bid her adieu at her
+own home, which she would close immediately after, and repair to
+his.
+
+"What an atmosphere she will have to work in," said Florence, as she
+arranged a delicate vine over a marble bust. "But come, it will be
+lonely for Miss Evans to walk all the way by herself, to-day."
+
+They met her just turning into the path. She had a wreath on her
+arm, Dawn's parting gift, and a beautiful moss rose-bud in her hair,
+which Hugh gave her when he bade her good-bye.
+
+"How were they, happy?" were the first words of Florence, anxious to
+hear a moment later from her dear ones.
+
+"Very happy and bright," answered Miss Evans, with an inward
+struggle to keep back a tide of emotion. Florence clasped her hand,
+and held it in a manner which said, "Let us be close friends while
+they are away, and help each other."
+
+The firm pressure assured her that we may talk without words, they
+entered the house, and sat down to a nice repast, which Dawn had
+prepared with her own hands, while the room was fragrant with
+blossoms which she had gathered an hour before her departure.
+
+After supper they walked in the garden, and when twilight came on,
+returned to the house, and listened to the charming music which came
+from the instrument, under Herbert's magic touch.
+
+"I expect we shall all dream of sunny France, and dreamy Italy,"
+said Miss Evans, after the music had ceased, and the time for words
+had come.
+
+"If we expect to dream, we must place ourselves in proper condition;
+so we must bid you good night, Miss Evans," said Mr. Temple, rising.
+
+"I did not expect my words to hasten your departure, Mr. Temple. Can
+you not stay longer?"
+
+"Not another moment," he answered, taking his wife's bonnet and
+shawl, which she had brought from the hall, and putting them upon
+her. "I expect Florence has gone with our good friends. Come and see
+us, Miss Evans, soon. Good night; I will speak for both. Florence
+has gone away in spirit."
+
+At this Florence roused, and kissed Miss Evans good night. She had
+no words. She was very weary, and felt glad to know that her home
+was not far off, only a pleasant walk, for Hugh would not consent
+that there should be a great distance between them, so long as the
+freedom to build where they chose was allowed.
+
+Florence was indeed weary; neither the morrow, nor the deep love and
+devotion of her husband brought her strength back, but she pined day
+by day.
+
+Miss Evans carried flowers, Dawn's favorites, to her each day, with
+the hope that she would revive. On the contrary, they only served to
+keep the spell of languor upon her. At last her husband grew
+alarmed, and one evening after she had retired to rest, earlier than
+usual, he sought Miss Evans, who, hearing his step on the carriage
+path, knew he was alone, and expected to be summoned to his wife.
+
+"How is Florence, to-day?" she inquired, as soon he was seated.
+
+"The same languor oppresses her, and I have come to speak with you
+about it. Can you enlighten me in regard to her state? Some strange
+fears have crept into my mind, I suppose, because my nerves are
+weak, in my anxiety for her." Here he paused, as though he dared not
+entertain the thought, much less make it known to another.
+
+In an instant she read his fears.
+
+"I think I understand the cause of your wife's languor, for,
+although not an educated physician, I lay some claim to a natural
+perception of the causes of physical and mental ills."
+
+"Some people are magnetically related." She continued. "I think Hugh
+and your wife were bound by spiritual laws which are as sacred as
+physical. They lived upon each other's magnetism. She will droop for
+a while, but revive when she receives his letters. He will not feel
+the change so sensitively, as he has new life and interests before
+him every moment. This relation ought to be better understood, and
+will be, I trust, with many others, which are not now recognized as
+having an existence."
+
+"Then you think she will recover?"
+
+"Certainly; and a change for the better will be apparent as soon as
+she receives his first letter. She is only attenuated now, reaching
+after him, her friend and instructor for so many years."
+
+"I feared-I almost-forgive me, Miss Evans, for the strange thought,
+that Florence might, after all, have loved Hugh better than myself.
+I will not stand in her or any woman's way to happiness, if I know
+it."
+
+"Drive that thought from your mind, Herbert." As she said this with
+so much depth of earnestness, he noticed that her manner and tone
+betrayed not a shadow of surprise at his confession, and his face
+turned inquiringly to her.
+
+"It was a wicked thought, I know; let it rest with you, Miss Evans."
+
+"It is buried," she said, "and will never know a resurrection. But
+as to its being wicked, it was far from that, and very natural."
+
+"Your words allay my fears, and strengthen my trust."
+
+"They have lived such an earnest life together that his was a
+constituent, a part of her own. No wonder that she drooped when this
+union of vital sympathy was divided. Neither is it strange that you
+should be agitated by doubts and fears; but let me assure you again,
+that she by this attraction is none the less your own. She will feel
+an infusion of his life through his letters, and regain her wonted
+strength. She is yours, and his too; and more to you because she is
+much to him."
+
+A smile of peace settled over his disturbed features, as he took her
+hand, saying,--
+
+"You have made me strong and trustful, and from this hour my life
+will flow in broader and deeper channels. My present is bright; my
+future all radiant with hope."
+
+"I am very glad that your call has resulted so pleasantly," said
+Miss Evans, and as Mr. Temple left she sent her love to Florence,
+with the assurance that she would soon have the pleasure of
+welcoming her again to the home of Dawn.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+There are two classes that are specially liable to disease,--those
+who live grossly, and whose lives are spent in scenes of excitement,
+and those who are finely organized, so delicately constituted, that
+their nerves vibrate to every jar, not only of the physical but of
+the moral atmosphere.
+
+There are persons whose routine of daily life is seldom if ever
+disturbed; whose minds are at ease on material questions. Having
+enough, and to spare, they seek their pleasure from day to day, with
+scarcely an interruption of their established course. Such may well
+be free from the ills of the flesh, and being so, they complacently
+attack the less fortunate, those whose lives are tumultuous and
+heavily-laden with their own and other's needs; applying to them
+such remarks as, "They might live more regular." "They work too
+much." "They do not work enough." "They go about too much." "They do
+do not go about enough;" and having delivered their opinions, these
+self-satisfied mortals settle themselves down in their comforts,
+thanking God they are not as other men.
+
+There are lives that are shaken with convulsions; circumstances over
+which no mortal has control, surge their wild, tempest-waves over
+them, and all their wishes are of no avail; they must take what is
+borne to them. Raying out life every moment; pressed on every side,
+with every faculty strained to its greatest tension, is it a matter
+of wonder that they become weak, that they sicken and suffer?
+
+Sickness is not a sin, neither is its presence derogatory to our
+nature. It implies a susceptibility to the inharmonies of life, and
+is complimentary than otherwise to our organization. They are not to
+be envied who have never known an hour of pain and languor, for they
+come not under the discipline and instruction of one of life's great
+teachers. They are apt to be harsh, and cold, and unfeeling towards
+their fellows; apt to be boastful of their own strength, and
+regardless of the delicate sensibilities of others. While we should
+studiously endeavor to live in harmony with the laws of our being,
+it is nevertheless true that with all the caution we may exercise,
+we cannot avoid, if we are spiritually true, the jarring of the
+inharmonies of this world, and from this as much if not more than
+from any other cause, come the ills and pains of our earthly life.
+
+These disturbances of the spirit produce to those of fine natures a
+similar disturbance of their physical condition; then disease
+follows and makes sad havoc with the temple of the soul.
+
+On a subject so intricate as the cause of disease, only a few hints
+can here be given.
+
+People become sickly from living too long together; from pursuing
+continuously one branch of study or labor; from meeting too often
+with one class of minds; from living on one kind of food, or on food
+cooked by one person; besides, there are countless other causes;
+agitations of mind, overtasked and irregular lives are constantly
+generating impure magnetisms, with which the whole atmosphere is
+tainted, and which those who are susceptible are forced to absorb.
+
+As there are many causes of disease, there must be many ways of
+cure. No one system can regulate the disturbances of the complex
+machinery of the human frame.
+
+Dr. Franklin subjected himself to what was denominated the air bath,
+as a remedial agent. Others believed in the direct action of the
+sun, placing themselves beneath glass cupolas to receive it; while
+still later we have the water-cure, which is thought by many to heal
+all diseases. These are right in combination, but no one will cure
+alone.
+
+Does the strong man, with steady nerves, compact muscle, and perfect
+arterial circulation, need the same remedy when ill, as a less
+vigorous person, one whose hourly suffering is from a diseased
+nervous organization?
+
+One member of a family argues that because he can bathe in ice
+water, another, with more feeble circulation, can do the same, and
+realize the same results. One man will take no medicine, another
+swallow scarcely anything else, and thus we find extremes following
+each other.
+
+One ideaism in this direction is as much to be avoided as in any
+other. The man of good sense says, "I will take whatever is required
+to restore the balance of my system."
+
+Of mental disorders we know little. Asylums for their treatment have
+multiplied in our midst, but few of the thousands of educated
+physicians are qualified to minister to a mind diseased. Past modes
+will not do for to-day. Our conditions are not the same. Our lives
+are faster, our needs greater. Our grand-parents lived in the age of
+muscle; we exist in the nerve period, and have new demands, both in
+our mental and physical structure.
+
+And new light will come in answer to the demand. The eye of
+clairvoyance is already penetrating beyond science, and traversing
+the world of causes.
+
+Eagerly Florence broke the seal of her first letter from Hugh. He
+had arrived safely, and wafted over the sea his own and Dawn's love
+and remembrance.
+
+"Dawn desires to go to Germany, first," he wrote, "and as I have
+business with parties in Berlin, I shall gratify her wish. I
+thought, all along, how much I wished you were with us, but since
+writing I feel different. I need you at home to express myself to,
+when I am overflowing with thought. If you were at my side, when I
+am seeing all these things, we should both have the feast together,
+and be done. Now, in rehearsing it to you, I enjoy it over again.
+Very much we shall have to talk about, when we meet again. How I
+would like to transmit to your mind the vivid impressions of my own,
+when I first put my foot on the soil of England; but such things are
+not possible, and sometime I hope you will be here yourself, and
+feel the thrill of the old world under your feet."
+
+This portion of the long and interesting letter so refreshed her,
+that Miss Evans, when she came in after tea, guessed at once the
+cause of the sparkling eye that greeted her.
+
+"Letters are wonderful tonics," said Mr. Temple, laughingly, as he
+glanced toward Florence.
+
+"That depends from whom they come," she answered, and repented of it
+as soon as said. She looked up after a while, but there was no
+shadow on his face. She saw that he was sharing her joy, and then
+she knew that not a ripple of doubt would ever disturb their
+smoothly flowing life.
+
+Miss Evans left at an early hour, and reaching her home, wrote till
+nearly midnight. Her nature was one that was most elastic at night;
+her brilliancy seemed to come with the stars.
+
+Page after page fell from her desk to the floor; thought followed
+thought, till the mortal light seemed to give place to the divine.
+At length the theme grew so mighty, and words seemed so feeble to
+portray it, that she laid down the pen and wept,--wept not tears of
+exhaustion, but of joy at the soul's prospective. Sublime was the
+scene before her vision; enrapturing the prospect opening before
+earth's pilgrims, and she felt truly thankful that she was
+privileged to point out the way to those whose faith was weak, and
+who walked tremblingly along the road.
+
+She gathered her pages, laid them in order, and then wrote the
+following in her journal:
+
+"Night, beautiful night; dark below but brilliant above. I am not
+alone. These stars, some of them marking my destiny, know well my
+joys and my griefs. They are shining on me now. The waters are
+darkest nearest the shore, and perchance I am near some haven of
+rest. I have been tossed for many a year, yet, cease my heart to
+mourn, for my joys have been great. The world looks on me, and calls
+me strong. Heaven knows how weak I am, for this heart has had its
+sorrows, and these eyes have wept bitter tears. The warm current of
+my love has not departed; it has turned to crystals around my heart,
+cold, but pure and sparkling. There is a voice that can melt them,
+as the sun dissolves the frost.-I turn a leaf. This shall not record
+so much of self, or be so tinged with my own heart's
+pulsations,--this page now fair and spotless.
+
+"I thought, a month ago, this feeling would never come again. I hold
+my secret safe; why will my nerves keep trembling so, when down, far
+down in my soul, I feel so strong?
+
+"To-night I must put around my heart a girdle of strong purpose, and
+bid these useless thoughts be gone. I must not pulsate so intensely
+with feeling. My fate is to stand still and weave my thoughts into
+garlands for others. I must lay a heavy mantle on my breast, and
+wrap fold after fold upon my heart, that its beating may not be
+heard. Why have we hearts? Heads are better, and guide us to safer
+ports.
+
+"'T is past the midnight hour. What scratches of the pen I have put
+upon this virgin page. So does time mark us o'er and o'er. We must
+carry the marks of his hand to the shore of the great hereafter.
+Beyond, we shall drink from whatever fount will best suffice us.
+Here, we must take the cup as 't is passed to us, bitter or sweet-'t
+is not ours to choose. These boundaries of self are good. Where
+should we roam if left to our inclinations? Let me trust and wait
+God's own time and way."
+
+"Dear Florence," wrote Dawn, some months after they had been away,
+"I have seen gay, smiling France, and beautiful Italy with its
+wealth of sunlight, and its treasures of art. I have seen classic
+Greece,--of which we have talked so many hours,--and its fairy islands
+nestling in the blue Archipelago,--isles where Sappho sang. I have
+been among the Alps, and have seen the sunset touch with its last
+gleam, the eternal waste of snow; but more than all, I love dear
+Germany, the land of music and flowers, scholarship and mystic
+legends.
+
+"Now, my good friend and teacher, how shall I describe to you my
+state amid all this new life? At first I felt as though my former
+existence had been one long sleep, or as I suppose the mineral
+kingdom might feel in passing to the vegetable order, as some one
+has expressed it.
+
+"It was an awakening that thrilled my being with intensest delight;
+a fullness which left nothing to hope for. A new revelation of life
+has arisen within me, as sudden and grand as the appearing of those
+mysterious isles which are upheaved in a single night from the
+depths of the ocean.
+
+"A deeper pulsation than I have ever known, now stirs my blood. I
+feel the claims of humanity calling me to labor. My purpose is
+strong; I shall return with this thrill in my heart, and become one
+of God's willing instruments. That He will own me, I feel in every
+heart-beat. My mission is to erring women, and you, my friend, will
+smile, I know, on my purpose.
+
+"The other night I dreamed that a beautiful being stood by my side,
+while a light, such as I have never seen on earth, shone about her.
+
+"'Tell me,' I said, 'why this heavenly halo is around you? and if I,
+too, may become like you?'
+
+"'Listen.' She answered. 'Years ago, I lived on earth and passed
+through much suffering. I seemed to be placed in a close, high
+building, into which all the light that could enter came from above.
+I could only look up, with no power to turn to the right or left.
+After being years in this state, the rays coming thus directly from
+above, cleansed my soul, whitened my garment, and made it spotless.
+This light became a part of myself; it followed me to the other
+world, and now, when I approach earth, it enables me to see all the
+errors and virtues of humanity. Wouldst thou be willing to become a
+light by which pilgrims can see the way to Heaven?'
+
+"'I would. My only desire is to do good,' I replied.
+
+"'It is easy to desire this,' she remarked, sadly.
+
+"'But wouldst thou be willing to be almost annihilated, were it by
+that only you might become a lamp to the pilgrim's feet?'
+
+"I looked into my heart, and think I spoke truthfully, when I
+answered that I would.
+
+"'Then thou art accepted,' the angel said. 'It shall not be literal
+annihilation, although akin to it, for all your earthly desires must
+be swept away; all ambition, fame, learning, friends, must be
+sacrificed upon this altar. The light you will bear is fed alone
+from heavenly sources. Think again, child, if all these things can
+be as naught.'
+
+"I searched my soul once more. One answer, one word broke from my
+lips,--'Amen.'
+
+"'T is well,' the angel visitant said; 'thy being shall be turned to
+light.'
+
+"I awoke. The morning sun shone in my windows, and laid in golden
+bars upon my bed. I thought long of the vision of the night, and
+then sat down to pen it to you. To me it is significant. Write and
+tell me if it seems but a dream to you. I should like to be
+permitted to glorify my name, and be the 'Dawn' of light to some of
+earth's weary pilgrims."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a pleasant room in Frankfort, on a slight eminence which
+overlooked the river Maine, sat a young man, of about thirty years,
+in deep meditation. His face showed traces of recent suffering; his
+broad, high brow was white as marble, and his hands, though large,
+were soft and delicate as a woman's. Near by sat a young girl, whose
+physiogomy showed close relationship to the invalid. She was his
+sister, and was travelling with him, hoping that change of air and
+scenery might produce a beneficial effect on his health.
+
+"I think you seem stronger than when we came, Ralph; don't you?" She
+had been watching the color flickering on his face and lips, the
+last half hour.
+
+"Yes, the air of Frankfort has done me good, and the present fatigue
+is only the result of my journey."
+
+"I am glad to hear you say so; it confirms my impression, which is,
+that you will recover."
+
+"Heaven grant it may be so. Long suffering has robbed me of the
+buoyancy of hope. I think I have not enjoyed myself more at any time
+during my illness, than while we were at Heidelberg, among its
+castles."
+
+"I hope you will enjoy your stay here as much. You know how long you
+have wished to see the birthplace of Goethe."
+
+"I have, and expect to see his statue to-morrow, which will be
+pleasure enough for one day; at least for an invalid. Do you
+remember his 'Sorrows of Werter,' Marion? In what work has the depth
+of men's emotional nature been so sounded?"
+
+"I remember you read it to me last winter, while I was working those
+slippers you have on."
+
+"Ah, yes; delightful days they were, too. I wonder if I shall be
+able to see Dannecker's Ariadne the same day?"
+
+"I have forgotten, Ralph, the figure."
+
+"It is that of a beautiful female riding on a panther. The light is
+let in through a rosy curtain, and falling upon the form, is
+absorbed and incorporated into the marble."
+
+"How beautiful; I wish we could go to-day."
+
+"I shall be stronger to-morrow, and perhaps be able to sketch a
+little before I leave."
+
+"Ah, if you could. What a pity that we had to come away from
+Heidelburg without your being able to add anything to your folio."
+
+"It was; but if I recover my health, as you think I will, I shall go
+again, and see how that place of beauty looks to me in full vigor."
+
+"I wonder if there are many visitors at the hotel? Taking our meals
+as we do in our rooms, we see but little of them."
+
+"There have been several arrivals to-day," she answered.
+
+"And there are more coming. Sister, I feel strangely here. The
+feeling has deepened ever since I came. I feel a soul; some one near
+me; a being strong in soul and body, and more lovely than any one I
+have ever met."
+
+Marion looked distressed. She feared his mind was wandering. In vain
+she tried to hide her look of concern; he saw it, and relieved her
+fears by his words and manner.
+
+"It is not mere fancy, nor mental illusion, my dear sister, but
+something real and tangible. I feel it in my entire being: some one
+is coming to make me whole."
+
+"A woman?"
+
+"Yes; a woman such as you nor I have never looked upon."
+
+"You are weary now, Ralph; will you not lie down?"
+
+"I will to please you; but I am far from being weary."
+
+She smoothed his pillow, and led him to the couch. At that instant a
+carriage drove to the door, and several persons alighted.
+
+Marion turned her gaze from the strangers to her brother. Never in
+her life had she seen him look as he did then. His eyes glowed, not
+with excitement, but with new life. The color mounted to cheeks and
+forehead, while he kept pacing up and down the room, too full of joy
+and emotion to utter a single sentence.
+
+"What is it, brother?"
+
+This question, anxiously put, was all she could say, for she
+perceived, dimly, a sense of some approaching crisis.
+
+Her anxious look touched him, and he threw himself on the couch, and
+permitted her to pass her hand gently over his brow.
+
+"There; it's over now."
+
+"What, Ralph?"
+
+"The strange tremor of my being. Marion, some one has come to this
+hotel, who will strangely affect my future life."
+
+"The woman,--the soul you felt in the air?" she inquired, now excited
+in turn.
+
+"Yes, the soul has come; my soul. I shall look on her before
+to-morrow's sun has set. I feel an affiliation, a quality of life
+which never entered my mental or physical organization before. And
+Marion, this quality is mine by all the laws of Heaven." He sank
+back upon the couch like a weary child, and soon passed into a sweet
+slumber.
+
+Marion watched the color as it came into his face. It was the flush
+of health, not the hectic tinge of disease; and his breath, once
+labored and short, was now easy and calm as an infant's.
+
+Some wondrous change seemed to have been wrought upon him. What was
+it? By what subtle process had his life blood been warmed, and his
+being so strongly affiliated with another life? and where was the
+being whose life had entered into his? Beneath the same roof,
+reading the beautiful story of "Evangeline."
+
+The next morning Ralph arose, strong and refreshed, having slept
+much better than he had for many months.
+
+"Such rest, Marion," he said, "will soon restore me to health," and
+his looks confirmed the truth of his statement.
+
+"I should think you had found life's elixir, or the philosopher's
+stone, whose fabled virtues were buried with the alchemists of old.
+But who is the fairy, Ralph, and when shall we behold her face?"
+
+"Before the sun has set to-day," he answered, confidently.
+
+Marion smiled, looked slightly incredulous, and sat down to her
+books and work.
+
+Towards the close of the day, her attention was attracted by a
+graceful figure approaching the river bank. Her hat had fallen from
+her head, displaying its beautiful contour, and in her hair were
+wild flowers, so charmingly placed, that they seemed as though they
+had grown there. She watched her with the deepest interest, and
+turned to beckon her brother to the window, when lo! he was directly
+behind her, and had seen the fair maiden all the while. He had been
+drawn there by an irresistible power, and in the single glance he
+felt the assurance that she was the being who was to bless his life.
+He would have given much, then, to have seen her face, and having
+watched her till out of sight, went to his couch for rest.
+
+Marion looked on his placid features, and hope sprung up in her
+breast. She felt that her brother was, by some mysterious power,
+improving, and knew that he would fully recover his health. The
+flood-tides of affection flowed to the surface, and she wept tears
+of joy.
+
+Towards sunset they walked out together. Even the mental excitement
+caused by looking upon Goethe's statue, and the beautiful Ariadne
+had not exhausted him as formerly, and he was able to go into the
+evening air for the first time for many months.
+
+They returned to their rooms, and talked of the stranger.
+
+"Is she not lovely?" asked Marion, after long silence.
+
+But in that dreamy silence, Ralph had, in spirit, been absent from
+his sister and present with her of whom she inquired. The sound of
+her voice brought him back; he started and said,--
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Why the stranger, of whom we were speaking."
+
+"Lovely?" he replied; "she is more than that, she is holy, heavenly,
+pure. But let us talk no more tonight, dear; I am weary."
+
+The link was broken; her words had called him from the sphere of the
+beautiful stranger, and he needed rest.
+
+"Just what I feared," she said to herself, "he is mentally excited,
+and to-morrow will droop."
+
+Contrary to her fears, however, he awoke fresh and bright on the
+morrow, and able to visit with her, many places of interest. He did
+not see the stranger that day, nor the one succeeding.
+
+"I fear they have gone," said his sister, as Ralph walked nervously
+through the room. "I saw several go last evening, and she may have
+been among the number."
+
+"No, no; she has not gone. I should feel her absence were she away.
+I should have no strength, but lose what I have gained, and droop. I
+feel her here under this roof. I am approaching her, and shall,
+within a few hours, look on her face, and hear her voice."
+
+"Ah, Ralph, don't get too much excited, for I want you to look well
+when father and mother join us at Paris. They will be overjoyed to
+see how much you have improved."
+
+He made a hasty gesture, which she did not see, and then, ashamed at
+his feeling of impatience, went and sat beside her, and arranged the
+silks in her basket. Engaged in this light pastime, he did not hear
+a low rap at the door.
+
+"Come in," rose to the lips of Marion; then the thought flashed on
+her mind that the caller might be a stranger, and she arose and
+opened the door.
+
+"Have you a guide-book you can loan me?"
+
+The voice thrilled Ralph's being to its centre. He raised his eyes
+and said,--
+
+"Come in; we will find the book for you."
+
+To Marion's surprise she entered and seated herself by the window,
+but never for a moment took her eyes from the features of Ralph.
+
+His hands trembled violently as he searched for the book among a
+pile on the table, and Marion had to find it at last, and pass it to
+the stranger, who took it, but moved not. Her eyes seemed
+transfixed, her feet fastened to the floor.
+
+"This is the person who has drawn my life so since I came here. He
+is ill, but will recover," she said, stepping towards him, and
+placing her soft, white hand upon his brow.
+
+During this time Ralph was speechless, and felt as though he was
+struck dumb. He trembled in every limb, as she gently led him to the
+couch and motioned him to lie down. Then his limbs relaxed, his
+breath became calm, the face lost all trace of weariness, and he
+passed into a deep, mesmeric sleep. "Fold on fold of sleep was o'er
+him," and the fair one stood silently there, her eyes dreamy and far
+off, until his being was fully enrapt in that delicious state which
+but few on earth have experienced.
+
+Then silently she withdrew, while Marion whispered in her ear, "Come
+again; please do, for this is so new and strange to me."
+
+"I will," she said, and quietly departed.
+
+An hour passed, and he did not awake; another, and still he
+slumbered. "Can it be? O, is it the sleep which precedes death? I
+fear it may be," and the anxious sister, musing thus, suppressed a
+rising sigh. He moved uneasily. She had disturbed the delicate state
+by her agitated thoughts.
+
+"O, if she would come," said Marion, "I should have no fear."
+
+At that instant the door opened, and the wished for visitor glided
+in.
+
+"Has she read my thought?"
+
+"Fear not," whispered the stranger, in a voice and manner not her
+own, "thy brother but sleepeth. All is well; disease will have left
+him when he awakes. I will stay awhile."
+
+A volume of thanks beamed from Marion's face at these words, as she
+took her seat close by the side of the fair girl.
+
+At the end of the third hour he awoke. The stranger glided from the
+room just as his eyes were opening, and Marion closed the door, and
+went and sat beside him.
+
+"What was it like, Ralph? O! how strange it all seems to me."
+
+"Like? sister mine; like dew to the parched earth; strength to the
+languished; light unto darkness. What was it like? Mortal cannot
+compare it to anything under the heavens. It was as though my being
+soared on downy clouds-the old passing out, weariness falling as I
+ascended, and all sense of pain laid aside as one would a garment
+too heavy to be worn. I knew I slept. I was inspired with currents
+of a new life. I was lulled by undulating waves of light; each
+motion giving deeper rest, followed by a delicious sense of
+enjoyment without demand of action; a balancing of all the being. O!
+rest, such rest, comes to man but once in a lifetime. But where is
+the fair one to whom I am so much indebted for all this?" He glanced
+around the room.
+
+"Gone. She left just as you were waking. But tell me, Ralph, is it
+the mesmeric sleep that has so strengthened you, and with which you
+are so charmed?"
+
+"It must be. What wondrous power that being has; Marion, I am as
+strong and well as ever; look at me, and see if my appearance does
+not verify my assertion."
+
+She looked and believed. The past hour had developed a wonder
+greater than could be found among all the works of art in that great
+city; for Christ, the Lord, had been there and disease had fled.
+
+Ralph and Marion met the strangers quite often, and passed many
+happy hours in her society. Marion rallied her brother on his long
+tarry at Frankfort, at which he smiled, saying, "I cannot go while
+she remains." No more was said concerning his departure, it being
+her pleasure to go or stay, as he wished.
+
+One bright morning, they sat under the trees. Ralph was sketching,
+while Marion and the young lady who had so entranced him, were
+amusing themselves with some portraits which he had drawn a long
+time previous, when a servant delivered a letter to Marion. She
+opened it eagerly, and said, "It's from mother, Ralph, and we must
+meet her in Paris by the twentieth; it's now the seventh."
+
+A look of disappointment passed over his face, which was soon chased
+away by smiles, at the words of their companion who said:
+
+"How singular. Father and myself are going there. We leave
+to-morrow."
+
+Marion excused herself, and ran to her room to answer her mother's
+letter. The two thus left alone, sat silent for some time, until
+Ralph broke the calm with these words, "I long to know the name of
+one who has so long benefited me. I only know you as Miss Lyman. I
+should like to treasure your christian name, which I am sure is
+bright, like your nature."
+
+"My surname is Wyman, not Lyman, and my christian name, Dawn."
+
+"How strange! How beautiful!" almost involuntarily exclaimed Ralph.
+
+"Will you allow me, Dawn," he said, after a brief silence, "to
+sketch your profile?"
+
+"Certainly, when will you do it?"
+
+"Now, if you have no objection."
+
+"I have not the slightest, provided I can have a duplicate, in case
+I like it."
+
+He complied readily, and she took a position requisite for the work.
+
+"Look away over the river, if you please."
+
+He did not know how much these words implied. Her gaze was far away,
+and would ever be, for her real home was beyond.
+
+He succeeded at the first effort, and asked her judgment upon it.
+
+"Truthful and correct," she said. "Now another for me, if you
+please."
+
+"This is yours. I shall idealize mine, and in it I shall sketch you
+as you appear to me. Mine would not please you, I know."
+
+"You judge me correctly. I wish my portrait to be exactly like
+myself."
+
+"Yet if you sketched, you would want to draw your friends profiles
+as they appeared to you, would you not?"
+
+"Certainly. Is this your speciality, heads, or do you go to nature
+and reproduce her wonderous moods and shades with your pencil?"
+
+"My great ideal is Nature. You, too, are an artist."
+
+"I have no talent whatever, but the deepest sympathy with Nature,
+and an appreciation of her harmonies."
+
+"Do you not paint flowers, or sketch home scenes?"
+
+"I have never used pencil or brush, and yet I feel at times such
+longings within me to give expression to my states, I think I must
+have, at least, some latent power in that direction."
+
+"As all have. I could teach you in a very short time, to sketch
+woods, hills, and skies."
+
+"I think I should never copy. You don't know how foreign it is to my
+nature to copy anything. I should respect artists more if they did
+not copy so much. I reverence the past; I honor and admire the pure
+lives and noble works of those who are gone; but where are the new
+saints and the new masters? Was genius buried with Michael Angelo
+and Raphael? The same God who inspired their lives, inspires ours.
+We can make ourselves illustrious in our own way. We may not all
+paint, but whatever our work is, that should we do as individuals.
+If we copy, we shall have no genius to transmit to future
+generations."
+
+Dawn wished to be pardoned if she had wearied her listener, but she
+saw at once, as she looked on his face, that the thoughts she had
+expressed were accepted, and that her words had not fallen on
+unappreciative ears.
+
+"You have spoken my own views, and if my health remains, I shall
+give the world my best efforts in my own way. Nature shall be my
+study. I will not fall a worshipper, like Correggio, to light and
+shade, but use them as adjuncts to the great idea which must ever
+dwell in the soul of the faithful artist, to give the whole of
+nature."
+
+"I would not have spoken so much upon a theme even so dear to me as
+this, had I not felt that you would accept my thoughts, and
+therefore knew that I should not weary you."
+
+"I shall see you before you go," he said, retaining her hand which
+she extended, as she arose to leave.
+
+"I should be very sorry not to bid you good-bye. Have you my
+portrait?" He handed it to her, and walked with her to the hotel.
+
+"To-morrow she will depart, I may never see her again. Never! No, it
+cannot be. I shall see her, live near her, feel her life flowing
+into mine each day. It must be, I shall droop and fade without her,
+as the flower without dew or water." He went in and found the letter
+written, sealed and directed to Paris. He loved the word, since she
+was going there.
+
+Dawn went to her room and wrote her last letter from the land of
+music, flowers, legends and art.
+
+"Dear Ones at Home:-To-morrow we bid good-bye to this land of
+beauty, which so accords with my feelings. We shall bid adieu to its
+mountains, its castles, and its works of art. When you receive this
+we shall have visited Paris, thence to London to embark for home.
+'Home,' dear word. All my roamings will only make me love home
+better, and those whose lives are so woven in with mine. Tell
+Herbert he must come here to have his inspiration aroused. When he
+has walked upon Mont Blanc; when he has sailed on the Rhine, stood
+by Lakes Geneva and Lucerne, and by the blue Moselle, then he will
+feel that his whole life has been a fitting prelude to a rapturous
+burst of immortal song. He must come to Germany before he can fathom
+the sea of sound, or understand in fullness what the rippling waves
+of sweet music are saying. Florence, Herbert! do not let old age
+come on you, before you see this land, if none other. It is growing
+dark, or I would write more. Were I to sing a song to-night it would
+be, 'Do they miss me at home?' Three years have passed; I could stay
+as many more and not see half of that which would interest and
+instruct me, yet I feel ready to leave, for I know it to be my duty
+to do so. May the waves bear us safely to the arms of those who love
+us. Yours ever, DAWN."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+
+
+
+During the voyage home, Dawn was too indrawn to converse much with
+her father. He saw her state, and delicately left her to herself,
+except at brief intervals. What a help is such an one to us in our
+moods-one who knows when to leave us, and as well when to linger.
+
+The days went swiftly by. As they neared home, Dawn's abstracted
+manner warmed to its usual glow, and parent and child talked
+earnestly of the joy of returning to their own dear fireside. With
+deepened life within, and extended views of happiness, how
+pleasantly would the days glide on, lit with the sunlight of the
+happy faces they were so soon to behold.
+
+The autumn had just flashed its beauties on the forest trees, when
+Mr. Wyman and Dawn drew near their home. It was sunset when they
+reached the little station at L--and saw their carriage waiting,
+and Martin, their faithful servant, holding Swift. A bright face
+peeped out from a corner of the carriage. One bound to the platform,
+and Florence and Dawn were clasped in each other's arms. Tears
+sprang to Hugh's eyes as he held her hand and read in her happy face
+that all was well with herself and friends. The old horse even gave
+them a kindly greeting, turning his head and looking upon the joyous
+group, then pawing the ground as if anxious to take them to their
+home. They were not long in catching the hint, and soon Martin gave
+Swift the reins, and he pranced along as though his burden weighed
+no more than a feather.
+
+"Who do you think is at our house?" inquired Florence.
+
+"I have been too long away from yankee land to 'guess'; tell me at
+once, Florence."
+
+"Miss Weston, whom we met at the sea-shore."
+
+Dawn held up both hands with delight.
+
+"Why did you not mention it in your last letter?"
+
+"Because she arrived since I wrote."
+
+"I hope she is to stay awhile with us," said Dawn.
+
+"We shall need all the balancing power we can bring to offset our
+enthusiasm. Do you not think so, Florence?" asked Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I do, indeed. I expect Dawn's earnestness will kindle such desires
+among these home-loving people, that by next spring, all L--will
+embark for Europe."
+
+"Some fuel will not ignite," said Dawn, casting a mischievous glance
+at Florence.
+
+"I think foreign travel has injured my pupil's manners," remarked
+Mrs. Temple, assuming an air of dignity.
+
+"Yes, you must take her in charge immediately," answered her father.
+"But here we are at our own gate. Stop, Martin," and with a bound he
+sprang from the carriage. He could sit no longer. The familiar trees
+which his own hand had planted, spread their branches as though to
+welcome his return. Brilliant flowers flashed smiles of greeting.
+The turf seemed softer, and more like velvet than he had ever seen
+it; the marble statues on the lawn more elegant than all the
+beautiful things he had looked upon while away. Some hand had
+trailed the vines over the pillars of the house; the birds sang, and
+the air seemed full of glad welcomings. The good, honest face of
+Aunt Susan met them at the hall door, and a warm, hearty shake of
+the hand was the greeting of each.
+
+Flowers everywhere,--pendant from baskets, and grouped in vases;
+vines everywhere,--laid as by a summer breeze, on marble busts and
+statuettes; blossoms everywhere:-but where was she whose
+thoughtfulness and taste was made manifest in all these?
+
+Impatiently he passed to the drawing-room, then to the library, and
+a feeling of blank disappointment rose in his breast, for she he so
+much expected to see, was not there to greet him.
+
+"I forgot to tell you," said Aunt Susan, "that no sooner was the
+carriage gone for you, then Miss Evans was called to a very sick
+friend. She left this note for you."
+
+Hugh hastily opened it, and found a line expressing regret that such
+summons should come at such an hour, and welcoming him home with all
+the warmth of a true and earnest soul.
+
+"O father! is it not heavenly to be back again?" and the sensitive
+daughter fell weeping with joy into her father's arms. He pressed
+her to his heart, held her as though she had been away from him all
+these years, instead of at his side beholding the wonders of the Old
+World. "Dawn, Dawn, my darling girl," was all he could say.
+
+"Where is she?" she inquired, suddenly rising.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss Evans. Strange I have not thought of her since we entered our
+home."
+
+"She is away. Here is her note, which will explain her absence."
+
+Dawn read it without looking at the words, and said:
+
+"The house is full of her. I like her sphere; she must not go away
+from us."
+
+Her father glanced wonderingly towards her. How strangely woven into
+his own life was the tissue of his child's, how vibratory had their
+existence become.
+
+"Shall she not always stay, dear father? You will need some one-some
+one with you."
+
+The last words were slow and measured. What was it that seemed
+drifting from his grasp just then? What more of joy was receding
+from his life-sphere?
+
+"Dawn, my child," he said, "You are not going from me?"
+
+"Why, poor frightened papa, I am not so easily got rid of. I am not
+going, but some one is coming, coming, I feel it, close to you, yet
+not one to sever us. There are some natures that bind others closer,
+as some substances unite by the introduction of a third element."
+
+"Child, you are my very breath; how can you come closer to me?"
+
+"By having a new set of sympathies in your being aroused; by
+expansion. Was my mother farther removed or brought nearer to you,
+when she gave birth to a new claimant upon your love?"
+
+"Brought nearer, and made dearer a thousand times."
+
+"Do you understand me now, father?"
+
+"I feel strange to-day, Dawn. It came over me when I left the
+carriage,--a something I fain would put away, but cannot. Some other
+time we will talk upon it."
+
+"May we come in?"
+
+The door was flung wide open, and Florence and her husband stood
+before them. The children were in the garden just at that moment.
+The tea-bell rang, and soon they all formed a happy group around the
+bounteous board.
+
+Revelations come to us sometimes in flashes, at others in partial
+glimpses. The revelation of Hugh Wyman's feelings towards one he had
+known but as a friend, came slowly. There was no sudden lifting of
+the veil, which concealed the image from his sight. It rose and
+fell, as though lifted by the wind,--and that merely a chance
+breeze,--no seeming hand of fate controling it.
+
+How should ho know himself; how fathom the strange fluttering of his
+heart, the quickening breath, the flashing blood, at times when he
+most earnestly sought to put such emotions away. What meant his
+child's close words touching his dim thoughts floating like nebulae
+in his mind? What was this vague questioning state, with no
+revelations, no answers? He tried to put it away, but each endeavor
+brought it closer, and he yielded at last to the strange spell.
+
+Three days after their arrival, Miss Evans came from the house of
+mourning to their home of joy.
+
+Hugh met her suddenly in the garden, whither she had gone in search
+of Dawn. But where was "Hugh," her brother, when they met? Not
+before her. The person had the manners of a stranger, instead of a
+long absent friend returned.
+
+She sought Dawn, and met with a cordial welcome from her, which in
+some measure removed the chill from her heart.
+
+Dawn struggled long that night with her feelings. Her thoughts would
+wander over the sea to one who had so deeply touched her sympathies.
+Her last meeting with him was in Paris. He then stood with his
+sister gazing on Schoffer's picture, which so beautifully represents
+the gradual rise of the soul through the sorrows of earth to heaven.
+This beautiful work of art "consists of figures grouped together,
+those nearest the earth bowed down and overwhelmed with the most
+crushing sorrow; above them are those who are beginning to look
+upward, and the sorrow in their faces is subsiding into anxious
+inquiry; still above them are those who, having caught a gleam of
+the sources of consolation, express in their faces a solemn
+calmness; and still higher, rising in the air, figures with clasped
+hands, and absorbed, upward gaze, to whose eye the mystery has been
+unveiled, the enigma solved, and sorrow glorified."
+
+That picture floated through her mind.
+
+"Shall I ever be among the 'glorified,'" she asked of her inner
+self; "among those who see the divine economy of suffering, which
+purifies the soul from all grossness? I must banish the thought of
+him from my mind," she exclaimed, vehemently. "I must have no
+earthly moorings; far, far out on life's tumultuous sea, I see
+myself buffeting the waves alone." Thus spoke reason, while her soul
+kept up the swelling tide of emotion, and soon away went thought and
+feeling far over the blue sea, where he was yet gazing on the
+beauties of the Old World.
+
+Would chance once more send him across her path? Would she ever
+again look into those eyes of such wondrous depth? These were the
+thoughts which floated through her mind-the last she experienced
+before passing into dreamland.
+
+Lulled in sweet sleep, she seemed to stand upon a shore watching the
+waves which threw, at each inflowing, beautiful shells at her feet.
+They were all joined in pairs, but none were rightly mated; all
+unmatched in size, form and color. What hand shall arrange them in
+order? Who will mate them, and re-arrange their inharmonious
+combinings?
+
+She tried to tear a few asunder. She could not separate them, for
+they were held so firmly by the thick slime of the sea, that no hand
+could disunite them. 'They must go back, and be washed again and
+again by the waves,' a voice within seemed to say, 'on eternity's
+broad shore they will all be mated. They symbolize human life, and
+what in the external world are called marriages. The real mate is in
+the sea, but not joined to its like.'
+
+A feeling of impatience came over her, as she saw the shells roll
+back, and the incoming tide still throwing more at her feet. The
+feeling deepened, and she awoke.
+
+It was midnight; a gentle breeze scarce stirred the curtains of her
+windows and bed, and there broke over the room a wave of sound.
+
+Dawn knew that some one was there, yet no fear of the visitant came
+upon her. She only feared her breath might disturb the delicate
+atmosphere which filled the room, growing at each moment more
+rarified and delicate in its quality. She knew that the presence
+could be none other than that of her mother, for none but she could
+so permeate her being, and fill the room with such an air of
+holiness, and she felt that in the atmosphere which was thus
+gathering, her angelic form must soon become cognizant to her sight.
+As these thoughts filled her mind, the rays of light began to
+converge and centre at her side. Her eyes seemed rivited to the
+spot, as she saw the dim but perfect outline of a form. It grew more
+tangible, until at last the form of her mother stood saintly and
+glorified before her.
+
+O, the rapt ecstacy of such an hour; the soothing influence which
+flows into the brain when a mortal is thus blessed.
+
+Dawn tried to speak; her lips parted, but no sound issued, and she
+learned that there is another communion than that of words, which
+mortals hold with those who have passed into a broader and deeper
+life.
+
+Slowly the form faded away; first the limbs, then the shadows, or
+semi-transparent clouds, rose gradually, till nought but the white
+effulgent brow beamed out; yet but for an instant, then all was
+gone.
+
+A rest deeper than that of sleep came over her. She closed her eyes
+to shut out the darkness, and retain the vision, and remained thus
+until slowly the golden orb of day rolled his chariot over the
+eastern hills, when reluctantly she arose, and the heavenly spell
+was broken.
+
+"Dear Pearl, how good you are to come and see us," burst from the
+lips of Dawn, when, two hours later, she entered the parlor of her
+teacher and clasped the hand of Miss Weston. "I shall claim her
+to-day; may I not, Florence?" and without waiting for a reply, she
+carried her to her own home.
+
+They talked long and earnestly; Dawn's description of her travels
+entertaining her guest exceedingly, and it was noon ere they were
+aware that one half of the morning had passed away.
+
+"And now I have talked long enough, and will stop; but may I ask you
+where you propose to spend the coming winter? If you are not
+positively engaged, I want you to stay with Florence and myself."
+
+"I am going to the quiet little town of B--, to remain for an
+indefinite period with some dear friends, relatives of my dear
+Edward, who have just returned from Europe. I had a letter from them
+yesterday, saying they were all safe at home, and should be looking
+for me next week."
+
+"Then all my plans must fail."
+
+"As far as having me here for so long a time; but how I wish you
+could know Ralph and Marion, Dawn.-Why, what is the matter; what is
+it, dear Dawn?"
+
+"Nothing but a sharp pain. It's all over now. Were your friends
+in-in Paris last month?" her voice trembled as she spoke.
+
+"Yes. But how pale you look. Dawn, you must be ill."
+
+"I am not. I did not sleep well last night. But Pearl, I have seen
+your friends."
+
+"Seen them; seen Ralph?" exclaimed Miss Weston, in joyous surprise.
+"Is his not a fine character? And Marion, his sister, is she not
+lovely?"
+
+"I know them but little. They were at a hotel in Frankfort, where we
+stopped. I first met them there, and again in Paris, twice,
+accidentally."
+
+"How strange," continued Miss Weston. "Will they not be greatly
+surprised when I tell them I know you?"
+
+Dawn laid her hand heavily on her friend's shoulder, saying:
+
+"Miss Weston, I have my reasons, which sometime I may explain to
+you, for asking you not to mention my name to any member of that
+family." It was the same bright face which years ago was turned on
+her with words of consolation; the same childish pleading, for
+Dawn's face was a type of her spirit,--free, innocent and pure. "Will
+you promise without an explanation?"
+
+"I will, strange as it seems; but, may I ask you one question,
+before we leave this subject?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Has Ralph or Marion ever injured you?"
+
+"Never. I think very highly of them both."
+
+The subject was dismissed, and although their words floated to
+interesting topics, no deep feeling could be experienced by either,
+for each had become insphered and separate; one pondering, despite
+her efforts to the contrary, upon the strange request; the other
+thinking how strangely fate had again approximated lives which, in
+her present state, she could only see, must be kept apart.
+
+Little did Dawn think she should meet in her own home, one who knew
+Ralph. It seemed an indication that she might meet him again, when
+and where she knew not, but of one thing she was certain, the
+meeting could not be one of friendship only. A conflict of emotions
+pulsed through her being. She could not converse, and plainly told
+her friend that she was too abstracted to be companionable.
+
+"Go to Florence," she said, "and tell her she may have you the rest
+of the day. To-morrow--to-morrow," she said slowly, "I shall want
+you, for then I shall be myself."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+
+
+
+When Margaret Thorne left N--, it was with the intention of
+following the old woman's warning, and avoiding the stranger.
+
+"Where shall I go?" was the ever prominent question, repeated again
+and again, to the end of the journey.
+
+At last the train stopped at the busy city; the close of the journey
+had come, but no end to her restless thoughts. While she was thus
+musing, she was aroused by the usual, "Have a hack? a hack, miss?"
+This seemed to indicate her next step. She handed her baggage check
+to the person who addressed her, and directed him to drive to a
+public house.
+
+Seated in the carriage she was somewhat relieved of the feeling of
+uncertainty which had oppressed her. Alas, the poor girl did not
+know that at that moment the woman of evil deeds was directing the
+coachman where to carry the helpless victim.
+
+And thus her fate was sealed; her child was born in a house of sin,
+and its little eyes first opened in its dark, immoral atmosphere.
+
+The woman had managed all so cunningly that Margaret did not know
+but that she was in a respectable house, nor see her until it was
+too late. Then, knowing her helplessness, the woman, by subtle
+flatteries and approaches in her hour of womanly need, at a time
+when she was weak and susceptible to seemingly kind attentions, won
+her confidence. The child of circumstances caught at the broken
+staff held out for her as a drowning one seeks any hold in a storm.
+In her hour of sorrow and destitution, she accepted the only aid
+which was proffered her, for aid she must have, and she was not able
+to command her choice.
+
+Day by day the woman into whose hands she had fallen, worked herself
+into her life and affection, until at length Margaret began to think
+there might be worse persons than those about her, and greater sins
+in the wide world than those which were committed beneath the roof
+which now sheltered her.
+
+Creatures of circumstance as we are, we are too apt to attribute to
+our own strength of purpose the virtue, so called, in which we pride
+ourselves. Women in happy homes, by pleasant hearths, and surrounded
+with every means of social enjoyment, take credit to themselves for
+their upright demeanor, and indulge in bitter denunciation of those,
+who, less fortunately circumstanced, yield to the tempter's
+allurements. Little do they think of what they themselves might have
+been, but for the protection which some good angel has thrown around
+them. It would be well for us all to pause and think, and ask our
+souls the question which this thought suggests.
+
+As has been seen, Margaret Thorne came not willingly to the home in
+which she now was, neither did she willingly remain. Circumstances
+not of her own making, governed her; and may it not be there are
+many similarly situated. To such the world owes its pity, not its
+condemnation.
+
+The "social evil" is not confined to the houses which the public
+marks as its only abode, but is to be found in many of those in
+which the marriage ceremony is supposed to have insured chastity.
+
+In these, too often, the unwelcome child is ushered into being, the
+fruit of a prostitution more base than any which is called by that
+name, because sanctioned and shielded by a covenant of holiness. If
+any children are illegitimate such are. If any mothers are to be
+condemned, they are those, who, vain and foolish, filled with
+worldly ambition, angrily regret that their time is encroached upon
+by the demands of their dependent offspring. In vain the little ones
+reach out for the life and love which should be freely given them;
+then, finding it not, fade and die like untimely flowers. Thousands
+of innocent beings go to the grave every year from no other cause
+than this, that though born in wedlock they are the offspring of
+passion, and not the children of love.
+
+Sad as these thoughts are, they are nevertheless true. An hour's
+walk in any community, will bring to any one's observation
+inharmonious children. Let the married reflect, and closely question
+themselves, in order that they may know the true relation which they
+bear to the children who are called by their name. Better by far
+that a child of pure love be brought into the world, with a heart to
+love it, a hand to lead it, and a soul to guide it, than a child of
+passion, to be hated and forsaken by those who should care for and
+protect it.
+
+Little can be done by one generation to right this wrong, but that
+little should be done with earnestness.
+
+"I will not forsake it," said Margaret, looking into the eyes of her
+child; eyes that fastened on hers such a questioning gaze, that it
+made her heart beat fast, and the scalding tears flow down her
+cheeks; eyes that resembled those that once flashed on her the light
+of passion, which she mistook for that of pure affection.
+
+Years rolled on, and she struggled with life, trying to support
+herself and child by her efforts. But, alas, the taint was on her;
+none would help her to a better existence, and she fell to rise no
+more this side the grave.
+
+Not suddenly did she surrender her womanhood, but slowly, as hope
+after hope failed, and all her efforts were met with a foul
+distrust.
+
+The years that came and went by, bringing happiness to many, brought
+none to her. One night the angel of death stole noiselessly to her
+side, and took her only earthly comfort,--her child. His fair face
+and innocent smile had repaid her a hundred fold for the frowns of
+the world she had met. Now she had no moorings, no anchor in the
+broad sea of existence.
+
+"I shall die some day," she said, "and perhaps the angels will
+forgive me." So she walked alone, and cared not what came to her
+life, or filled the measure of her days on earth.
+
+Miss Evans sat alone in her home, musing, as she had often done. She
+had just been reading passages from "Dream Life," having opened the
+book at random to a chapter entitled, "A Broken Hope." Was life
+mocking her at every step? She turned the pages listlessly, and
+"Peace" flashed before her vision. Peace, at last. No matter how
+great the struggle, rest shall be ours. We may not attain what we
+have striven for on earth, but peace will come, and the "rest which
+the world knows not of."
+
+But her mind did not feel the promise then. Life seemed growing
+dull, insipid. The course of the chariot wheels of progress, were
+impeded. What had become of her earnest, working self, whose deepest
+happiness was in laboring for humanity? Why were her hands so idle,
+and her mind so listless? Question rose on question, until her mind
+seemed plunging into a sea whose troubled waves moaned and dashed
+against her life-bark, giving her spirit no repose. Why was she
+floating on this restless sea?
+
+A hand was laid upon her shoulder. She turned, and the warm blood
+tinged her cheeks and brow.
+
+"Hugh!"
+
+"Arline!"
+
+It was the first time for years that the sound of her own name had
+thrilled her so deeply.
+
+He sat by her, took her hands in his own, and had never seemed to
+belong to her so much as in that hour.
+
+"I never was more delighted to see you," she said, unaware of the
+tide of emotion which his answer would awaken.
+
+"I am glad, indeed, that it is so. Then I do not seek you to be
+repulsed. I love you, Arline."
+
+She was not startled by this avowal, as it might have been supposed
+she would have been, and yet she never thought to hear words like
+those pass his lips. Like dew upon withering flowers they came, and
+she looked up, saying,--
+
+"How long has this feeling existed in your heart, Hugh?"
+
+"Since I found I could love more than one, and yet love that one
+deeper and more tenderly."
+
+"And when was that?"
+
+"When I first saw my home after my foreign trip. Until then, I had
+but one feeling towards you, and that, you know, was a brother's
+love."
+
+"I do."
+
+"But tell me," he said, as though a new thought had impressed him,
+"how long have you loved me?"
+
+"Always, Hugh."
+
+"Always?" he repeated. "And yet you kept that love a secret to every
+soul but your own. It is well, and in order. I could not have known
+it before. May I ever prove worthy of such devotion, such true love.
+Arline, our love has not the fire of passion, but a purer flame
+burns upon its altar, one which consumes not, while it illumines our
+way."
+
+For many hours they sat together, much of the time in silence, their
+souls communing in that language which has not an earthly
+expression. Soon the current of their lives mingled; the green banks
+of peace were in view. Night adorned itself in the robes of morning;
+doubt and questioning gave place to faith and trust.
+
+She went to his home to walk daily with one whom God had made to
+vibrate in soul to that of her own earnest life. There was no crowd
+to witness the external rite; only a chosen few who could enter into
+the true spirit of the occasion, were present, while over them
+hovered the angelic form of the dear, departed Alice, happy indeed,
+that a woman's affection and gentleness had come to bless him whom
+she too so truly loved.
+
+Dawn was radiant with emotion at the union. "Another life now
+enfolds me," she said to her father, when they were alone for the
+first time after the ceremony. "I knew she was coming; I felt it
+when we came home. You did not seek it, father, it came to you; it
+was to be; and now as you have some one to sit by your side, I may
+roam a little, may I not?"
+
+"Ah, yes; I remember a certain pair of eyes over the sea, which more
+than once flashed on a young lady who shall be nameless."
+
+Dawn suddenly interrupted this remark by the exclamation, "Ah,
+don't, father, don't!" and her tone struck him as sadly out of place
+for the time and occasion; so he said no more, but wondered at her
+strange, and to him at that moment, unaccountable manner.
+
+"What a peculiar wedding," said every one; "just like the Wymans,
+they never do anything like any one else."
+
+"What he found to admire in Miss Evans, is more than I can see,"
+said one of the busy-bodies who favored Miss Vernon with a call on
+a certain memorable morning.
+
+"He's a curious man," said an old lady, between a yawn and a smile,
+"and nobody ever could understand him."
+
+These, and a hundred similar expressions equally unimportant, were
+heard, and then all was still again.
+
+The new pair took up the deep current of their lives with united
+strength, and merged their efforts into one channel, each distinct,
+but flowing in time to the divine order, enriching each other's
+lives.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Some lives are steady, with a continuous flow of discipline; other's
+convulsive and terrible in their wild upheavings. Slowly we learn
+the goodness of God's mercy, which sends the storm that whitens our
+garments, making them pure as snow. When our song should be praise,
+we fly here and there bemoaning our fate, crossing and re-crossing
+the path which leads into life, instead of walking therein, and
+following it out to its glorious goal.
+
+Slowly we learn to take each day, and fill it with our best
+endeavor, leaving to-morrow to God. Life's experiences should teach
+us to find where our work begins and where it ends; but in our
+learning, how we project ourselves, and exalt our own little
+knowledge.
+
+Like children, we meddle with our father's tools, and so retard the
+blessing. When we learn to work with God, then will our lives be in
+divine order, and flow deep and peaceful to the end. Our impatient
+movements cut the threads in the heavenly warp, and the garment
+which was to enfold us is delayed in its making.
+
+It has been said, "Man is his own worst enemy," and life's
+experience proves the truth of the assertion. But our final success
+is born of our present failures. It is in our efforts to ascend the
+stream, and thus rowing against the current, that we gain strength.
+Without resistance life would be a negation, and our running,
+sparkling river, become a stagnant pool.
+
+Dawn brightened with the rising sun, or rather the cloud went by,
+leaving her in all her native brilliancy. Miss Weston spent her last
+day with her, and then went to her friends, with permission to write
+whenever she felt disposed, but with the caution not to say anything
+of her to Ralph or Marion.
+
+"I think I must take one more look at the sea before winter closes
+in," said Dawn to her father, one pleasant day when the air was
+still and the foliage bright with autumn hues.
+
+"You will be obliged to go alone, then, for I have too many duties,
+to accompany you," he said, and after a moment's pause, he asked,
+"Can you not wait a day or two?"
+
+He read an answer in her pleading eyes, which said, "To-day, or not
+at all; I am in the mood, and must go now."
+
+"Go, then," he said, "but do not allow the waves to steal you away."
+
+It seemed to him that she was slipping from his life; and indeed she
+was receding, but only to flow again more freely and strongly to
+him. As the tide which sweeps out and comes back, each time making a
+farther inroad upon the shore, so she was outflowing and inflowing,
+each tidal return beating deeper into his soul. We must flow out to
+the ocean, to the depth of living waters, if we would win a firmer
+abiding in the hearts of those we love.
+
+Dawn walked upon the beach, the very spot where in childhood her
+ardent spirit first looked upon the sea. Idly, some might think, she
+wore the hours away, gathering white pebbles, and throwing them into
+the waters.
+
+How long she continued thus, thinking of the past and musing of the
+future, she knew not. With her, one thought was uppermost, and that
+was of Ralph, whose letters to her had of late been warm with that
+spirit which sooner or later glows in every heart. She felt that to
+him she had a duty to perform which at the farthest could not long
+be deferred, and she knew that to meet it, required a strength and a
+singleness of purpose which would call into service all the
+philosophy she could command.
+
+The deep silence that surrounded her was at length broken by the
+sound of a footstep; then a voice was heard, that seemed to her, in
+her half-entranced state, to come from the world of spirits. She
+started, as the voice sounded nearer. She knew whose voice it was,
+yet she only whispered to herself, "How strange," and still gazed
+upon the sea, while a feeling pervaded her whole soul, akin to joy
+supernal.
+
+"Dawn, Dawn; I have found you at last, and by the sea!"
+
+Still she looked on the restless waters. There are moments in every
+life when speech fails, when words are powerless, when the soul can
+only express itself by silence. Such a moment came to Dawn.
+
+Ralph took her hand in his own. She turned on him a gaze which
+seemed to bring her soul nearer to his own than ever before, and
+they walked slowly side by side. Then he told her that his sister
+and a friend were on the beach, a mile below; that they had all
+three come to take one more look at the sea, and to gather mosses.
+
+"I knew not why I had such a strong desire to come here," he said
+"but now see clearly what drew me in this direction. The feeling to
+come was overpowering, and I could not resist it."
+
+They walked, and conversed of all the past, until finally, the
+question of so momentous interest to both was approached, and Ralph
+pleaded as none but a lover can.
+
+A long silence ensued. Hope and fear, doubt and uncertainty, came
+and went, and every moment seemed to him an age.
+
+Dawn at length turned her face slowly towards him, and then raised
+her eyes to heaven, as if imploring its aid. The deep working of her
+spirit was plainly depicted upon her features; first the conflict,
+then the triumph.
+
+"I must walk alone. I love you, Ralph, as I have never loved before;
+but I have a mission on earth; one which I cannot share with
+another. To its service I dedicate my life."
+
+She sprang towards him, threw her arms for an instant around his
+neck; then, tearing herself away, was gone before he could fully
+realize what had happened.
+
+Slowly the reality of what had occurred came upon him, like a storm
+more terrible for its slow approach.
+
+"O, that I had not seen her to-day," he said, "for then hope would
+have been left me. Now, all is over. With me life must be gone
+through with mechanically, not lived earnestly; happiness must be
+relinquished, peace and rest prayed for."
+
+When Marion and Edith came in search of him, the crisis of his great
+grief was past, but the white face showed it was not the Ralph who
+left them.
+
+"Why, you are ill; what has happened?" was his sisters' ejaculation.
+
+"I came near sinking."
+
+"Were you bathing?" they both asked, together.
+
+"In sorrow's sea," he was about to say, but kept the words back, and
+appeared cheerful for their sakes.
+
+"Then a wave did really come over you, Ralph?" said his sister,
+looking anxiously into his face.
+
+"Yes, a strong one. I came near going under."
+
+They did not know that he spoke in correspondences, and accepted the
+literal explanation, which was true in the abstract.
+
+"You look as though you had concentrated a dozen years into one
+day," said Mr. Wyman, as he met Dawn at the door.
+
+"I have had a very intense day."
+
+"You should have taken more time, child."
+
+This was her first unshared sorrow, and she longed to be away,
+alone. It seemed as though an ocean rolled, for the time, between
+herself and her father, and she hastily left him and sought her
+room. That night none but angels witnessed her struggles, and the
+peace which afterwards flowed into her troubled heart.
+
+When morning came, with light and love in her face, she went below,
+and those who met her knew not the conflict of the night,--the great
+darkness,--so brilliant was her morning.
+
+"I am going to the city, to-day, to make some purchases: my wardrobe
+needs replenishing."
+
+"Which announcement, I suppose, is an appeal to my purse," remarked
+Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I should put her on a shorter allowance, if I were you," said his
+wife, "if she does not give us more of her company."
+
+"Are you aware that you have been roaming most of the time, Dawn,
+since the change in our home?" said her father, as he presented her
+the means for her purchases.
+
+"Of course, having some one to take my place as housekeeper, I wish
+to enjoy my freedom a little."
+
+Mrs. Wyman looked troubled. Had she separated them? Was Dawn
+absenting herself on her account? A look of pain passed over her
+face, which she little knew the subject of her thoughts caught and
+interpreted.
+
+"I am not going because you are here," said Dawn at parting; "I am
+going because I feel impelled to. I am truly grateful to you, that
+your love came to bless my father's life. Do you believe me?"
+
+"I do; and thank you from my heart for your words." This was said
+with a depth of feeling that is always accompanied by the holy
+baptism of tears, and this was no exceptional occasion.
+
+The first thought that came to Dawn, on her arrival in the city, was
+the dream of her childhood,--the pure white robe, and the damp, dark
+lanes.
+
+"Perhaps my mission is close at hand," she said, stepping aside to
+let an old man pass. She glanced at his sad, wrinkled face. It
+seemed as though other eyes were looking through her own into it.
+She took some money from her purse, and thrust it into his hand.
+
+He closed his fingers mechanically over the bill; it was something
+more than money he needed.
+
+"I am looking for-for-her," he said, his eyes gazing on vacancy.
+
+"Any one I can find for you?" inquired Dawn, touched by his gentle,
+childlike manner.
+
+"Find her? Can you find Margaret? Why, she went away when she was a
+little gal; no, she has grown up-like you. But I guess she's lost;
+yes lost. O, my little Margy,--your own mammy, and your other mammy
+is dead, and I am all alone. Come, Margy, come," he said, reaching
+forth his hands to Dawn.
+
+"I am not Margy; but perhaps we can find her." She drew nearer to
+him, and walked by his side down the street.
+
+They passed along until the crowd grew more dense, and the sea of
+human forms, rushing and jostling, made her head swim.
+
+What a variety; from childhood to age,--faces in which sorrow and
+hope were struggling; faces marked with lines and furrows; cheeks
+sunken by disease and many griefs; bright, glowing faces, fresh as
+flowers, before the dew had been parched by noon-day sun and heat.
+On, on they went,--the busy crowd, and the old man, and the maiden;
+he, looking at all, yet seeing none; she, gazing with restless
+vision, for what? for whom? How typical of life's great highway, on
+which we wander, looking for that which we know not; hoping, that
+out of the sea of faces, one will shine forth on us, to receive or
+give a blessing.
+
+They passed spacious buildings, and came to those less pretentious
+in style. The crowd grew less dense, the apparel less showy and
+elegant; the low wooden houses contrasting strangely with the lofty
+edifices which they left behind. Little shops, with broken panes in
+every window; children ragged, idle, and brutal in their appearance,
+stirred the heart of the passer-by with a grief which no words could
+portray.
+
+Dawn looked on them, and longed to gather them all into one fold of
+love and harmony. "O, guide me, Father, and help me to lead them to
+better lives," was the earnest prayer of her soul.
+
+"I am led hither to-day, that my sympathy with human want may be
+deepened," she said to herself, while a thrill of joyous emotion
+pervaded her being, and faith laid hold more firm of the eternal
+anchor, which holds us fast, in the deep waters.
+
+She was so indrawn that she did not notice the approach of a
+carriage, as they were on a street that ran at angles with the great
+thoroughfare, until a sharp cry from the old man aroused her to the
+state of affairs. He had been struck, and had fallen under the
+wheels. One moan, one convulsive motion of the features, and he was
+white as marble.
+
+Before she had time to think or act, a shriek rent the air, and
+pierced the very soul of Dawn, for it was a wail from depths which
+few have fathomed. She turned to see from whom it came, and beheld a
+light female form bending low over the prostrate man. She was poorly
+clad, and her face bore every mark of the workings of great inward
+struggles. Two men raised the fallen one carefully, and carried him
+into a store near by. But it was only the clay they bore there; the
+soul had fled; gone to a world of a larger charity, and nobler souls
+than this.
+
+"O, my father; my poor, old father," broke from Margaret's lips, and
+her body swayed to and fro with its burden of grief.
+
+Dawn took her hand; it was icy cold. Thus had the father and child
+met; one in the slumber of death; the other with the last sorrow of
+earth eating away what little of life remained in her. It was,
+truly, a pitiful scene, and touched all who witnessed it.
+
+"Where shall we take him, miss?" said the police respectfully, to
+Dawn, whom he supposed, from her manifest interest, knew the
+parties.
+
+"I do not know them, sir," she replied, turning a look of deepest
+pity on Margaret.
+
+"May I ask where your father shall be taken?" said Dawn tenderly, to
+Margaret.
+
+"Taken? Why, home; no, it's a great way off; but don't bury him here
+in the wicked city. O, take him where the grass will wave over his
+grave, and the blue birds sing at early morn. O, do not bury him
+here," she cried, clinging to Dawn with that confidence born of the
+soul when ushered, however strangely and suddenly, into the presence
+of truth and goodness.
+
+"He shall be carried away to the green fields, and we will follow,"
+said Dawn, and stepping to a kindly-looking man in the crowd, she
+gave him orders to prepare a casket and shroud, and carry the body
+to the home of the poor woman who stood moaning beside her.
+
+"Where shall we take him, Miss?" he said, stepping towards Margaret.
+
+"Take him? I-I have no home. I was sent from my lodging this
+morning, because I had no money to pay. Take him anywhere, only let
+me go to his grave."
+
+Her pleading voice and look told that life had now but one more step
+for her. All was swept away; one hope after another had departed,
+and she stood alone in darkness.
+
+Clarence Bowen, and his young and elegant wife, were riding in a
+part of the city whose broad avenues were overarched with trees all
+radiant with autumnal flames, when a hearse, followed by a single
+carriage, suddenly attracted the attention of the former.
+
+Why was it that his whole frame shook, and the color left his face?
+His wife laughed and chatted by his side, and it was no uncommon
+sight in those streets to see a funeral pass. What was it, then,
+that so thrilled him? And his wife, too, she became alarmed as she
+glanced at his altered countenance.
+
+From that lone carriage a face looked forth upon him. It looked with
+a vacant gaze. It was Margaret's face that, even she knew not why,
+stared upon Clarence. An electric chord seemed to connect the
+two,--the one with wealth and the vigor of life, the other with
+poverty and death.
+
+"Why! what has come over you?" asked his wife. He was wandering
+again in the green woods, and stood once more by the innocent
+maiden's side. He heard not the voice that spoke to him, and she
+left him to his thoughts. The reins slackened in his grasp, and the
+horse walked at a slow pace, while his wife knew not of the bitter
+waters that were surging about his soul. Thus by our side do forms
+sit daily, while our thoughts glance backward and forward with
+lightning speed. At such times, the soul brings from the past its
+dead, to gaze on their lifeless forms, then turns and looks, with
+restless longing, towards the unknown, impenetrable future.
+
+"Why! hus', I declare if you are not too stupid. I'll take the reins
+myself, if you do not arouse."
+
+She little knew how his soul was aroused then, and how great the
+conflict that was going on between self and conscience.
+
+He struck the horse lightly, and they passed on while the little
+funeral cortege went slowly to the burial place for the poor and
+unknown dead.
+
+It was a simple, and somewhat dreary place, which they reached at
+last. There were no cared-for flowers blossoming there, and the
+grass grew uncut around the nameless graves.
+
+The old man with his spade had just finished his work. The last
+shovel-full of earth was thrown out when the hearse and carriage
+stopped at the gate, and the men bore the coffin slowly in, followed
+by Margaret and Dawn.
+
+The angels must have wept had they seen the grief-prostrated form
+beside that grave, when the sound of the earth, as it fell on the
+coffin, came to the ear of the desolate-hearted Margaret.
+
+Moan after moan broke forth, as they bore, rather than led her away
+to the carriage.
+
+Homeless and friendless; where would the morrow find her? God
+tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, and sent his ministering angel
+in his own good time. Dawn had decided, on the way to the grave, to
+take her home, and gave the hackman directions to drive to the
+station.
+
+The rain drops began to patter on the pavement, the air grew chill
+and heavy, adding to the gloom of the occasion, and it was a relief
+to both to step into the cars, and see faces lighted up by hopes,
+going to life's experiences, rather than floating away from them.
+
+There was no action in the dumb soul, which sat beside Dawn. She had
+passed beyond question and agitation of thought. It was that simple
+quiescence which every soul feels when the curtain of sorrow has
+fallen, even amid scenes of hope and happiness; but to one whom hope
+had long since forsaken, and life's bitter experiences been often
+repeated, there could be no projection of self, nought but the Now,
+divested of all earthly interest.
+
+The train rushed past hills, through valleys, fields and woods, like
+a thing of life and intelligence, and stopped at the station, where
+a carriage was waiting. Mechanically Margaret followed, and Martin,
+at Dawn's gesture, lifted her into the carriage. The smoke of the
+receding train rose and curled among the trees, assuming fantastic
+shapes, while the shrill whistle caused the cattle to race over the
+fields, and the lithe-winged warblers to recede into the forests.
+Just so does some great din of the world, falling on our ears, send
+us to our being's centre for rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+She laid still and pale upon the bed, while Dawn moved, or rather
+floated, about the room. The tide of life was fast ebbing; the last
+grief had sundered the long tension, and soon her freed spirit would
+be winging its way heavenward.
+
+"Shall I sit by you and read?" asked Dawn, as the hand on the clock
+pointed to the hour of midnight. No sleep had come to the weary
+eyes, which now turned so thankfully and trustingly to the
+benefactor of the outcast.
+
+In tones sweetly modulated to the time and state, she commenced
+reading that comforting psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd."
+
+At its close, Margaret was asleep, and Dawn laid back in her chair,
+rested, and watched till morning.
+
+"Where am I? What has happened?" were the questions expressed on the
+features of the poor girl, when she awoke, and her spirit wandered
+back from dreamland.
+
+It was some time before she could take up the thread of joy which
+was now woven into her last earthly days, and forget the dark,
+sorrowful past. The old years seemed to her then like musty volumes,
+bound by a golden chord. The present peace compensated her for the
+long season of unrest, and in its atmosphere her soul gathered its
+worn, scattered forces, and prepared itself to leave the old and to
+take on the new form.
+
+How few homes are such gates to heaven. And yet they who expect
+angels to abide with them, must not forget to entertain the lowly
+and the erring. Many have houses decked and garnished, but how
+rarely do we find on life's journey, these wayside inns for the
+weary pilgrims who have wandered away into forbidden paths.
+
+Not alone did Dawn administer to her; her father and mother soothed
+the dying girl's pillow, and infused into the otherwise dark and
+troubled soul, rays of eternal light.
+
+Ye who would have beautiful garlands beyond, must care for the
+neglected blossoms here, and wash the dust of life's great highway
+from their drooping petals. Ye who would seek life, must lose it;
+the flowing stream alone is pure and vital. Lives are selfish that
+are stagnant, and generate disease and death.
+
+How poor, because destitute of enduring wealth, are those who, rich
+in worldly goods, neglect their opportunities, and hence know not
+the blessedness of doing good. There is no provision in all God's
+universe for such pauperism. Slowly must they, who by their own
+acts, become its subjects, work themselves from it into the sphere
+of true life. Another world will more plainly reveal this, and it
+will be found that they who value not such opportunities here, will
+beg for them there. In that existence will be many, who, forgetful
+or neglectful of their duty while on earth, must remain in spirit
+about this world, and through other organisms than their own, do
+that which they should have done, and could have accomplished far
+easier, when occupants of their earthly temples. There is no escape
+from the law of life, for God is that law, and that law is God.
+Happy they who become willing instruments in his hand.
+
+In selfhood, nothing can be done, for life is always in conjunction.
+All potent forces are combinations, and egotism ever limits that
+power which is daily and hourly seeking lodgment in the midst of
+mankind. He who trusts only to himself, destroys his own usefulness,
+and blindly turns away from every source of highest enjoyment.
+
+The sun passed slowly over the western hills, tinging with a
+beautiful mellowness the clouds along the horizon. It was a pleasant
+hour to die, when the earth was still, and weary feet were turning
+from labor to rest.
+
+"Shall we know each other there?" asked the dying girl of Dawn.
+
+"It is there as here. We are ever known and loved, for God's
+provision for his children extends beyond the vale."
+
+"And are the sinful, the erring, received into peace and rest?"
+
+"None are without sin; none spotless; peace and rest are for the
+weary."
+
+"O, comforting words. They must be from God," softly whispered
+Margaret; she closed her pale blue eyes as though she would shut out
+everything but that one consoling thought.
+
+When she opened them, they shone with a heavenly radiance, and she
+reached forth her thin, white hand towards Dawn, who clasped it in
+her own. A few short breaths, a single pressure,--it was Margaret's
+last token as she went over the river to find that life and rest
+which on earth had been denied to her.
+
+Dawn laid the cold, white hands on the breast of the sleeper, and
+went out of the chamber where a soul had had its new birth, with
+deepened emotions of life, and its claims upon humanity.
+
+The next instant she was clasped to the warm heart of her father,
+and nestled closely there until the weary lids closed, and sleep
+descended upon her.
+
+He held her through her slumber, and prayed for strength to bear the
+separations which must come between himself and child; for most
+clearly did he perceive that God had mapped out for her a labor that
+would call her from his side.
+
+"May I never shadow the rays of the Infinite," he said, just as she
+awoke.
+
+"How clear it is; some cloud seems to have been removed from me,"
+spoke Dawn, looking up into his eyes, not perfectly comprehending
+all. "I may work in my own way, now you have some one to love beside
+me; may I not?"
+
+"Not for worlds, my child, would I hinder you in your mission of
+usefulness, and if in the past, I have been selfish, I am not now.
+Go and come at your pleasure; bring whom you will to your home, and
+my blessings shall rest on them and you."
+
+Dawn had no words with which to express her gratitude. The tears,
+that in spite of her efforts to keep them back, would glisten in her
+eyes, indicated the depth of her feelings, and the love she
+cherished for her father. From that moment their lives flowed like a
+river, in a deeper and broader channel, and many bright flowers
+blossomed on its margin giving hope to the despairing, rest and
+strength to the weary and fainting pilgrims of time.
+
+They made a grave under a willow, and engraved on a plain, white
+stone, the simple word: MARGARET.
+
+Parents and child had met in the world beyond, to grow into daily
+recognition of, and unfold in a more genial clime, their individual
+lives.
+
+Mrs. Thorne (Margaret's step-mother) had died a year previous to the
+time when Dawn found the old man in the city, looking for his
+daughter.
+
+After Margaret's departure from home, he became dull and listless,
+and finally deranged. What subtle attraction led him to the city
+where Margaret was stopping, few can comprehend; but to those who
+fully realize that guardian angels watch over and guide us, the
+mystery is solved, and it, like many other seemingly strange things
+of life, made clear in the light of that faith.
+
+It was for woman that Dawn labored, for through her elevation she
+saw that the whole race must ascend. All should know that men will
+be great if women are; and it is a truth that is daily becoming more
+evident, that he must be reached through her. In a Hindoo fable,
+Vishna is represented as following Maga through a series of
+transformations. When she is an insect, he becomes an insect; she
+changes to an elephant, and he becomes one of the same species; till
+at last she becomes a woman, and he a man; she a goddess, and he a
+god. So, outside the regions of fable, if woman is ignorant and
+frivolous, man will be ignorant and frivolous; if woman rises she
+will take man up with her.
+
+Two years passed away, and the current of life grew stronger, as
+each wave inflowed to the shore where Dawn sat, waiting for
+shattered barks. This was her life-mission, and well she knew, to
+help the lowly and down-trodden in every station of life, was but
+fulfilling the divine command.
+
+They were not all outcasts who laid claim to her love and sympathy;
+for, sanctioned by the marriage law, the soul's chastity was daily
+being sacrificed to lust, shame, and dishonor. She saw many living
+together in wedlock, under the most debasing influences, void of
+every grace and feeling which makes life holy and refined; bringing
+into the world children, gross, dull, and inharmonious, like
+themselves.
+
+The question will force itself upon every thoughtful mind, Why is
+all this?
+
+Even to destroy life, heinous as that sin is, cannot be deemed more
+sinful than to bring it into being, under such circumstances, to
+suffer.
+
+But we are passing through the refining process. Much will be
+questioned, much remain unanswered. Let us look well to ourselves,
+and learn that there are many ways in which we may err, before we
+condemn others.
+
+The light of to-day is insufficient for to-morrow; let us,
+therefore, be not too assertive, and bold, but follow quietly the
+indications of life, not closing down our opinion upon any of its
+agitations. To-day is ours, no more; sufficient unto the day is the
+evil. We burden ourselves each hour with too many questions which
+retard our progress.
+
+A wise man takes no more weight than his horses can draw. Our
+journey would be swifter, if we started with less each morning. We
+can not hasten God's purposes. Growth is slow; feverish action is
+disease. The throbbing pulse is beating away our vital forces, not
+adding to life, and yet how many do we behold, who, working in this
+unhealthy manner, look on those more calm and collected, as lacking
+force.
+
+The cataract expends itself in spray and foam; the deep river, more
+slow, bears its tribute of wealth to the ocean.
+
+Let us work calmly, and not mistake mists for mountains. Depth is
+height.
+
+Enthusiasm is the sun which warms, not burns, our lives. It is a
+richness, a fullness of being, not a wild, spasmodic action.
+
+With Dawn's efforts came increased light, until it seemed to her,
+that all the motives of human souls were laid open before her
+vision. This power of perception made her life compact, sharp, and
+real; and there were moments when she longed for a veil to be let
+down between her and the persons with whom she came in contact.
+
+She walked among the crowd, but did not mingle with it. She soared
+above, and they who could not comprehend her, called her strange and
+odd. Such chasms must ever exist, where one sees the heart's
+interior, and knows that its true beatings are muffled and
+suppressed. With such clear vision, the mind at times almost loses
+its mental poise, its equilibrium, and forgets the glorious hopes
+and promises which are recorded in the book of life, as compensatory
+for all its conflicts here.
+
+After many months of a life of intensity, it was with a sense of
+relief that Dawn, upon opening a letter from Miss Weston, received
+information of her intention of making her a short visit. This would
+so change the tenor of her life, that she was overjoyed at the
+thought of the happiness in store for her. But when, at the close of
+a bright summer day, she met her friend at the door, and recognized
+the life of Ralph so closely blended with her spirit, she
+involuntarily shrank from her approach, and almost regretted that
+she had come. She, however, quickly rallied all her forces, fearful
+lest the shadow might be mistaken for that of uncordiality, and
+drawing her tenderly to her side, imprinted her warmest kisses upon
+her lips.
+
+Tears sprang to Edith's eyes, and coursed down her cheeks; tears
+which Dawn could not comprehend, for her vision, both mental and
+spiritual, was clouded, her thoughts wandered, and her words seemed
+vague and indirect.
+
+Seated in the library after tea, she asked her friend to sing for
+her.
+
+Miss Weston readily complied, and sang with beautiful pathos and
+feeling, Schubert's Wanderer.
+
+"Why that song?" said Dawn, as Edith rose from the instrument.
+
+"I seemed to sing it for you, for I, surely, am no wanderer now."
+
+The color rose to Dawn's face, as she said quickly, "I hope not.
+Then you, at last, have found rest?"
+
+"Perfect peace and rest. I think I never found my home before; for I
+am so happy with Ralph and Marion."
+
+Was Dawn jealous? What did that blushing face mean, followed by a
+whiteness rivalling that of the snow? Was it caused by fear, or
+hope?
+
+Miss Weston seemed not to notice her agitation, but continued
+praising Ralph and his sister, till her listener proposed a walk in
+the garden before retiring.
+
+They strolled among the flowers and shrubbery, and then sat upon the
+same seat which her father and mother had so often occupied.
+
+Her tears could flow now and not be seen, so she repressed them no
+longer, but allowed them to fall freely over her blanched cheek.
+
+"Dawn," said Edith, suddenly, "I have a fairy tale which I wish to
+read to you to-night, before we go to our slumbers."
+
+Dawn, glad of any diversion, gladly assented, and they went into her
+room, where they sat together, while Edith read the following tale:--
+
+"In the days of chivalry, when life to the wealthy was a series of
+exciting enjoyments, and to the poor a hopeless slavery, a Fairy and
+a beautiful child lived in an old castle together. The owner of this
+large and neglected building had been absent on the crusade ever
+since the time which gave him a daughter and deprived him of a wife;
+but many an aged pilgrim brought occasional tidings of the glory he
+was winning in the distant land. At last it was said he was wending
+his way homeward, and bringing with him a young orphan companion,
+who had risen, by dint of his own brave deeds alone, from the rank
+of a simple knight to be the chosen leader of thousands. The child
+had grown to girlhood now, and very bright upon her sleep were the
+dreams of this youthful hero, who was to love her and be the all of
+her solitary life. I said she dwelt with the Fairy; true, but of her
+presence she had never dreamed. Always invisible, the being had yet
+never left her. She whispered prayer in her ear, as she knelt
+morning and evening in the dim little oratory; she brought calm and
+happy feelings to her breast, which the commonest things awoke to
+joy and life; she led her to seek and feel for the needy, the sick,
+and the suffering; she nurtured in her the holiest faith in God, and
+trust in man; yet the maiden thought she breathed all this from the
+summer evenings, the flowers, the swift labor of her light fingers,
+and the thousand things which cherished the happiness growing up
+within her heart.
+
+"It was night, and Ada slept; the moon's rays, gilding each turret
+and tower, crept in at the narrow portal which gave light to the
+chamber, and lingered on the sunny hair and rounded limbs of the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"The Fairy sat by her side, weeping for the first time.
+
+"'Alas!' said she, 'the stranger is coming; thou wilt love him, my
+child; and they say that earthly love is misery. Among us, we know
+no unrest from it; we love, indeed, each other and all things
+lovely, but ages pass on, and love changes us not. Yet they say it
+fevers the blood of mortals, pales the cheek, makes the heart beat,
+and the voice falter, when it comes; yet it is eternal, mighty, and
+entrancing. Alas! I cannot understand it! Ada, I must leave thee to
+other guidance than my own. I love thee more than self, still I can
+be no longer thy guide.'
+
+"The Fairy started, for she felt, though she heard not, that other
+spirits had suddenly become present. She raised her eyes, and three
+forms, more radiant than any fairy can be, were gazing on her in
+silent sadness.
+
+"'O, spirits,' cried the weeper, faintly, 'who can ye be?'
+
+"'The shades of love,' replied voices so etherially fine that a
+spirit's ear could hardly discern the words.
+
+"'The shades," repeated the Fairy in surprise; 'I thought love was
+one.'
+
+"'I am Love,' said the three together; 'intrust the untainted heart
+of your beloved one to me.'
+
+"'O, pure beings,' cried the Fairy, bending reverently before them,
+'will ye indeed guide Ada to happiness, yet ask my permission? Tell
+me, though not human, to choose which a human heart would prefer.'
+
+"'My name is Mind,' replied the first. 'When I dwell on earth, I
+bind together two etherial essences; I unite the most spiritual part
+of each; I assimilate thought; I cause the communion of ideas. No
+love can be eternal without me, and with me associate the loftiest
+enjoyments. Words cannot tell the rapture of love between mind and
+mind. Dreams cannot picture the glory of that union. Very rarely do
+I dwell unstained and alone in a human breast, but when I do, that
+being becomes lost in the entireness of its bliss. Fairy, the lover
+of Ada is a hero; wilt thou accept me to reign in her heart?'
+
+"The Fairy paused, and then spoke sadly,--
+
+"'Alas, bright being, Ada is a girl of passionate and earnest
+feeling. Thou couldst not be happiness to her. Thou mightest,
+indeed, abstract her intellect in time from all things but itself;
+but the heart within her must first wither or die, and the death of
+a young heart is a terrible thing. Pardon me, but Ada cannot be
+thine.'
+
+"'They call me Virtue,' said the second spirit; 'when I fill a
+heart, that heart can live alone. It wakes to life on seeing my
+shadow in the object it first loves; that object never realizes the
+form of which it bears the semblance, and then turns to me, the
+ideal, for its sole happiness. I am associated with every thing pure
+and holy and true. Where human spirits have drawn nighest to the
+Eternal, I have been there to hallow them; where the weak have
+suffered long without complaint, where the dying have to the last,
+last breath held one name dearer than all; where innocence hath
+stayed guilt, and darkest injuries been forgiven, there ever am I.
+Fairy, shall I dwell with Ada?'
+
+"Still sadder were the accents of the guardian Fairy:
+
+"'And is this human love?' said she. 'This would be no happiness to
+my child, who is a mortal and a woman, and who will yearn for a
+closer and a dearer thing than the love of goodness alone; erring
+creatures cannot love perfection as their daily food. Beautiful
+spirit, thou art fitted for heaven, not earth, for an angel, but not
+for Ada.'
+
+"Then spoke the third:
+
+"'My name is Beauty,' said she. 'Men unite me to imagination and
+worship me. Many have degraded me to the meanest things I own,
+because my very essence is passion; but they who know my true
+nature, unite me with everything divine and lovely in the world. If
+I fill Ada's heart when she loves, the very face of all things will
+change to her. The flowing of a brook will be music, the singing of
+the summer birds ecstacy; the early morning, the dewy evening, will
+fill her with strange tenderness, for a light will be on all
+things-the light of her love; and she will learn what it is to stay
+her very heart's beatings to catch the lightest step of the adored;
+to feel the hot blood rushing to her brow, when only he looks on
+her, the hand tremble, and the whole frame thrill with exquisite
+rapture, and meet with delicious tremor, the first look of love from
+a man. The raptures of my first bliss were worth ages of misery;
+and, pressed to the bosom of the beloved, a human spirit feels it is
+indeed blessed. Youth is mine, eternal youth and pleasure. Fairy,
+Ada must be mine.'
+
+"'Thou seemest,' said the Fairy, musingly, 'to be the most suited
+for mortals. In thy words and emblems I see nothing but sensuality
+of the least material order. And to all there seemeth, too, to be a
+time when one clasp of the hand that is loved is more than the
+comprehension of the grandest thought. Beauty, I will give up my
+child to thee; and O, if thou canst not keep her happy, keep her
+pure till I return. Guard her as thou wouldst the bloom of the rose
+leaf, which may not bear even a breath.'
+
+"The Fairy's voice faltered as she turned away, and imprinted a kiss
+on the sleeper's cheek. Ada moved uneasily, but did not awake; and
+in the last glance that she gave to her charge was united the form
+of the spirit of Beauty, folding, in motionless silence, her radiant
+wings over the low couch. The other shades had fled some brief time
+since, and, burying her face in her slight mantle, the beautiful
+Fairy faded slowly away in the moonlight.
+
+"A brief time passed, and the baron had returned with his hero guest
+to the castle, and the beneficent being who had guarded Ada's
+childhood, had been up and down the earth, cheering the sad,
+soothing the weary, and inspiring the fallen.
+
+"Much had she seen of human suffering, yet many a great lesson had
+it taught her of the high destiny of mortals, and she winged her
+flight back to Ada's couch, sanguine of her happiness. The spirit of
+Beauty still floated above it, but the Fairy thought that the bright
+form had strangely lost its first etheriality.
+
+"Fevered and restless, the sleeper tossed from side to side. With
+trembling fear she drew near the low bed, and gazed fondly on the
+unconscious form. Alas! there was no peace on that face now. There
+was that which some deem lovelier than even beauty-passion; but to
+the pure Fairy the expression was terrible.
+
+"'My child, my child,' cried she in agony, 'is this thy love? Better
+had thine heart been crushed within thee, than that thou shouldst
+have given thyself up to it alone. Thou hast an eternal soul, and
+thou hast loved without it; thou art feeding flames which will
+consume the feelings they have kindled. Spirit, is this thy work?'
+
+"'Such is the love of mortals,' answered the shade. 'It is ever
+thus; the sensual objects are but emblems of the spirit union of
+another world; yet this is never seen at first, and every impetuous
+soul, rushing on the threshold of life, worships the symbol for the
+reality,--the image for the god. Fear not, Fairy, the flame dies, but
+the essence is not quenched; from the ashes of Passion springs the
+Phoenix of Love. Ada will recover from this burning dream.'
+
+"'Never!' cried the Fairy, 'if she yields her heart up to thoughts
+like these. Thou art a fiend, Beauty,--a betrayer. Avaunt, thou most
+accursed, thou hast ruined my child.'
+
+"And as she spoke, weeping bitterly, she averted her face from the
+shade. All was still once more, and her grief slowly calming, the
+Fairy hoped she was now alone, until, raising her eyes, she saw the
+being, more radiant and glorious than ever, still guarding the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"'Fairy,' said the shade, sadly, 'this is no fault of mine. I have
+ever come to the human heart with thoughts pure as the bosom of the
+lily, and beautiful as paradise, but the nature of man degrades and
+enslaves me. Thou sawest how my wings were soiled, and their light
+dimmed by the sin of even yon guileless girl, and, alas! thousands
+have lived to curse me and call me demon before thee. Now, at thy
+bidding, I will leave Ada, and forever. She will awake, but never
+again to that fine sympathy with nature, that exquisite perception
+of all high and holy things, I have first made her know. She will
+awake still good, still true; but the visions of youth quenched
+suddenly, as these will have been, leave a fearful darkness for the
+future life.'
+
+"'Alas! alas!' cried the Fairy, wringing her hands, with a burst of
+sudden grief, 'whether thou goest or remainest now, Ada must be
+wretched.'
+
+"'Not so,' returned the shade, in a voice whose sweetness, from its
+melancholy, was like the wailing of plaintive music; 'not so, if
+thou wilt otherwise. Thou hast erred; from the shades of Love thou
+didst select me, and, panting as we each do for sole possession of
+the heart we occupy, it is impossible either separately can bring
+happiness to it. Each has striven for ages, but in vain. It is the
+union of the three, the perfect union, that alone makes Love
+complete.'
+
+"'But will Mind and Virtue return?' asked the Fairy, doubtingly; 'I
+bid them myself depart.'
+
+"'They will ever return,' said Beauty, joyfully, 'even to the heart
+most under sway, if desired in truth. A wish, sometimes-fervent and
+truthful it must be, but still a wish-alone often brings them.'
+
+"At that moment a hurried prayer sprang to the Fairy's lips, but ere
+it could frame itself into words, light filled the little chamber,
+and the three shades of Love stood there once more, beautiful and
+shining.
+
+"'Mighty beings,' said the spirit, 'forgive me. Attend Ada united
+and forever, and I shall then have fulfilled my destiny.'
+
+"'We promise,' returned the shades; and gazing for a few moments in
+earnest fondness on the dreamer's happy face, the Fairy bade a last
+farewell to her well-loved charge."
+
+"Where did you find this strange tale?" inquired Dawn, as soon as
+her friend had finished.
+
+"In Ralph's folio of drawings, which he loaned me a few days ago."
+
+"Have you the folio here?"
+
+"No, I left it at home; but took some of his last sketches to copy,
+or rather study."
+
+"I did not know you could sketch."
+
+"I do not; but Ralph is teaching me."
+
+"Do you enjoy it?"
+
+"Very much, with him for instructor. I should not like any one else
+to teach me."
+
+"How do you know that, as you have never tried any other?"
+
+"We know some things intuitively; as I know that you love this man,
+though no words of yours have ever lisped that love to a living
+being."
+
+"Edith!"
+
+"Dawn, it's true; and may I not know the reason why you so steel
+your heart against him?"
+
+"I steel my heart against him? Who told you that?"
+
+"Some Fairy, perchance; but seriously, my dear friend, answer me,
+and forgive me if I seem curious and intrusive. Do you know aught
+against him? Is he not high, and good, and noble?"
+
+"For aught I know he has all those qualities of heart and soul which
+would draw any woman's heart towards him."
+
+"Then you cannot love him, save as a brother, or you would respond
+to his longing to take you to himself, and help you in your labors."
+
+"Edith, how do you know this? Has he thus laid his feelings before
+another? I could not ever reverence one who could do this."
+
+"He has not. I know it all by living in his home. I feel his sorrows
+and know their nature, as well as his joys. You seem strange, Dawn;
+I do not understand you."
+
+"Neither do I understand myself. My life is strange; although I love
+this man as I never loved before, I do not see that I can wed him.
+Perhaps we shall be one above, but no one must come between me and
+my labor,--not even the dearest idol."
+
+"Perhaps his love might make you stronger; help you to extend your
+usefulness by increasing your happiness."
+
+Carlyle says, 'There is in man a higher than love of happiness; he
+can do without happiness, and instead thereof, find blessednss.'"
+
+"Very true; and yet happiness might also be blessedness."
+
+"And yet you have read to me, in the fairy tale, that 'earthly love
+is misery,' that it 'fevers the blood of mortals, pales the cheek,
+makes the heart beat, and the voice falter, when it comes.' I cannot
+be thus consumed. I have another mission. Edith, who do you suppose
+wrote that tale?"
+
+"I know not; it bore no name. Which of the three shades would you
+prefer to guide you, Dawn?"
+
+"Virtue."
+
+"I knew your answer before you spoke it. May the spirit you have
+chosen remain with you forever, and may your career be as bright as
+your name."
+
+They parted; one to rest, the other to struggle long and earnestly
+with passion and feeling, ere the tide of peace flowed in.
+
+It was morning when her soul cast off the contest, and as the
+shadows of night were swept away, so her mental shadows were lost in
+the soul's bright effulgence; for her emotions had been made
+subordinate, not destroyed, as they should ever be, to the
+spiritual. They were only submerged, not annihilated, ready to flow
+again when the hour should demand them.
+
+The natural emotions of the heart are right, when kept subservient
+to reason. They are the soul's richest reserved forces, and should
+not be daily consumed.
+
+A more intimate relation sprang up between Edith and Dawn, and when
+they met that morning, it seemed as though they had just emerged
+from a long experience. So closely and unexpectedly do we sometimes
+come to one another.
+
+Herbert and Florence, to Dawn's great joy, were travelling in
+Europe, and their children were now a part of her father's
+household. The day's pleasure was planned with a view to their
+happiness, and spent mostly in the woods gathering mosses, wild
+flowers, and ferns.
+
+Hugh and his new wife were daily extending their usefulness, and
+growing in stronger individuality and deeper harmony. It was always
+a great pleasure to have Dawn with them in their most earnest
+conversations. She seemed to vivify and to cause their thoughts to
+flow with a power they knew not, separately or together, without her
+presence. Thus do some natures impart a sense of freedom to our
+mental action, while others chill our being with a feeling of
+restraint, and limit all our aspirations. In the presence of these
+latter we seem and act directly the opposite of ourselves, or rather
+below our intellectual and affectional plane, and the warm heart and
+generous nature appears cold and distrustful.
+
+Young Herbert, Florence's eldest, was a great talker, and as they
+wandered through the woods, naught scarce could be heard, but his
+voice in exclamation, questioning, or surprise, as each turn and
+winding revealed some beauty new to his admiring eyes.
+
+"I think I shall have to relate to you the fable of Echo and
+Narcissus," said Dawn, as he was contending for the last word with
+his sister.
+
+"What is that? tell me right away, won't you?" he said impatiently,
+seizing her hand and looking eagerly into her face.
+
+"Not just now, but after we have gathered more mosses, and had our
+luncheon, I will tell you all about the beautiful nymph."
+
+"Nymph, nymph! what was that? Was it alive? Could it see us?" These
+and other questions followed, till Dawn found it quite hard to
+longer put him off.
+
+"If you are patient and good to your sister, I will tell you all
+about the nymph. Now go and take good care of her, while I go on
+farther, where Miss Weston is sketching those rocks."
+
+"I will be good, but don't forget the story, Auntie, when you come
+back. Are there any nymphs here?"
+
+"Perhaps there may be. I think there is one who resembles them very
+much," and she kissed his young, happy face, turned so eagerly up to
+her own. Leaving him to amuse himself as best he might, Dawn
+approached Edith and seated herself beside a bed of deep green moss,
+and watched, with intense interest, the growing picture for a long
+time; then her mind became abstracted and cloudy. She was no longer
+in the green woods, amid the fern and wild flowers, but away, far
+away on life's great highway, where the dust, rising at every step,
+blinded her eyes.
+
+Thus semi-entranced, Dawn sat unconscious of the presence of her
+friend, and everything earthly around her, until the spell was
+broken, and her attention was attracted by a sheet of note paper,
+which fluttered at her feet. Almost involuntarily she picked it up,
+and her gaze was fastened upon the writing with which it was
+covered.
+
+  "'Tis love which mostly destinates our life.
+  What makes the world in after life I know not,
+  For our horizon alters as we age;
+  Power only can make up for the lack of love--
+  Power of some sort. The mind at one time grows
+  So fast, it fails; and then its stretch is more
+  Than its strength; but, as it opes, love fills it up,
+  Like to the stamen in the flower of life,
+  Till for the time we well-nigh grow all love;
+  And soon we feel the want of one kind heart
+  To love what's well, and to forgive what's ill
+  In us--"
+
+Then followed these lines, written with a trembling hand, some of
+the words being almost illegible:
+
+  "I cannot love as I have loved,
+    And yet I know not why;
+  It is the one great woe of life,
+    To feel all feeling die;
+  And one by one the heart-strings snap,
+    As age comes on so chill;
+  And hope seems left, that hope may cease,
+    And all will soon be still.
+  And the strong passions, like to storms,
+    Soon rage themselves to rest,
+  Or leave a desolated calm--
+    A worn and wasted breast;
+  A heart that like the Geyser spring,
+    Amidst its bosomed snows,
+  May shrink, not rest, but with its blood
+    Boils even in repose.
+  And yet the things one might have loved
+    Remain as they have been,--
+  Youth ever lovely, and one heart
+    Still sacred and serene;
+  But lower, less, and grosser things
+    Eclipse the world-like mind,
+  And leave their cold, dark shadow where
+    Most to the light inclined.
+  And then it ends as it began,
+    The orbit of our race,
+  In pains and tears, and fears of life,
+    And the new dwelling place.
+  From life to death,--from death to life,
+    We hurry round to God,
+  And leave behind us nothing but
+    The path that we have trod."
+
+She knew whose hand had copied these words, and how keenly the heart
+that sensed their meaning was suffering, and yet she could not place
+her hand upon its beatings and quell its throbs.
+
+"Why! how came this from Ralph's folio? The wind must have taken it
+out," said Miss Weston, noticing the paper, while holding the
+picture for her friend to look at. Dawn did not reply to her
+inquiry, but gave her words of praise and encouragement, while her
+thoughts were afar from forest, friends and picture.
+
+"Come, Auntie, it's time for the luncheon, your father says, and we
+have it almost ready."
+
+She arose, and with Miss Weston joined the party, thinking how
+strange it was that those lines should come to her; for something
+seemed to tell her that they had been accidentally placed in the
+folio, as they were evidently not intended for any eye but that of
+the writer.
+
+The luncheon was partaken of with more avidity by the others than by
+Dawn, whose mind was constantly reverting to the words which she had
+read.
+
+"Now for the story, Auntie," said Herbert, seating himself on the
+grass, beside her.
+
+"Do you remember the name of the nymph I am going to tell you
+about?"
+
+"Yes, it was-it was Echo."
+
+"Very good. I am glad you remembered it. Well, Echo was a beautiful
+wood-nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself
+to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in
+the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and
+would always have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her
+husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the
+nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the
+nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed
+sentence upon Echo in these words: You shall forfeit the use of the
+tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose
+you are so fond of--reply. You shall have the last word, but no
+power to speak first.
+
+"This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the
+chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps.
+O, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him
+to converse; but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience
+for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth,
+being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, 'Who's here?'
+Echo replied 'here.' Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one,
+called out, 'Come.' Echo answered, 'come.' As no one came, Narcissus
+called again, 'Why do you shun me?' Echo asked the same question.
+'Let us join one another,' said the youth. The maid answered with
+all her heart in the same words and hastened to the spot, ready to
+throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, 'Hands
+off; I would rather die than you should have me.' 'Have me,' said
+she; but it was all in vain. He left her and she went to hide her
+blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived
+in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till
+at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into
+rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that
+she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up
+her old habit of having the last word."
+
+"Speak to her now, and see if she will answer you?" said Dawn to her
+attentive listener.
+
+"Why, is she here? in these woods?"
+
+"Call her, and see."
+
+"Echo-Echo!" The words came back to the wondering child, his face
+aglow with curiosity and fear.
+
+"Now I will tell you the moral of this little story, which is: be
+not anxious for the last word, as I see my good little Herbert is,
+too often, especially when talking with his sister."
+
+"Will I change into rocks and shrink all up if I do?"
+
+"That is not the thing to be feared. But you would not; your mind
+would grow narrow and selfish, which is a fate most to be deplored,
+for you wish to be a good and great man, do you not?"
+
+"Yes, I want to be good as papa, and uncle Wyman, as he always calls
+him."
+
+"Then remember and be unselfish, and think first of others' welfare,
+will you?"
+
+"I will try; and can I always talk with Echo?"
+
+"Whenever you are near the wood where she lives."
+
+"Will she live here when I am a grown-up man?"
+
+"Yes. Why?"
+
+"Because, if I don't like folks' answers, I can come and talk to
+Echo."
+
+"She will certainly be very likely to be of your opinion, or, at
+least, she will express herself to your liking; but I hope my little
+Herbert will find those more agreeable than Echo to talk with."
+
+"I don't want to, Auntie; I like her."
+
+Dawn smiled, and thought how older heads did not like disputation,
+preferring often the companionship of a mere echo, to good sense and
+sound judgment, forgetting that "he who wrestles with us,
+strengthens us."
+
+The party returned home laden with flowers, with just weariness
+enough to enjoy their rest. The children were put to bed, after a
+good supper, and the family enjoyed themselves with music and
+conversation, each feeling differently related to each other, as we
+ever do, when some fresh life is infused into the every-day scenes
+of life.
+
+The barren soul seems like a kaleidoscope, changing its relations at
+each experience, whether of joy or sorrow. How beautiful is life,
+when we learn how much we can be to each other, and how varied may
+be the relations we bear to our friends.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Miss Weston returned to her friends, and Dawn took up the thread of
+her life, which was every day extending and winding into new scenes
+of darkness and light. But a voice within her, told her that one day
+all the darkness would become light. She trusted that voice, for it
+was speaking unto her every day, and growing each hour into deeper
+recognition. What avails the love of our friends, if it be but for a
+few earthly days or years? What is the love of a mother to her
+child, without an eternity for its manifestation? "Whatever has
+lived upon earth still lives."
+
+The mother, forced from her new-born child, sorrows over the
+physical separation. It is natural; but what power does she not
+possess to live and breathe into its spiritual unfolding. Silent,
+but subtle, like nature's most potent forces, her spirit descends
+into its being, and there dwells, molding it every hour into a
+higher form of life. Truth is at the basis of all theories, and,
+though man builds many a superstructure in accordance with his own
+fancy, he can in no way affect this truth. It is a natural law of
+the universe, that love should linger and remain after the
+habiliments of flesh are withdrawn. No one lives who has not felt,
+at times, the presence of the unseen; and it seems strange that
+there can be one so limited in thought and understanding as to say
+there is nought beyond the narrow limit of physical life to hold
+communion with our souls? Happy the man who opens the doors of his
+spirit wide for angel visitors. Happy the heart which knows by its
+own beating, when they come and go, for,
+
+  "It is a faith sublime and sure,
+    That ever round our head
+  Are hovering on noiseless wing,
+    The spirits of the dead."
+
+It has been said that nothing is more difficult than to demonstrate
+a self-evident truth. To those who feel and know of this
+guardianship of friends, gone beyond, this affiliation of soul with
+soul, language is powerless to transmit the conviction. It must be
+felt and experienced, not reasoned into the mind, because it is a
+component of the soul, a legitimate portion of its life.
+
+"I must go, and remain away a long time," said Dawn to her father,
+one morning, after they had just finished reading a letter from
+Florence.
+
+"And why, may I ask?"
+
+"Because we are replete with the same kind of life; our minds are
+set to the same strain, and exhaust each other. I can be more to
+myself and others, if I go, you will enter mother's sphere more
+completely in my absence, and thus shall we both be refreshed and
+strengthened."
+
+"I feel the truth of your words, and I am glad to know that your
+philosophy of life so fully accords with my own."
+
+"We have a superabundance of one quality of life in our home, and a
+change is absolutely requisite for our mental as well as for our
+physical well-being. Absence from it, separation between us, a going
+out into new atmospheres, a social mingling with persons we do not
+daily come in contact with, will produce the most beneficial
+results. This is what every family at times needs. One great
+objection I have to our marriage system is, that as society is now
+constittuted, it allows no freedom to the individual. The two are so
+exclusively together that they lose knowledge of themselves. They
+suffer physically and intellectually. On the other hand, if more
+freedom existed, if their lives took a broader scope, each would
+know each more perfectly, and absorb from others that vigor which
+would develop a natural growth of their own. For my part, I can
+never submit to the existing rules of married life."
+
+"The analogies of the natural world to human life are good, for the
+rocky shore symbolizes the highest power of the human soul, which is
+endurance rather than action. To most persons such characters seem
+vapid and sentimental, lacking force and tone, and generally
+unfitted for the enterprises of the world. And yet there are forces
+in man beside the grappling and hammering manifestations of the day.
+There is a greater mastery in control, than in the exercise of
+power. An angry man may evince more energy than he who keeps calm in
+the heat of provocation, but the latter is the man of most power. In
+the common circumstances of life we must act, and act lawfully; but
+to bear and suffer is alone the test of virtue, for there come hours
+of pain and mental anguish when all action is vain, when motion of
+limb and mind is powerless; then do we learn
+
+"How sublime it is
+To suffer and be strong."
+
+Then do we learn the great lesson that there is no quality more
+needed in our life than endurance. There is so much which occurs
+outside the circle of our own free will, accidents both mental and
+physical."
+
+"And yet we feel there can be no accident."
+
+"Nothing in the highest analysis which can be termed such, for all
+things are either in divine order, or under human responsibility,
+which latter power is too limited. What we term accidents are parts
+of, and belong to, the general plan, and when these occur, they
+serve to inspire us with endurance, which is no minor virtue-it is
+achievement-and bears its impress on the face. These thoughts are
+those of another, who has so well expressed them, that I have given
+them to you in his own language."
+
+"I shall profit by your words, dear father. I shall need much of
+that heavenly quality which is so little appreciated, and apt to be
+mistaken for lack of force."
+
+"May you grow in all the Christian graces, and be life and light to
+yourself and others, always remembering that your light is none the
+less for lighting another's torch."
+
+"I shall go to-day to G--. Will you drive there, yourself alone?"
+
+"I will."
+
+An hour later they were on their way to a quiet village, a few miles
+from the Wyman's, where lived a friend of Dawn and her father, with
+whom she would stay a few days. The ride was delightful, and their
+communion so close and deep, that when they parted, it seemed as
+though they had never realized before, their need of each other.
+This feeling of tenderness brought them nearer in soul, if that were
+possible. It was like moonlight to the earth, mellowing and
+softening all lines and angles.
+
+"Dearest father, did I ever love you before?" said Dawn, throwing
+herself on his breast, at parting.
+
+"If you had not been working yourself so many years into my heart,
+you could not touch its very centre as you do now," he said, wiping
+the moisture from his eyes, and folding her more tenderly to
+himself. "Partings are but closest approaches, drawings of the
+heart-strings, which tell how strong the cords are which bind us to
+each other." The door of the friend's house was thrown open just at
+this point of his remarks, and a welcome face smiled on Dawn, who
+sprung from her seat beside her father, into the arms of her friend.
+
+"Take good care of her, and send her home when you are weary," said
+her father, and turned his face homeward, but lingered long in
+spirit in the atmosphere of his child.
+
+As he wound his way slowly up the long, shady avenue, that led to
+his home, another love came to his bosom, and transfused his being
+with a different, but equally uplifting life. A moment more, and he
+held that other love close to his heart, the woman whom he had
+chosen to brighten his days and share his happiness.
+
+"It seems as though Dawn had returned with you," she said, as she
+received his loving caress.
+
+"She is with me, and never so near as now. Heaven grant I may not
+make her an idol," he said, fervently, and then, almost regretting
+his words, he gazed tenderly into the eyes of his wife.
+
+"You would find me no iconoclast," she said, "for I, too, love her
+with my whole heart, and am jealous at times of all that takes her
+from us. Yet she must go; day must go, for we need the change which
+night brings."
+
+"True," answered Hugh, "no mortal could live continually in such
+concentrated happiness as I enjoy in the companionship of my child."
+He looked into the face of her who sat beside him, and saw in its
+every feature love, true love for him and his own, and he thanked
+God for the blessings of his life, laid his head on that true
+woman's breast, and wept tears of joy.
+
+It was twilight when they rose from their speechless communion, and
+each felt how much more blessed is the silence of those we love,
+than the words of one whose being is not in harmony with our own.
+
+It was a relief to Dawn to drop out of her intense sphere into the
+easy, contented, every-day life of her friend. They were not alike
+in temperament or thought. It was that difference which drew them
+together, and made it agreeable for them to associate at times. Such
+association brought rest to Dawn, and life to her friend. There was
+little or no soul-affiliation, consequently no exhaustion. It was
+the giving out of one quality, and the receiving of another entirely
+different, instead of the union of two of the same kind, hence there
+was not the reaction of nervous expenditure, which two ever feel,
+who perfectly blend, after a period of enjoyment. How wise is that
+provision which has thrown opposites into our life, that we may not
+be too rapidly consumed. For pure joy is to the soul what fire is to
+material objects, brilliant, but consuming.
+
+"I am going to have some company to-night, charming people most of
+them. I think you will enjoy them, Dawn; at least I hope so,"
+remarked Mrs. Austin, rocking leisurely in her sewing chair.
+
+"No doubt I shall." She was not called upon to tell how she should
+enjoy them. Amused she might be, but enjoyment, as Dawn understood
+it, was out of the question with such a class as came that evening,
+and to each of whom Mrs. Austin seemed very proud to introduce her
+friend.
+
+Among the guests was one who attracted the particular attention of
+Dawn, not from grace of person or mind, although he had them, but
+from some interior cause. He was tall, and rather elegant in
+appearance, a kind of external beauty which draws most women, and
+wins admirers in every circle.
+
+At a glance Dawn perceived that although mentally brilliant, he had
+not the spiritual and moral compliment. By his side stood a woman of
+the world, whom Dawn at once knew to be his wife, and on her, she
+felt that involuntarily her look was steadily, almost immovably
+fixed.
+
+She felt like testing the power of inner vision. It seemed to her
+that the woman was weighing heavily upon the man, holding him to
+earth rather than in any way uplifting him to heaven in his
+aspirations. She saw that the chain which bound them, was large,
+coarse, and flashed like gold. This led her to conclude that she
+married him for his wealth. She saw that the chain was wound around
+them both so tight that it was almost suffocating, and that the
+links that passed over the woman's heart were corroded and black.
+
+At the instant that Dawn noticed this, some one approached the lady
+and asked her to seat herself at the piano. She consented, and after
+a great many excuses and unnecessary movements, began to play. A
+dark cloud took her place at the side of her husband when she left,
+which became greatly agitated as the music proceeded, and soon there
+issued from it a female form. That face Dawn had surely seen
+somewhere; she passed her hand over her brow and endeavored to
+recall the familiar features.
+
+Like a flash it came; it was poor Margaret's face, white and
+glorified, but with a shade of sadness resting upon it.
+
+Dawn's whole being quivered with emotion. She saw nothing now in the
+room but that form, and the earthly one beside it. The young man
+pressed his hand to his brow, as though in troubled thought, and
+moved from where he stood, shivering in every limb.
+
+"Are you cold, Mr. Bowen?" some one inquired of him; the window was
+closed to shut out the chill air; but the chill which ran over his
+frame, no material substance could keep off, for it was caused by a
+spirit touching him.
+
+"I declare, he looks as though he was frozen," said his wife, rising
+from the instrument amid the usual applause, and drawing close to
+him, she whispered in his ear, "You look precisely as you did the
+day we met that hearse and one carriage. Come, it's a shame to be so
+abstracted." Then, addressing Mrs. Austin, she expressed a wish to
+be introduced to the gentleman who came in last, and the
+introduction followed.
+
+Nearer and nearer she went. She could not do otherwise, until at
+last Dawn stood beside Clarence Bowen, the destroyer of Margaret's
+earthly happiness. The face in the cloud grew brighter; hope seemed
+to glow from its features, as she stood there and found her way to
+his troubled soul, with all the native instinct and delicacy of a
+true woman. She talked of life and its beauties, its opportunities
+to do good, and of uplifting the down-fallen; still the face shone
+on, till it seemed to her that every person present must have seen
+it, as she did. Such presences are no more discernable by the
+multitude, than are the beautiful principles of life, which lie
+every day about us, but which though not seen by them, are none the
+less visible to the few.
+
+A new interest glowed in the young man's face; he felt that he had
+met a woman divested of the usual vanities of most of her sex. His
+being awoke to life under the new current of earnest words which
+flowed in his own narrow stream of life. The waters deepened-he felt
+that there was something better, higher to live for, as he gazed on
+the glowing face before him.
+
+During all the conversation, his thoughts kept flowing back to the
+green grove, and the sweet, innocent face of Margaret. There was
+surely nothing in the face before him to recall that likeness, yet
+the bitter waters of memory kept surging over him, each word
+reflecting the image of the wronged girl.
+
+The face which had all the time been visible to Dawn, slowly faded
+away, and when the last outline had passed from her sight, she
+ceased talking, and left him alone with his thoughts.
+
+Alone with those bitter reflections, heaven only might help him, for
+the chains that bound him to earth were many and strong.
+
+He could not resist the impulse to ask permission to call upon Dawn
+some day while she remained at Mrs. Austin's, which she readily
+granted, and then the party broke up, with a strange murmur of
+voices, and rustling of silks.
+
+"Was it not delightful? I hope you had a good time, Dawn," was the
+first remark of Mrs. Austin, after the last of the company had left.
+
+"I have enjoyed it very much," and she answered truthfully; but
+little did her friend surmise in what manner.
+
+It was a relief to be in her room alone that night, and think over
+the thrilling experience of the evening. And this is one of the
+lights the world rejects, and calls by every other name but holy. A
+light which reveals the inner state, and shows the needs of the
+human soul. It may be rejected, but it cannot be destroyed. Man may
+turn his back upon it, yet it shines on, though he wilfully refuses
+to enjoy the blessing it imparts. The testimony of one who lives in
+a dark, narrow lane, that the sun does not exist, would not be
+considered of any value. Supposing one chooses to close his eyes,
+and declare that it is not morning; shall those whose eyes are open
+accept his assertion? Alas, how true it is that many are talking
+thus, with closed mental vision, from the rostrum and the pulpit.
+Let each see for himself, and take no man's word upon any subject
+any farther than that word gives hope and encouragement. Each must
+do his own thinking, and look upon every effort of another, to limit
+his range of thought or debar him from the investigation of every
+new presentation of truth, as an attempt to deprive him of his
+liberty.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+When Clarence next met Dawn he was greatly dejected. She thought he
+appeared too old and wan for one of his years. The brow on which the
+light of hope and life should repose, was indeed wrinkled, and
+furrowed with unrest because the spirit was ill at ease. There was a
+claim upon him, a voice calling for retribution, which through the
+very law of life, aside from personal wrong, would not let him rest;
+and was only in the presence of Dawn that he experienced anything
+like repose. His wife and friends taunted him daily upon his
+depression, because they were far from his soul, and could not
+comprehend the agony which was working therein. Many thus live only
+on the surface of life, and see only results. What a righting of
+affairs will come when all are able to see the soul's internal; when
+darkness shall be made light. That time is rapidly approaching.
+
+Dawn sat beside him, the same grieved but saintly face shone out, in
+the atmosphere.
+
+"I have heard, Miss Wyman, that you sometimes have interior
+sight-that you can see conditions of the mind, and the cause of its
+depressions. May I ask you if you can at present, penetrate my
+state, and ascertain the cause of this unrest?"
+
+She was silent for a moment. The workings of her own mind were
+visible on her features. She scarce knew how to break the truth to
+him, but soon lighting up she said:
+
+"I think I have seen at least one cause of your unrest. There is a
+spirit presence now in this room, a young and lovely girl whom you
+have at some time neglected." She did not say "wronged."
+
+He started to his feet.
+
+"The face, Miss Wyman; can you describe her appearance?" his words
+and manner indicating his interest, if not belief, in her power.
+
+"She has light blue eyes, heaven blue, and brown hair. She is a
+little taller then myself, has a very fair complexion, and she holds
+a wreath of oak leaves in front of you."
+
+Clarence turned deadly pale.
+
+"I think she must have been once dear to you, by the look of sweet
+forgiveness which she gives you."
+
+He groaned aloud.
+
+"Now she holds in her arms a child-a bright-eyed boy, which has your
+look upon its face."
+
+He started with a defiant look, but this changed in an instant to
+one of grief, and he leaned his head upon his hands and wept.
+
+Slowly the fair face faded away; then Dawn knew all, and knowing
+all, how great a comforter did she become to him! Angels smile on
+and mingle in such scenes; mortals see but the surface, and wonder
+why they thus mingle, with the usual earthly questioning, whether it
+is for any good that the two thus come together.
+
+The long pent-up grief passed away, in a measure, and Clarence felt
+as though in the presence of an angel, so sweet and soothing were
+the words of promise, and tender rebuke which came from the lips of
+Dawn and flowed to his heart, strengthening his purpose to become a
+better man.
+
+"Can he who fully repents be wholly forgiven," he asked, in a tone
+of deepest want.
+
+"God's mercies are for such and his forgiveness is free, full, and
+eternal. It does not flow all at once: it must be obtained by
+long-suffering and earnest asking, that we may know its value, and
+how precious is the gift."
+
+"Do you think if I were to go beyond, where dwells that one I have
+wronged, I could be with her and walk by her side?"
+
+"If your repentance was pure and complete. You would be where your
+soul was attracted."
+
+"Do spirits feel the change in our states? If we are sorry for our
+misdeeds, can they see that we are?"
+
+"Their mission to earth as helps and guardians to mortals would be
+of little use if they could not. They rise and fall with us. They
+administer to us, and learn of us. The worlds are like warp and
+woof. We stay or go where our labor is, wherever the soul may be
+which has claim upon us."
+
+"This must be sight then, real vision, for such a person as you have
+described I once loved and wronged. But the hour is late, I must go,
+yet I hope you will permit me to call upon you once more. Can I have
+your promise to see me again, before you leave the place?"
+
+"If I remain I shall be most happy to see you. Remember that all
+your efforts to do right will relieve and elevate this friend who is
+around you, who cannot leave you, until her mind has become
+assimilated with yours, and the balance of your nature is restored
+by the infusing of her life into yours. If she is relieved by your
+act, rest will follow; if not, the opposite. This is a law of
+nature, and cannot be set aside, no more than two on the earth
+living disharmonized and misunderstood, can find rest away from, or
+out of, each other.'
+
+"I deeply thank you," he said, "for your kind words. May all
+happiness be yours forever." And then they parted, not the same as
+when they met, but linked together by the chain of sympathy and
+common needs.
+
+Clarence heard not the words of his wife that night as he entered
+his home, who after a while grew weary of his absent replies, and
+found consolation in sleep. But to him sleep was not thought of. All
+night he laid awake, his being transfused with a new current of
+thought, and his life going out and soaring upward into a higher
+existence. The warp of a new garment was set in the loom. What hand
+would shape and weave the woof?
+
+When day broke over the hills another morning burst on his senses,
+and Clarence Bowen, of the gay world, was not the same as before,
+but a man of high resolves and noble purposes, trying to live a
+better life.
+
+Slowly his higher nature unfolded. Very slowly came the truths to
+his mind, as Dawn presented them with all the vigor and freshness of
+her nature. She told him the story of Margaret, of her death and
+burial, and of her father; and while he listened with tear-dimmed
+eyes, his soul became white with repentance. As Dawn spoke, the
+vision came and went,--each time with the countenance more at rest.
+It was an experience such as but few have; only those who seen
+beyond, and know that mortals return to rectify errors after their
+decease.
+
+There could be no rest for either, until a reconciliation was
+effected. Happy he who can stand between the two worlds and transmit
+the most earnest wishes of the unseen, to those of earth. The
+mission, though fraught with many sorrows, is divine and
+soul-uplifting to the subject. But who can know these truths save
+one who has experiened them? The human soul has little power of
+imparting to another its deepest feelings. We may speak, but who
+will believe, or sense our experiences? An ancient writer says:
+"There are many kinds of voices in the world, but none of them
+without signification. Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the
+voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that
+speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me."
+
+"When you tell me of these things I believe; they are real to me,"
+said Clarence, "but if I read them, or hear them related as the
+experience of others, they are dull and meaningless; why is this?"
+
+"I suppose it is because you so feel my life and assurance of them,
+that in my atmosphere they become real and tangible to you."
+
+"I think it must be so. I may yet find strength enough to walk
+alone."
+
+"You will walk with her who comes to mingle her happiness with
+yours, and to help bear your crosses."
+
+"Is it wrong to wish to die?"
+
+"It is better, I think, to desire to live here our appointed time,
+and ultimate the purpose of our earthly existence."
+
+"But I can never be happy here, for there are none who understand
+me."
+
+"Seek to understand yourself, and that will draw others to you. It
+matters but little whether we are understood in this world, when we
+think of the long eternity before us. There is danger of becoming
+morbid on that point. We lose time and ground in many such
+meditations. Our gaze becomes too much inward, and we lose sight of
+life's grand panorama while thus closed in. We can see ourselves
+most clearly in others; our weakness and our strength. We need to go
+out, more than to look within. Do you not in conversing with me feel
+yourself more, than you do when alone?"
+
+"I do. Another essence, or quality of life mingling with our own
+gives us our own more perfectly. Will all this power go with us to
+the other world, or do we leave much behind?"
+
+"Nothing but the husk-the dust is left here. Whatever is, shall be.
+Should you or I pass on, to-day, we should still preserve our
+individuality of thought and being."
+
+"And our loves will unfold there, and we be free, think you, to
+associate with whom we love?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it in my own mind, but can scarce expect another
+to feel the conviction as I do. We shall be better understood there.
+Here we have inharmonious natures of our own and others to contend
+with. These are given to us and are brought about us without any
+ability in ourselves to accept or reject. Our surroundings are not
+always what we would wish them, and few find rest or harmony of soul
+while here. And yet all this is necessary for proper unfoldment and
+development, else it would not be. Few weary pilgrims reach in this
+life the many mansions prepared for the soul; few find their
+fullness of soul-enjoyment. I have seen some of these weary ones as
+they entered the other world and were led to places of rest. As they
+caught a single glimpse of the peace and rest awaiting them, their
+faces glowed with the light of a divine transfiguration; yet they
+knew that the bliss they had been permitted to look upon, and to
+hope for, could be theirs only as they were developed into a state
+of perfect appreciation of it. Even so the person who enters the
+most fully and understandingly into our own feelings, grasps and
+holds the most of us. I am yours and you are mine just so far as we
+can fathom and comprehend each other."
+
+"I had never thought of that before. How little do they who claim us
+as their own, know of the existence of this law; and yet the more I
+consider it, the more do I see its beauty, its truth, and the
+harmony of all its parts."
+
+Dawn was greatly pleased in seeing how readily he recognized her
+position, and continued:
+
+"The relation which such claimants bear to us is one purely external
+in its nature, and oft-times painful. It is a kind of property
+ownership which ought to be banished from social life. It should be
+cast out and have no place nor lot with us, for those higher and
+divine principles cannot dwell with us until these things are
+regarded as of the past, and now worthless."
+
+"But might not the new flow in naturally, and displace the old?"
+
+"That is partly true, but when content with our condition we feel
+the need of no other. This is one reason why to many, the blessings
+in store for them are seemingly so long in coming. The man who is
+struggling with adversity, and sees nothing but darkness and want
+surrounding him, fondly imagines that in the possession of abundance
+he would find rest and peace. And yet he could never be blest while
+in that condition of feeling, though all wealth were his. But having
+passed through, and out of, this condition, and learned that the
+exertion induced by privation was the best possible means of his
+growth, then, wealth might come to him and be a blessing and a
+power. Blessings will come to us when we are prepared by culture or
+discipline to rightly employ them for our own good and the good of
+others."
+
+"Your thoughts have made me truly blest. You have withdrawn the dark
+veil which has hung over me so long. I must surely call this a
+blessing."
+
+"And the darkness was the same, for it has led you to appreciate the
+light."
+
+He took her hand at parting, and pressed it with the warmth of
+generous gratitude, bade her adieu and went out into the darkness of
+the evening, but with rays of the morning of life shining in his
+soul.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Dawn! Dawn! where are you?" called Mrs. Austin from the library
+after Mr. Bowen had left. "I'm glad that stupid fellow has gone,"
+she continued, "for we want you to sing for us."
+
+How could she sing? The sentiment which would suit her mood would
+not surely be fitted to those who would listen; but forcing her real
+state aside, she played and sung several lively songs.
+
+"Delightful!" exclaimed her friend, "we mean to have more of your
+company now, and keep such stupid people as Clarence Bowen away, he
+is so changed; he used to be very gay and lively; what do you find
+in him, Dawn?"
+
+"A need; a great soul need. He wants comforting."
+
+"What, is he sad? He ought to be the merriest, happiest fellow
+alive. He has enough of this world's goods, and a most brilliant
+woman for a wife."
+
+"These alone cannot give happiness. True, lasting happiness is made
+up of many little things on which the world places but little value.
+He has much to make him thoughtful and earnest, and very little to
+make him gay."
+
+"You are so unlike everybody else, Dawn. Now I like life; real,
+hearty, earnest life. I don't care a straw for hidden causes. I want
+what's on the surface. I think we were put here to enjoy ourselves
+and make each other happy."
+
+"So do I; but what you call 'happiness,' might to some, be mere
+momentary excitement, mere transient pleasure. To me, the word
+happiness means something deeper; a current, which holds all the
+ripples of life in its deep channel."
+
+"Well, if happiness is the deep undercurrent, as you say, I don't
+want it. I want the ripples, the foam, and the sparkle. So let us go
+to bed and rest, and to-morrow ride over the hills on horseback.
+I'll take Arrow, he's fiery, and you may take Jessie. Will you? You
+need some roses on your cheek." And the joyous-hearted woman kissed
+the pale face of her friend till the flush came on her cheeks and
+brow.
+
+"There; now you look like life; you seemed a moment since as still
+and white as snow!"
+
+"Your warm nature has surely changed the condition of things, for I
+feel more like riding just now than sleeping."
+
+"That's good. Suppose we have a moonlight race?"
+
+"I protest against any such proceeding, being the lord and master of
+this manor," said her husband, looking up from his book, in which
+they supposed he was too deeply engaged to hear their conversation.
+
+Reader, don't trust a gentleman who has his eyes on the page of a
+volume when two ladies are conversing.
+
+"Then I suppose there's nothing left for us but to go to bed."
+
+"Yes, a something else," said her husband.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Go to sleep."
+
+"Stupid! I suppose you think you have made a brilliant speech."
+
+"On the contrary I think it the reverse. I never waste
+scintillations of genius on unappreciative auditors."
+
+"Edward Austin! you deserve to be banished a week from ladies'
+society. Come Dawn, let us retire."
+
+It was in this pleasant, light vein of thought that Dawn recovered
+her mental poise, and she sank into a sweet and profound slumber,
+which otherwise would not have come to her. Thus do we range from
+one sphere to another, and learn, though slowly, that all states are
+legitimate and necessary, the one to the other. The parts of life
+contribute to the perfection of the whole. Each object has its own
+peculiar office, as it has its own form. The tulip delights with its
+beauty, the carnation with its perfume, the unseemly wormwood
+displeases both taste and smell, yet in medicinal value is superior
+to both. So each temperament, each character, has its good and bad.
+The one has inclinations of which the other is incapable.
+
+"This is a world of hints, out of which each soul seizes what it
+needs." So from other lives we draw and appropriate continually into
+our own, and we need the manifestations of life to make us
+harmonious. Each person draws something from us that none other can,
+and imparts out of its special quality that which we cannot receive
+from any other. We need at times to surrender our will, to merge
+ourselves into another sphere, and loose the tension of our own
+action; this surrender being to the mind what sleep is to the brain.
+
+The whole of life does not flow through any one channel; we drink
+from many streams. "A ship ought not to be held by one anchor, nor
+life by a single hope." Slowly we learn life's compliments, and the
+value of its component parts. Many threads make up the web, and many
+shades the design. As we advance in experiences, we feel that we
+could not have afforded to have lost one shade, however dark it may
+have been. Time, the silent weaver, sits by the loom, seeing neither
+the light nor shade, but only the great design which grows under his
+hand in the immortal web.
+
+The morning was clear and lovely. Mrs. Austin and Dawn rode over the
+hills, their spirits rising at every step, under the exhilarating
+exercise. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, and made
+the whole air sweet and vital. Birds carolled their songs, and made
+the woods vocal with praise. Nature seemed set to a jubilant key;
+while fresh inspiration flowed into the heart of man as he gazed on
+the scene so redolent with life and beauty.
+
+"You are as radiant as the day," said Mrs. Austin, drawing in Arrow
+a little, and coming to the side of Dawn.
+
+"Thank you for your compliment, but it's more the reflection of the
+outer world, than a manifestation of myself. One cannot but be
+bright on such a morning."
+
+"I cannot hold Arrow in longer, or I might argue on that point." In
+a moment she was out of sight, round the bend of the road.
+
+"She does me good every moment. I sometimes wish I did not see the
+conditions of life, and its states as I do. I must keep on the
+surface a little more,--so run along Jessie," said Dawn, giving the
+gentle animal a little touch of the whip that caused her to canter
+away briskly and catch up with Arrow. Yet it was but for an instant,
+for Arrow bounded off as he heard the approach, and horse and rider
+were soon as far in the distance as before.
+
+At the end of the long road Mrs. Austin halted, and reined Arrow
+under a tree to wait for her friend.
+
+"You are quite a stranger," said Dawn, coming up at a slow pace.
+"I've been taking time to enjoy the scenery."
+
+"So I perceive. I thought you had dismounted and was sketching, or
+writing a sonnet to the woods."
+
+"It were most likely to have been the latter, as I never sketch
+anything but human character."
+
+"Then tell me what I am like. Sketch me as I am."
+
+"You are unlike every one else," said Dawn, in an absent manner.
+
+"That's a diversion. Come to the point, and define me. I'm a riddle,
+I know."
+
+"If you have got thus far, you can analyze yourself. It's a good
+beginning to know what you are."
+
+"But I cannot unriddle myself. I have, under my rippling surface, a
+few deep thoughts, and good ones, and they make me speak and act
+better, sometimes. I am not all foam, Dawn."
+
+"I never supposed you were. There is a depth in you that you have
+never fathomed, because your life has been gay, and you have never
+needed the truths which lie deep, and out of sight."
+
+"But I'd rather go up than down; much rather."
+
+"Depth is height, and height is depth."
+
+"So it is. I never thought of that before. Dawn, you could make a
+woman of me. Edward does not call me into my better self as you do.
+Why is it?"
+
+"I suppose because he does not need that manifestation of your
+being. Your lives are both set to sweetly flowing music. You have
+never felt the sting of want and suffering, either mental or
+physical, nor witnessed it to any great extent in others."
+
+"Why are we allowed to sit in the sunshine, then, if there is so
+much sorrow in the world?"
+
+"You are saved for some work. When the worn laborers now in the
+field can do no more, perhaps you will be called forth."
+
+"O, Dawn, your words thrill me. Then we may not always be as happy
+as now?" and her glance seemed to turn inward on her joyous heart.
+
+"You may be far happier, but not so full of life's pleasures."
+
+"Yes; I remember the deep, strong current, and the ripples. Let us
+go on, Dawn. I feel, I don't know how, but strange. Shall we start?"
+
+"Certainly; I wait your move. Come, Jessie, show me another phase of
+your nature. I have seen how gentle you are; now go."
+
+At the word, the creature seemed to fly through the air, so swiftly
+did she leap over the ground, and Arrow was left behind.
+
+At noon they stopped at a house on the mountain side, the home of an
+acquaintance of Mrs. Austin's, to refresh themselves and their
+horses.
+
+"I have brought you to some strange people," said Mrs. Austin, as
+they alighted, and a boy came and led their horses to the stable.
+
+"Strange; in what way?"
+
+"O; they believe in all sorts of supernatural things-in the doctrine
+of transmigration, second-sight, and every other impossible and
+improbable thing."
+
+"I am delighted. I shall be most happy to see them."
+
+"Because you yourself are so much inclined that way?"
+
+"No. I should be more curious to see them if I were not interested
+in the things you have mentioned. But now I shall meet kindred
+souls, and in those I always find delight."
+
+"I've half a mind to take you home without even an introduction, for
+your impudence; as though I was not a 'kindred soul.'"
+
+"It's too late, now, for here comes a lady and gentleman to welcome
+you."
+
+"Miss Bernard, my friend Miss Wyman, Mr. Bernard."
+
+Dawn took their proffered hands which seemed to thrill with a
+welcome, and they led the way to a large, old-fashioned parlor. The
+house was one of those delightful land-marks of the past generation,
+which we sometimes see. It stood on a high hill, or rather on a
+mountain shelf, shaded by lofty trees which seemed like sentinels
+stationed about to protect it from all intrusion. No innovations of
+modern improvement had marred the general keeping of the grounds and
+buildings, for any change would have been an injury to the general
+harmony of the whole. A large, clean lawn sloped to a woody edge in
+front, and in the rear of the dwelling were clusters of pines and
+oaks.
+
+Miss Bernard could not be described in a book, nor sensed in a
+single interview, yet we must lay before the reader an outline to be
+filled by the imagination. She was a blending of all the forces,
+mental, moral, and spiritual. Her face was full of thought, without
+the sharp, defined lines, so common to most women of a nervous
+temperament. It impressed you at once with vigor and power;
+chastened by a deep, spiritual light, which shone over it like that
+of the declining sun upon a landscape. It seemed to burst from
+within, not having the appearance of proceeding from dross burning
+away, but like a radiance native to the soul, a part and quality of
+it, not an ignition which comes from friction and war within.
+
+Basil, her brother, whose name indicated his nature, made every one
+feel as though transported to a loftier atmosphere. He seemed to
+belong among the stars. Dawn felt at home at once in his presence,
+which was a mystery to her friend, to whom he seemed intangible and
+distant. She had never seen upon the face of Dawn such rapt
+admiration as she saw there, when Basil conversed.
+
+The conversation changed from external to inner subjects, just as
+the bell rung for dinner. At the table there were no strangers, and
+to Dawn it seemed as though she had always known them, and many
+times before, occupied the same place in their midst. Thus do those
+who are harmonious in spirit affiliate, regardless of material
+conditions.
+
+A vase of elegant flowers decked the table, also a basket of
+blossoms, unarranged, which, at dessert, were placed on the plates
+of the guests.
+
+A light shone from Basil's eyes, which did not escape Mrs. Austin's
+notice, as he placed a scarlet lily upon her plate.
+
+  "The wand-like lily which lifted up,
+  As a Maenad, its radiant-colored cup,
+  Till the fiery star, which is in its eye,
+  Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky."
+
+While these lines of Whittier's ran through her mind:
+
+  "I bring no gift of passion,
+    I breathe no tone of love,
+  But the freshness and the purity
+    Of a feeling far above.
+  I love to turn to thee, fair girl,
+    As one within whose heart
+  Earth has no stain of vanity,
+    And fickleness no part."
+
+Then she watched him with deeper interest as he placed a spray of
+balm beside the lily.
+
+  "Balm that never ceases uttering sweets,
+  Goes decking the green earth with drapery."
+
+"I wonder what he will give me," she said to herself, almost
+impatiently, yet fearing the offering might not be complimentary,
+for she well knew that Basil Bernard was always truthful. He held
+already in his hand a rose, blooming and fresh as morning, which he
+put upon her plate, and beside it a spray of yellow jessamine. Grace
+and elegance-while the beautiful Mundi rose spoke its own
+language-"you are merry."
+
+  "Blushing rose!
+  Blown in the morning-thou shalt fade ere noon:
+    What boots a life that in such haste forsakes thee?
+  Thou 'rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon,
+    And passing proud a little color makes thee."
+
+And now came the most interesting point, to see what flowers he
+would place upon his sister's plate.
+
+First, a handful of violets. "Faithfulness," thought Dawn, "he is
+right thus far." And then, as though his thoughts rose with the
+sentiment, he laid snowballs gently around them, while these words
+flashed upon her mind:
+
+  "Should sorrow o'er thy brow
+    Its darkened shadow fling,
+  And hopes that cheer thee now,
+    Die in their early spring;
+  Should pleasure, at its birth,
+    Fade like the hues of even,
+  Turn thou away from earth--
+    There's rest for thee in heaven.
+  "If ever life should seem
+    To thee a toilsome way,
+  And gladness cease to beam
+    Upon its clouded day;
+  If, like the weary dove,
+    O'er shoreless ocean driven,
+  Raise thou thine eyes above--
+    There's rest for thee in heaven."
+
+"And now we will each make a contribution to Basil" said his sister,
+smiling on him in a manner which told how dear he was to her.
+
+She passed the basket to Dawn, who blushed and trembled at first,
+not with fear, but pleasure.
+
+"The offering," said his sister, "is to be an expression of the
+sentiments, which, in the opinion of each of us, are most in keeping
+with his character."
+
+Dawn reached forth, and drew, without hesitation, a cluster of
+verbenas, and one white water-lily.
+
+"Sensibility and purity of heart. She has read him aright," thought
+Miss Bernard.
+
+  "Gentle as an angel's ministry
+  The guiding hand of love should be,
+  Which seeks again those chords to bind
+  Which human woe hath rent apart."
+
+"She has seen my brother's very heart, his most noble self," she
+repeated to herself, as she passed the basket to Mrs. Austin, who
+plucked a Clyconthas, and laid it on his plate, with a blossom of
+Iris.
+
+"Benevolence," said Dawn, and to her mind these beautiful words were
+suggested;
+
+  "Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief,
+    Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
+  Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief;
+    Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold?
+  'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold
+    Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
+  Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled,
+    Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,
+  Breathes freely its perfume throughout the ambient air.
+    Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
+  And thou an angel's happiness shalt know.
+    Shalt bless the earth while in the world above;
+  The good began by thee shall onward flow
+    In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
+  The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
+    Thy hand unsparing and unwearied sow,
+  Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
+    And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers."
+
+But one more offering, and that from his sister. She drew the bay
+leaf, of which the wreath to adorn the conqueror and the poet is
+made, and, while the eyes of the two women rested on her, drew forth
+also the pale, but sweet-scented mountain pink, signifying
+aspiration, beautifully expressed by Percival in these lines:
+
+  "The world may scorn me, if they choose-I care
+    But little for their scoffings. I may sink
+    For moments; but I rise again, nor shrink
+  From doing what the faithful heart inspires.
+    I will not falter, fawn, nor crouch, nor wink,
+    At what high-mounted wealth or power desires;
+  I have a loftier aim, to which my soul aspires."
+
+"We regret that we must leave, now," said Mrs. Austin to her friend,
+after they had returned to the drawing-room and conversed awhile.
+
+"We would gladly detain you longer, but knowing you have a long
+drive, we cannot conscientiously do so," said Miss Bernard; "but may
+we not hope to see you both, again?"
+
+"Not unless you return our visit; we cannot take another long drive
+right away, having so many ways to move, and so little time to
+spare. But come and see us whenever you can."
+
+"Thank you," replied Miss Bernard, and Basil bowed, while his eyes
+rested on Dawn.
+
+"We should both be happy to see you again, Miss Wyman," he said,
+taking her hand, and the horses having been brought to the door, he
+helped her into the saddle first, and then Mrs. Austin.
+
+They bounded away, and were soon far from the hospitable home,
+discussing, as they rode side by side, the merits and beauties of
+its occupants.
+
+"I did not tell you Miss Bernard's name. I think her brother did not
+mention it while we were there; now what do you think it can be?"
+
+"I do not know; perhaps Margaret-a pearl. No, not that; maybe,
+Agathe, which signifies good; and yet I do not feel I have it yet."
+
+"No; guess again."
+
+"I thought once while there, it might be Beatrice, for she seems
+like one who blesses."
+
+"You are right. That is her name, and most nobly does she illustrate
+its signification."
+
+"I am glad, for I hoped it was. How strange their names should so
+suit their natures," said Dawn, musingly.
+
+"Not if you knew them and their ancestry. They are of German
+descent, and believe in all sorts of traditions, and, as I have said
+before, supernatural things. They live almost wholly in sentiment,
+and are little known save by a very few. I like them, yet I cannot
+tell why. When in their presence I feel a sort of transcendental
+charm, a something intangible, but restful to my soul. It's only
+with you and them, Dawn, that I ever feel thus, and that is why I
+brought you together."
+
+"I can never thank you enough, but I wish to know them better."
+
+"You shall. Did I not see how they felt your sphere, as you
+'impressionists' say."
+
+"I hope they felt my desire for a better life, for it is a great
+rest to be comprehended. It is as though some one took us by the
+hand, and led us over the hard places of life."
+
+"I wish I could feel and live as you do, Dawn. You seem to have
+something so much deeper and richer in your life, than I have in
+mine-but, I suppose you would say, if I wanted deeper thoughts, I
+should search and find them."
+
+"I should, most certainly; you have anticipated my answer. We have
+what we aspire to--what we feel the need of."
+
+"We are getting too earnest, it makes me feel almost sad. Come,
+Arrow, let me see you speed over that shady road;" and away he flew
+at the sound of his name, leaving Dawn and Jessie, who seemed in no
+mood just then for galloping, far behind.
+
+It was almost twilight when they reached home together, Mrs. Austin
+having checked her horse's speed, for her friend to come up with
+her. They had passed a most delightful day, and cosily seated in
+their parlor, we will leave them talking as the twilight deepens
+around, and go to the home of Basil and sister, who are conversing
+upon the day's events.
+
+"It seems as though somewhere, in this or another existence, I had
+seen that face and form," said Basil to his sister.
+
+"She is certainly very lovely, wherever you may have met her. She
+may have been a dove, brother, and rested on your shoulder. I do not
+know but that we should hesitate before we condemn the belief in a
+transmigration of spirits, souls, and forces, when nature seems to
+somewhat imply its truth in her kingdom?"
+
+"Spirit cannot, in its countless transmigrations, be limited to the
+little space which we call earth. The life of the universe is the
+activity of its ever-living forces and existences, and their eternal
+striving to separate or to unite.
+
+"The belief in the transmigration of souls is of high antiquity, and
+is worthy of more than a passing thought. A writer has said: 'Being
+itself does not change, but only its relations. Mind and soul move
+in other connections, according to divine ordinances. The strength
+or weakness of the will, which the mind is conscious of, in itself,
+by a natural necessity creates a distinction between the elevation
+or the degradation of self. That is its heaven-this is its hell.
+There is an infinite progress of spirit towards perfection in the
+Infinite, as the solar systems with their planets wheel through the
+realm of the immeasurable. All eternal activity! New union to be
+going on of spirits and souls with new powers, which become their
+serviceable instruments of contact with the All of things-this is
+transmigration of souls. Any other kind of continued duration and
+continued action is inconceivable to us. Whether upon earth, or in
+other worlds, is a matter of indifference.' But one spirit sees
+these things more clearly than another."
+
+Basil stopped, and gazed long into the dim twilight, that light so
+fitted for communion; and as he gazed he felt his mind going out
+from his home, towards the being who had so touched his
+soul-thoughts. Was it his counterpart, or second-self, that made him
+feel that evening as though he had never known himself? What new
+quality had so blended with his own, in that brief space of time, as
+to quicken all his spiritual and intellectual perceptions? Would
+they meet again? and when and where? were the concluding
+interrogatories as he came back from his reverie, his thoughts
+flowing again into audible language.
+
+"You seem freshened, brother," said Beatrice, perceiving that he
+lacked words for the full expression of his intense feelings.
+
+"It's the power of a new mind. I am quickened in spirit."
+
+"I see you are; and is it not wonderful how much a person whom we do
+not daily meet can inspire us? What an impetus such an one brings to
+us, even though but a few words may be spoken. Its fresh magnetic
+life mingles with our own, and tinctures our inspirations and
+aspirations with a new fervor.
+
+"True; how much we have to learn regarding social intercourse. We
+have in society so little spontaniety, that it will take many genial
+natures like that of Miss Wyman to melt the frost away."
+
+She saw that he was pleased with Dawn, and felt glad. It was almost
+a relief to feel the strong tension of his love for her relax a
+little. It is not often that sisters have thus to complain, but
+Basil Bernard knew what love was, and how to enfold his object in an
+atmosphere of delight. It was protective and uplifting, refining and
+broadening, to all who felt it.
+
+There are some natures like that of an infant, ever asking for love,
+and protecting arms. Such need to be carried on one's bosom, and
+nestled, through their whole life. There are maternally protecting
+arms that can bear them thus, and in the sphere of their life and
+love their souls would rest. There are natures that will ever be as
+children, and also those who can meet their wants.
+
+Such clinging lives should be all infancy; they should be cared for,
+until their souls are strong enough to stand alone.
+
+Why is there so much that is fragmentary and unlinked? Why is the
+vine left to trail, when the strong oak, with its giant trunk, is
+standing bare? It's all in parts, disjointed, broken, as though some
+world of glory had been torn asunder, and its portions scattered
+here and there.
+
+There is completeness somewhere-in the land beyond-where the sighs,
+the tears, the passionate longings, the hopes and fears will be all
+adjusted, and our souls rest in celestial harmony.
+
+We cannot question but that it will be well with us there, if we
+have striven for the good, our souls conceived of, here. If, with
+good purpose and intent, we have out-wrought the hints and
+suggestions which have been given us of life, we must find growing
+states of rest, sometime, to repletion. It will not be all peace
+there; for the two worlds are interblended, and shadow into each
+other. There is an interplay of life and emotion forever, and to
+those who sense it, a joy too deep to be portrayed by human words; a
+truth which helps us to bear the sorrows of this life serenely, and
+more fully appreciate its joys.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Basil and his sister sat longer that summer evening than was their
+wont. There was a deeper intoning of sentiment, a closer blending of
+thought, or rather, their individual states had been more clearly
+defined by the day's incidents.
+
+They were of those rare types of mind which know just how far they
+can be together, and not detract from each other; just when the
+mental and spiritual assimilation was becoming attenuated, and each
+needed solitude. Thus they were constantly coming each to the other,
+and consequently drew from exhaustless fountains of intellectual and
+physical strength.
+
+Life is replete with harmonies ready to inflow, if we are but
+receptive and delicate enough to receive and appropriate them. Blest
+are they who recognize life's indications, its index-fingers which
+are pointing each hour to some new experience, which will deepen and
+expand our lives.
+
+Generally there is great danger of two persons settling into
+themselves, as these two seemed to have done, but Basil and Beatrice
+were so catholic they could afford it, in fact they needed just the
+close companionship which they held. The brother, with his colossal
+spirit, lofty and original, moving forward through life with that
+slow majesty which indicates the wholeness of the individual, unlike
+the airy advance of natures which rush with but one faculty
+quickened, and mistake speed for greatness, supplied the sister with
+that manly, noble quality, which must ever exist in the real or
+ideal of every woman. No wonder her warm, beneficent nature expanded
+daily, until her heart seemed a garden full of flowers of love and
+gratitude.
+
+Did life at times seem dim and hazy, and the mind full of a thousand
+doubts, he could dispel the cloud, wrench the truth from its old
+combinations, and present it to her in striking contrast with its
+opposite error.
+
+No wonder that new purposes and aspirations were born every hour in
+that woman's heart, impregnated by his manliness of quality. Yet
+each drew through the subtle texture of soul a different hue of
+life, as in a bed of flowers, from the same sunlight, one draws
+crimson, another azure, as though conscious of the harmony of
+complement and difference.
+
+"I feel a rich, deep vein of thought to-night," said Beatrice, "as
+though I could write a poem or a book, so vivid are my thoughts."
+
+"Your life has been a poem, full of sweetly blended words. You have
+lived yours out, while others have written theirs."
+
+"But there is such power in books, Basil."
+
+"I know it well. 'Some books are drenched sands on which a great
+soul's wealth lies all in heaps, like a wrecked argosy.' And some
+are sweet and full of passion-tones, and you feel on every leaf that
+you are turning, as though their heart-beats were going into yours;
+that they were dying that you might have life. Books are indeed
+great, but lives are greater; lives that are full of earnest
+purpose, and that fail not, even though the tide beats strong about
+them and the heavens hang thick and dark with clouds. The greatest
+poems are true lives, now surging with grief and passion, now
+pulsing with joy-notes, thrilling on each page of life. Some books,
+as well as persons, make us feel as though we stood in the presence
+of a king, while some give us tears. Some books and some beings dome
+us like a sky. Sister, you are the dome which ever overarches my
+life,--if day, with its azure and ermine clouds; if night, with its
+stars. Nay, do not write a book, but breathe and live your life out
+each day."
+
+"Yet I know that you, Basil, could write one, and make it full and
+perfect."
+
+"I could make one full of words, if not of thought; but come, the
+night is passing, we shall scarce have an hour's rest before
+sunrise."
+
+"Indeed, I think we are in a fair way to see its early brightness."
+
+To their dreams and life we will leave them awhile, knowing that to
+such hearts will ever come peace, whether sleeping or waking.
+
+Past midnight, that silent hour when the earth is peopled with other
+forms. It is the hour for the brain to receive the most subtle
+influences, whether sleeping or waking.
+
+Some kinds of sleep bring us brighter states than day gives us. They
+are awakenings, in which the understanding, instead of being
+dethroned, acquires a power and vivacity beyond what it possesses
+when the external form is awake and active. The soul seems
+emancipated from earthly trammels. The ruling thought of a man's
+life is not unlikely to shape itself into dreams, the constant
+thought of the day may encroach on the quiet of the night. Thus
+Columbus dreamed that a voice said unto him, "God will give thee the
+keys of the gates of the ocean." So any earnest longing, resting on
+our minds when we composed ourselves to sleep, may pass over into
+our sleeping consciousness, and be reproduced, perhaps in some
+happier mood.
+
+Modern writers on the phenomena of sleep, usually concur in the
+assertion that man's sleeping thoughts are meaningless, and that
+dreams are, therefore, untrustworthy. Such was not the opinion of
+our ancestors. They attached great importance to dreams and their
+interpretations. They had resort to them for guidance in cases of
+difficulty, or great calamity. We do not claim for all dreams, a
+divine or reliable character, but that some are to be trusted, every
+individual of any experience can testify. Plato assumes that all
+dreams might be trusted, if men would only bring their bodies into
+such a state, before going to sleep, as to leave nothing that might
+occasion error or perturbation in their dreams.
+
+A young lady, a native of Ross-shire, in Scotland, who was devotedly
+attached to an officer, with Sir John Moore in the Spanish war,
+became alarmed at the constant danger to which her lover was
+exposed, until she pined, and fell into ill health. Finally, one
+night in a dream, she saw him pale, bloody, and wounded in the
+breast, enter her apartment. He drew aside the curtains of the bed,
+and with a mild look, told her he had been slain in battle, bidding
+her, at the same time, to be comforted, and not take his death to
+heart.
+
+The consequence of the dream was fatal to the poor girl, who died a
+few days afterward, desiring her parents to note down the date of
+her dream, which she was confident would be confirmed. It was so.
+The news shortly after reached England that the officer had fallen
+at the battle of Corunna, on the very day in the night of which his
+betrothed had beheld the vision.
+
+Another, a lady residing in Rome, dreamed that her mother, who had
+been several years dead, appeared to her, gave her a lock of hair,
+and said, "Be especially careful of this lock of hair, my child, for
+it is your father's, and the angels will call him away from you
+to-morrow."
+
+The effect of the dream on her mind was such, that, when she awoke,
+she experienced the greatest alarm, and caused a telegraphic notice
+to be instantly dispatched to England, were her father was, to
+inquire after his health. No immediate reply was received; but, when
+it did come, it was to the effect that her father had died that
+morning at nine o'clock. She afterwards learned, that, two days
+before his death, he had caused to be cut off, a lock of his hair,
+and handed it to one of his daughters, who was attending on him,
+telling her it was for her sister in Rome.
+
+Well authenticated cases might be multiplied till they filled
+volumes; but the two we have cited, suffice to prove that in
+sleeping, as well as in waking hours, our minds may receive
+impressions of truth, or, that the spirit goes out to other scenes,
+and there takes cognizance of events and conditions.
+
+Dawn slept on; her beautiful white face was still and upturned, as
+though gazing into the heavens. The excitement of the day had gone,
+and the look of keen pleasure on her features was changed to one of
+intensest emotion, for she was away, her spirit beside one whose
+life seemed almost ebbing out of this state of existence. She saw
+his pale features half hidden in the snowy pillows, the deep, soft
+eyes looking as though in search of one they loved; and then she
+heard him call her name, in tones touching and tender. She wept, and
+awoke. The sun was shining brightly through the window. She arose,
+and dressed for her departure, and, to the surprise of her friend,
+announced her intention of leaving that morning for home.
+
+"You are no more to be depended on than the rest of your sex, Miss
+Wyman," remarked Mr. Austin, who really enjoyed having her with
+them.
+
+She was in no mood to reply in the same spirit, but said quietly:
+
+"I have concluded not to tire you out completely this time, for I
+want to come again."
+
+"I think your going must be the result of some very hasty
+conclusion, Dawn. I had no intimation of it last evening. Really,
+unless you are ill, you are quite unfair to leave us so soon." Mrs.
+Austin having made this remark, glanced for the first time at Dawn's
+white face. What had come over her? Was it Dawn who sat there so
+still and white? "Are you ill?" she asked, the tremor of her voice
+betraying her deep solicitude for the welfare of her visitor.
+
+"No; but anxious. I must go to-day, however, or I shall be sick, and
+on your hands."
+
+"I'd a deal rather you should be on my hands, than weighing on my
+heart, as you are now," and Mrs. Austin expressed the hope, after
+her husband had left, that she would confide to her the cause of her
+departure and sudden appearance of illness.
+
+"I have had an unpleasant dream," said Dawn, when they were alone,
+feeling that some explanation was due her friend, "and I must go
+home."
+
+"A dream! O, fie, I never mind them. Why, I once had a most
+frightful one about Ned. He was away on a journey, and I dreamt that
+the boat caught fire, and every one on board was lost. I even went
+so far as too see a messenger coming to tell me of the disaster."
+
+"But had not your mind been agitated through the day?"
+
+"Why, I had read of some dreadful disasters, to be sure, and then I
+had retired at a late hour, after getting my mind wrought up about
+the liabilities of danger, which, of course, accounted for it-but
+was your dream about your father?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why must you go? Do you think any one is in danger? I think it was
+the result of the long ride, don't you?
+
+"I do not. My dream was purely impressional, and outside of the
+effect of daily incidents. Yes, I must go, Fannie, and right away."
+
+"In that case I shall ride home with you," and she rang for the man
+to harness the horse.
+
+Each busy with her own thoughts they rode in silence for a long
+distance, a silence which was only broken by Dawn's exclamation of
+pleasure, as they came in sight of her home.
+
+The next day she sat beside the bed of Ralph, whose snow-white face
+and attenuated form, showed how fast he was passing away.
+
+He gazed long and tenderly into her face, as she sat there, their
+souls holding their last earthly communion. His spirit was all aglow
+with life, and trust, while the shadow of separation rested on her,
+and dimmed her faith and vision.
+
+"But for a little while, Dawn, and then we shall meet again;
+perhaps, to be united."
+
+How the words entered her heart, for now, under the cloud, she felt,
+O how keenly, that her state had hastened him home. His was the
+vine-like nature that must cling to another, or die. It was all dark
+to her then, and added to the pang of separation, was the thought of
+her cold indifference. He, all gentleness and love, lie in rays of
+light; all her vision and life had gone into him to help him over
+the river.
+
+"And you do not dread to go, Ralph?" she said, her voice choking
+with emotion.
+
+"Fear? I only long to do so; to be there, where all is peace and
+rest;" and the rapt, upturned gaze, confirmed his words.
+
+"It will be always day there," he continued; "none of these weary
+nights which have been so long and lonely-"
+
+"O, Ralph, live; live for me. I have been blind and wayward. O, come
+back, and we will live for each other."
+
+"In my father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for
+you."
+
+The words sounded far, far away.
+
+"Yes, we will live together above, not here. God has so ordered it,
+my own Dawn. I shall be light, perhaps, to you, even in that far-off
+land. Nay, 'tis not 'far'; 't is here. I shall dwell in your heart
+close-close-closer than ever."
+
+He closed his eyes and rested for a few moments. Then, arousing, he
+clasped her hands firmly, as though he would bear her away with him
+as he took his heavenward flight.
+
+"Look there," he said, "the river! go close with me-for this is our
+last moment. Dawn, I am yours; not even death can part us. I am not
+going; I am coming closer than any earthly relation could bring me
+to you; coming-call them."
+
+Parents and sister stood beside the bed with tearful eyes. To them
+he was going far away.
+
+Dawn saw not the death-dew on the marble brow, nor heeded the
+passing breath. Another sight was given her, and while they stood so
+statue-like with anguish, her eyes beheld a soft mist gather like
+snowflakes on the head; and while the breath grew quick and short,
+this seemed to pulsate with life, until a face was outlined there.
+That face the same, yet not the same, but her own dear Ralph's,
+immortalized, set in a softer, finer light. Her being pulsated with
+new joy. A tide of life seemed to have flown into her heart, leaving
+no room for pain.
+
+A moan struck on her ear; so sad that she started, and the vision
+fled.
+
+"O, Ralph, my own loved boy; he's gone, he's gone," burst from the
+mother's sorrowing heart, as they bore her from the room.
+
+Marion stood dumb with grief, while the poor stricken father bowed
+his head and wept bitter tears for his lost son.
+
+Had Dawn no grief, that she could stand there and look so calmly on?
+What made her feel so indifferent to the dead form on which she
+gazed? Because his life, the life that had once animated it, had
+passed into hers, and they were one and united. Ralph, warm with
+life, was imaged in her heart and mind. The clay he bore about him,
+that husk, had no claim upon her being now, and with scarce a look
+at the body, she walked away.
+
+"I think she could never have loved him, or she would not seem so
+cold," were the words that floated to her as she passed from the
+room where lay all that was mortal of Ralph.
+
+It was as near as she could expect to be understood here, in a world
+where so much of her real self was hidden; but such words touched
+her sensibilities none the less, notwithstanding her philosophy.
+They went deep, like an arrow, into her heart, and then she knew
+that the house of mourning was no place for her; that she must go,
+and to the world appear cold and unfeeling, while her heart was
+ready to burst with its deep emotion.
+
+She left them, and they never knew how dearly she loved him, nor how
+close his soul was linked with her own. They mourned him as dead,
+while to her he became each hour a reality, a tangible, living
+presence, full of tenderness and love.
+
+Miss Weston met Dawn as she passed out of the house, with that look
+of tender pity, which says, "I know you suffer." In that look their
+souls met and mounted to higher states. They could not speak, for
+the tears which flowed over the graves of their dead; their sorrows
+made them one and akin.
+
+"You will return by to-morrow," said Miss Weston, as she parted with
+Dawn at the gate, supposing that she designed returning to be
+present at the funeral.
+
+"No, I cannot."
+
+"Why, Dawn! not follow dear Ralph to his grave?"
+
+"I have no Ralph to bury. He is resurrected-gone higher."
+
+"But the family, they surely-"
+
+"They will not miss me. I am not a part of their lives now. They do
+not know me, nor do I know myself."
+
+Here trust, light, and vision left; the weakness of flesh uprose,
+and she went down into the dark valley of grief.
+
+She gave a parting pressure of the hand to her friend, and walked
+slowly to the station. Alone; O, what relief do our tears give us,
+when no one can see them flow. In that dim, summer twilight she
+walked. Fast fell the tears over her cheeks. None but angels knew
+the sobs, the agony of desolation which swept over her, and like a
+pall hung between herself and heaven.
+
+It was midnight when she arose from prayer, but morning to her soul.
+Peace had come; the dove had returned with the olive branch; the
+waters had gone down, and green banks shored the wild sea of sorrow.
+
+She spent the day of the funeral ceremonies alone in the solitude of
+the woods. Full of meaning now came to her these words of Christ:
+"Let the dead bury their dead;" and this was her first personal
+realization of the truth. Alone, yet not alone. That presence,
+unseen, but real, was with her, soothing the harshness of sorrow,
+filling her heart with peace and comfort. Just as the sun sank in
+clouds of sapphire and crimson, his form stood, radiant, joyous, and
+life-like before her. It was no myth, no hallucination of the mind.
+Close, within reach, yet she could not touch him; he stood there,
+the same Ralph, with all the tenderness of love on his beaming face
+which he bore in life. No loneliness came over her as the vision
+faded slowly away; he seemed to dissolve and flow into her heart.
+The soft twilight, the singing of birds, and charming landscape,
+with the breath of summer floating on the air, came like sweet
+accompaniments to the melody which was pulsing her being, and giving
+her new strength and vigor for life.
+
+She knew, that to her Ralph would each day be a sustaining power,
+and give life a dual action. When weary of the outer, she could turn
+within and find one conjoined by the holiest of ties unto her soul.
+
+His life, too, was being unfolded through her, as it could never
+have been on earth; and as years rolled on she saw how well and good
+it was that he had passed on before her. There was more completeness
+to her being than there could possibly have been, had they been
+united on earth by the form of marriage.
+
+When she emerged from the cloud, all this light transfused her
+being, and she had no tears, because there was no separation.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+We learn in unlearning. We lay aside, one by one, the garments in
+which we have enwrapped ourselves; garments of various hues, which
+are our opinions, and so clog and hinder our progress. Happily for
+us that we find our states changing, and the wrappings of old dogmas
+too oppressive. Fortunate are we if our freedom of spirit is large
+enough to enable us to lay aside what was a shield and protection to
+us yesterday, if it be not fitted for us to-day. He who is strong to
+do so, benefits all around him, for no good or evil is confined or
+limited to one. Everything flows; circulation is in all things,
+natural and spiritual. Life in one is life in another; what is faith
+in one is also faith in another.
+
+"What is gained by one man is invested in all men, and is a
+permanent investment for all time.
+
+"A great genius discovers a truth in science, the philosophy of
+matter; or in philosophy the science of man. He lays it at the feet
+of humanity, and carefully she weighs in her hand what is so costly
+to him, and so precious to her.
+
+"She keeps it forever; he may be forgotten, but his truth is a part
+of the breath of humankind. By a process more magical than magic,
+it becomes the property of all men, and that forever.
+
+"All excellence is perpetual. A man gets a new truth, a new idea of
+justice, a new sentiment of religion, and it is a seed of the flower
+of God, something from the innate substance of the Infinite Father;
+for truth, justice, love, and faith in the bosom of man are higher
+manifestations of God than the barren zone of yonder sun; fairer
+revelations of him than all the brave grandeur of yonder sky. No
+truth fades out of science, no justice out of politics, no love out
+of the community, nor out of the family.
+
+"A great man rises, shines a few years, and presently his body goes
+to the grave, and his spirit to the home of the soul. But no
+particles of the great man are ever lost; they are not condensed
+into another great man, they are spread abroad.
+
+"There is more Washington in America now than when he who bore the
+name stood at the nation's head. Ever since Christ died, there has
+been a growth of the Christ-like.
+
+"Righteousness grows like corn-that out of the soil, this out of the
+soul.
+
+"Thus every atom of goodness incarnated in a single person, is put
+into every person, and ere long spreads over the earth, to create
+new beauty and sunshine everywhere."
+
+There was one spot which seemed more attractive to Dawn after
+Ralph's birth, than her home,--our homes are just where our hearts
+cling for the time, here or there,--and that spot was the home of
+Miss Bernard and her brother. This desire to be with them was
+settling into a fixed purpose to go, when one day her friend, Mrs.
+Austin, burst into her room, saying, "I've come for you. I think a
+change will do you good."
+
+A short time only was needed to pack a few articles of clothing, and
+they were soon on their way.
+
+It was early autumn, and the skies and trees were glowing with all
+the tinges and beauties of that season. Scarlet maples flashed here
+and there from their back-ground of pines and firs along the road,
+while over the dead limbs clambered the ivy, more brilliant in death
+than in life. The air was full of life. The voice of her friend
+chatting by her side was soothing to her nerves and spirits, for her
+life had been full almost to bursting since he had come so near.
+
+"You astonish me more and more, Dawn," said her friend, who had
+dropped her lighter mood, as they rode leisurely by the forest
+trees, which ever seem to suggest deeper thoughts.
+
+"And why, may I ask?"
+
+"Because your reconciliation to your loss seems so strange and
+unusual."
+
+"I have no loss. My friend has come home closer to my heart and
+understanding. The form is of little value to us when death gives us
+so much more of an individual."
+
+"Would I could think as you do, Dawn. You are strange, and yet you
+seem to get at the very core of life's experiences."
+
+"We cannot all think alike. There must ever be an individuality of
+thought, as well as of feature, yet on the common ground of
+principles we can meet. My serenity of mind is born of vision, for
+most clearly do I perceive that had I been united on earth to Ralph,
+our lives would have been limited. We should have gone into each
+other and remained, for he was the complement of my very self. In a
+world of so much need of labor, we could not be allowed to be of so
+little use to mankind."
+
+"But I do not see why you might not have blessed humanity more by
+your united efforts."
+
+"Because we should have been located, spiritually insphered in each
+other's life. Now I have no excuse for halting. I must be forever
+moving to some center, and he will find his life in and through me,
+loving me ever, but yet never quite settling into my life, which he
+was naturally inclined to do. In his atmosphere I shall gather
+another kind of strength and life; a life of two-fold power, because
+he will be so near in affection, so close and indwelling. I shall
+have the light of his spiritual life within me to guide me on; and
+can I not labor, yea, bear all things with such strength?"
+
+"O, Dawn, for such light one could call life and toil here, rest and
+heaven."
+
+"As it ever will be if we seek the harmonies of our lives."
+
+"Now you rob death of its gloom to me. You must talk with Basil of
+these things, he can understand and appreciate them. Did you know
+that he was a relative of the Seyton's, a cousin to Ralph's mother?"
+
+Dawn started. It was all clear now. Ralph would have her go to them,
+and that was the cause of her yearning to be there.
+
+"Shall we go to-morrow," she asked of her friend, who sat abstracted
+by her side.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"To Miss Bernard's?"
+
+"Yes, to-morrow. They are anxious to see you, as is also your
+protege, young Mr. Bowen, who has inquired for you every time I have
+met him."
+
+"I had almost forgotten him in my deep experiences. Has he changed?
+Does he seem more hopeful?"
+
+"He seems far away. I think it your mission to send people off the
+earth, or, at least, into larger orbits."
+
+"I should like to make their lives larger, for life is not worth
+anything unless we are daily putting off the old, and taking on the
+new. We cannot live our experiences over. Fresh breezes and fresh
+truths correspond-the outer and inner ever correspond. A clean
+dwelling indicates purity of heart and purpose, while the reverse
+leads us to beware of the occupant."
+
+They were now at the home of Mrs. Austin, who considerately
+conducted Dawn to her room and left her alone until tea-time.
+
+The evening brought Mr. Bowen, who appeared pale and dispirited, but
+he was speedily assisted to better states through Dawn's efforts.
+
+Again poor Margaret appeared to her sight, this time with a new look
+on her features, as though she had gathered strength and light from
+the partial recognition of one who had betrayed her, yet from whose
+life she could not be separated until the spiritual balance of
+forgiveness had been given and received.
+
+Clarence was soon engaged in earnest conversation. "Do you not
+think, Miss Wyman," said he, "that we may be weakened physically by
+spirits who come into our atmosphere?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it. If they remain, and are not illuminating, or
+changing their states; if they come to do us good, even, they may
+sometimes weaken us, because our magnetism which sustains them
+becomes attenuated."
+
+"I have thought that I was at times weaker, from the presence of one
+whom I feel is near to me."
+
+"It may be. She cannot rise until you are ready to do so. And when
+you both go to higher states, or you enter hers, a new life will
+inflow. There will come relief. There is monotony now in the
+influence, because she is waiting for new truths to be infused into
+your mind before others can flow in. Perhaps I cannot make it as
+clear to your mind as I perceive it."
+
+"The thought is suggestive, at least, and will help me out. I
+suppose these things are of slow growth in the human mind, like all
+things in nature?"
+
+"They would not be of the soul were they not slow, and of little
+value to us did they not ripen in the warmth and nurture of our own
+sunshine."
+
+"True. I would know more of these things. They give me strength to
+bear life's burdens much better, and although they seem to take my
+thoughts from my duties, I seem to be brought nearer to them; yet I
+cannot quite comprehend how it is."
+
+"This influence does not take your mind away; it lifts it above your
+cares, and makes you more contentedly subjective to the law that
+governs. Truth ever renders us content to bear, while it liberates
+us from thraldom."
+
+"I know that my life beyond will be richer and nobler for what
+little I have of these truths here. You have greatly blest me-"
+
+"And blest myself," she added, seeing the rich gratitude of his soul
+falter with the poverty of words.
+
+He took her hand, pressed it warmly in token of his deep
+indebtedness, and they parted, to meet no more on earth, save in
+spirit. That night the death-angel came. He was seized with
+hemorrhage of the lungs, and died instantaneously.
+
+The wife of the world, whom position and society had chained him to,
+put on robes of mourning, and in three months was a gay, flirting
+widow, while he was happy in the summer land, joined to his mate,
+the bride of his soul's first love.
+
+For a long time Dawn felt not the presence of either Clarence or
+Margaret. They were away, reposing in the atmosphere of forgiveness
+and love, and learning that "it is not all of life to live, nor all
+of death to die."
+
+Dawn sat beside Basil as an old friend, holding a likeness of Ralph
+in her hand.
+
+"I little thought that you knew our dear Ralph," said Mr. Bernard,
+breaking the silence they had enjoyed, "and yet I ought to have
+recognized his life within yours, Miss Wyman."
+
+Dawn knew well why he did not, for she had kept him away from
+herself.
+
+"I usually feel the sphere of the one dearest to another, when I
+come into their presence; but this time I was completely in the
+dark. There is some reason for it, I know." She knew it, and also
+that he could read her mind.
+
+"I will keep nothing back," she thought, and told him all. Just as
+she had finished, Mrs. Austin and his sister came in from the
+garden.
+
+"Your conditions must have blended very closely," said Beatrice,
+playfully, "it seems as though there was but one person in the
+room."
+
+"You are becoming a dangerous person to have about," said her
+brother, while his tone and speech were greatly at variance, for his
+voice to her was always sweetly modulated and full of tenderness.
+
+Mr. Bernard brought to Dawn a folio of drawings, some of Ralph's
+early sketches, which they looked over together until the hour of
+retiring, when the evening closed with a calm and natural prayer,
+such as was nightly heard in that pleasant home.
+
+"I shall claim Miss Wyman to-morrow," said Beatrice; "I have a great
+many subjects which I wish to talk upon with her; so, brother, you
+will see that our friend, Mrs. Austin, is entertained."
+
+"We will engage to make you very sorry that you are not of our
+party," he answered, as they separated for the night.
+
+"Now you are mine for a few hours," said Miss Bernard, after
+breakfast, to her guest, as she led the way, followed by Dawn, to a
+little room which she had fitted up, and in which she studied or
+mused, sewed or wrote, as the mood prompted. The walls were hung
+with pictures, her own work, some in oil, others in crayon; all
+landscapes of the most poetic conception and delicate finish.
+
+"I have always longed for the power to express my thoughts in
+pictures. What a keen enjoyment it must be, Miss Bernard, to have
+such a resource within one's self."
+
+"I think the power resides in every person, and only waits a
+quickening, like all other powers."
+
+Dawn thought of the hour in Germany when Ralph sat and sketched her
+portrait, and the intervening time was as though it had not been. It
+was but yesterday, and she sat again by his side watching the deep
+life of his eyes, eyes on which she would never look again. Were
+they closed forever? "O, heart so desolate. O, lone and barren
+shore, where are the waves of joy? All receded; all; and she seemed
+to stand upon the beach alone, while a chill ran over her.
+
+"You are chilly, Miss Wyman, let me close the window."
+
+But Dawn heard not, saw not; for before her vision appeared a face
+all radiant with life, toned by a look of intensest sympathy; while
+on the brow glittered a star so radiant that mortal might not gaze
+upon it. Its rays seemed to enter her very soul, and pierce it with
+life and light, bathing it with a flood of joy. It was no longer
+dark, her face beamed with a strange light when Miss Bernard turned
+to call her attention to some pictures which were unfinished.
+
+"You seemed far away, Miss Wyman," said she. "It's so like Basil. He
+has such moments of abstraction, and almost takes me with him."
+
+"I was away for a moment; but what a lovely picture you have here."
+
+"It's one I am trying to copy, but I make little progress."
+
+"Truth is not necessarily literal, is it? If so, I should make a
+poor copyist."
+
+"It is not; and there is where most persons fail. 'The Divine can
+never be literal, and there is in all art a vanishing point, where
+the Divine merges itself into the ideal.' And that vanishing point
+is seen in the human composition, as well as in natural objects,
+that point where we lose ourselves in the Divine, and merge our own
+being into that greater, grander being. You are an artist, Miss
+Wyman, you group human souls and portray them in all their
+naturalness; not on canvas, for that could not be, but spiritually
+to our inner sight.
+
+"I love art in whatever form it may come to glorify life, for true
+art is catholic, beneficent, touching with its mystic wand every
+soul within its reach, thrilling even the sluggish and the
+slumbering with a new sense of the Divine bounty which makes this
+world so lovely and fair."
+
+Miss Bernard looked grateful for the rich appreciation of her guest,
+which she had scarce dared hope to find; and from art they drifted
+to life and some of its present needs, glowing with friendly
+recognition as they advanced and found each possessed with similar
+views. Thus do we meet pilgrims on the way, at some unexpected turn,
+when we thought ourselves alone upon the road.
+
+"I know by these pictures, Miss Bernard," said Dawn, "that your life
+is full of practicality."
+
+"You surprise me, for every stranger thinks that I do nothing else."
+
+"If nothing else, you would not do this, or anything of a fanciful
+nature."
+
+"I see you have had some experience, for very few entertain that
+sentiment."
+
+"I have seen enough to know that those whose time is at their own
+disposal rarely accomplish anything, either practical or beautiful.
+The one helps the other, and one who delves hardest in the
+practical, rises ofttimes highest in the ideal."
+
+"It is true of my own self, and others. My experiences have been
+varied and deep in human life and I have learned that time is of no
+value unless it is estimated by the amount of labor that can be
+accomplished. When thus estimated, however it may be employed, the
+results are productive of good to the individual."
+
+"How I wish, Miss Bernard, that the whole human family might have
+just enough labor and time for improvement which they need. Life
+looks so hard and inharmonious at times, when we see thousands
+toiling from early morn till night, with no moments for thought or
+culture, that we cannot but ask where justice to God's children is
+meted out."
+
+"Life is strangely interspersed with clouds and sunshine. I know
+that somewhere all will find recompense for such seeming losses, and
+that what we now look upon as evil will be seen to be good and best
+for all. Did I not know this, Miss Wyman, I should have little heart
+to go on. Of one thing I am certain, and that is, we must each keep
+working, performing the labor of the day, and some time the great
+united good will come from all this individual work. It is but an
+atom that each one does, but it counts as the grain of sand on the
+sea-shore, and helps by its infinitesimal portion toward the
+aggregate."
+
+"Did you ever feel, Miss Bernard, that extended vision of life's
+conditions incapacitated us for real, vigorous service?"
+
+"I have felt at times it might be so, but am convinced that it does
+not; it only deepens our effort and endeavor."
+
+"I have often thought that I was unfitted for life, from the very
+fact that I saw so much to be done."
+
+"When we see so much it makes us meditate, and that very condition
+gives birth to greater power."
+
+"True, and yet I often wish I did not see so much. Why do I not
+oftener feel a power somewhat commensurate with the demand and
+wish?"
+
+"I suppose, because the power is born of the time and the need, and
+not a burden to encumber us on our way. It is not of material
+nature; cannot be packed and stored away for some occasion that may
+arise, but is proportioned and adapted to the kind and quality of
+the requirement."
+
+"You have explained it just as I felt it somewhere in my soul. The
+thought in me needed the quickening of another mind. You do me good,
+Miss Bernard, every moment. O, how much we need interchange of
+thought."
+
+"We do, indeed, in order to know ourselves, if nothing more. But I
+see that you are weary. Stay with us and rest, will you? New
+atmospheres are good to throw off fatigue in."
+
+"I should indeed be delighted to stay here. Was Ralph fond of being
+here?"
+
+"Very; and he is here now."
+
+"Then you believe in the presence of spirits, and their cognizance
+of us, and we of them?"
+
+"Yes, for many years, and have been led by their advice."
+
+"I am at rest. I find many who believe in communion, but not
+communication. I accept both."
+
+"And so do I. We will compare experiences, and have many happy
+hours. How much we shall all enjoy. You must know my brother, Miss
+Wyman, for he, too, loved Ralph with all the ardor of his deep
+nature."
+
+The next hour Dawn sat alone in communion with self, wondering at
+the daily events of life, and her own deepening womanhood. Life to
+her was growing richer each day. She felt that she was catching the
+divine breath, and coming into celestial harmony, which is the
+soul's true state. O, what bliss awaits us, when we have passed from
+the exterior to the interior life; a state not of worlds, but of
+soul, where we come into divine submission, and can say, "Thy will,
+not mine, be done."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Austin left the next day, and the soul-united trio were alone.
+Only those who know the value of fresh minds and blending qualities
+of heart and spirit, can realize how much they enjoyed together. To
+Dawn, Basil seemed new and old,--old in acquaintance, as we ever find
+those who have pursued the same current of thought; new in the power
+of presenting truth to her mind, in fresh combination and coloring.
+He had all the delicacy of Ralph, with more mental vigor, and
+broader experiences.
+
+His sister, Dawn learned to love better every day, as she witnessed
+the exercise of her varied powers, all working in harmony, and
+rounding her life into completeness.
+
+"I could live here forever," she exclaimed, one morning, when nature
+was sparkling with diamond drops of dew, and singing her morning
+praises.
+
+"Then stay forever," said a voice, deep and musical, at her side.
+"Why not stay forever? for we should stay where we live the most,"
+said Basil, laying his hand on her head. "I suppose, however, the
+'forever' meant, so long as your life here is replete with
+enjoyment, did it not?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose that is our definition of 'forever,' and as it is a
+portion of it, we may properly call it thus."
+
+"Then see that you stay your 'forever,' and make us happy in so
+doing," and his earnest eyes fastening their gaze on hers, told how
+dearly he loved to have her there.
+
+The bell rang for breakfast, and the little party brought bright
+faces and fresh thoughts to the meal.
+
+"Would you like to sail upon the pond, to-day?" inquired Miss
+Bernard of Dawn.
+
+"Nothing better, if there are lilies we can gather."
+
+"There is a plenty, so we shall go. You will see my brother in a new
+phase to-day, Miss Wyman, for nothing calls forth the sweetness of
+his nature like sailing."
+
+"I should advise one to go often, if it had that effect," said Dawn
+scarce daring to lift her eyes.
+
+"I cannot afford to be exercised that way often," he answered,
+looking, it seemed to her, almost stern.
+
+"Why?" inquired his sister, laughing.
+
+"Because it so completely exhausts me to be called out into a high,
+spiritual state too often."
+
+"You speak of conditions as compartments, brother. May we not blend
+the whole, into one perfect state?"
+
+"We may harmonize and unite, but each distinct faculty must forever
+have a separate action, like the functions of the human body,
+perfect in parts, to make a perfect whole."
+
+"I perceive your meaning, yet it does not attenuate me, at least I
+do not feel that it does, when the spiritual and affectional parts
+of my nature are exercised."
+
+"One reason is because your balancing power is greater than mine;
+another, there is more spiritual elasticity in women than in men.
+Women rebound in a breath; men take a more circuitous route."
+
+"You have explained yourself very well, yet we hope to see you
+to-day in your best mood."
+
+"My companions would draw me into that state. When will you both be
+ready?" he asked, rising.
+
+"At nine o'clock."
+
+"Then be at the lower garden gate at that hour." Having give this
+direction, Basil went to give some orders for the day, while Dawn
+and Beatrice dressed themselves for the sail.
+
+"Wear something which you do not fear to soil, Miss Wyman; and have
+you a broad-brimmed hat to protect you from the sun?"
+
+"I have. It is one of the staple articles of my wardrobe. I never go
+from home without it."
+
+They were soon ready, and found Basil at the gate at the appointed
+hour. The lake lay calm and clear in its woodland setting. They
+glided for miles over its smooth surface, and each felt the other's
+need of silence. A gentle breeze just stirred the waters into
+ripples, breaking the stillness of the hour.
+
+"The correspondence of speech," said Basil, giving the boat a sudden
+turn, and displaying some drooping willows on the shore which were
+duplicating their graceful branches in the clear waters.
+
+"When we are passive, do not they of the upper world thus throw
+their image upon our minds?" he said, looking earnestly on the
+reflection of the branches.
+
+Dawn thrilled at the beautiful analogy, and thought of one unseen
+who might be, perhaps, at that time, enjoying the outer world
+through her tranquil state, if not through her senses.
+
+"I sailed once on this lake with Ralph. It was such a day as this,"
+said Basil. "O, how he enjoyed it. He loved the water, everything
+from brook to ocean."
+
+"I wonder if he is near us to day?" said Miss Bernard.
+
+Dawn wept. Her spirit was full of love and harmony, and the tears
+gushed forth like waters leaping from joyous cascades. They were not
+tears of sorrow or of loneliness, but crystal drops of emotion.
+
+  "There are harmonists whose fingers,
+    From the pulses of the air,
+  Call out melody that lingers
+    All along the golden stair
+  Of the spiral that ascendeth
+    To the paradise on high,
+  And arising there emblendeth
+    With the music of the sky."
+
+And there they were lifted, and dwelt.
+
+"We are approaching the lilies now," said Basil, feeling that he
+must break the deep spiritual atmosphere into which they were all
+passing. "We must keep on the earth-side a little longer," he said,
+playfully.
+
+"Long enough to gather some of these beautiful lilies at least,"
+said his sister, as she gazed lovingly into his deep, tender eyes.
+
+He swung the boat round, and gathering a handful, threw them at the
+feet of Dawn.
+
+"I will twine you a garland," said Beatrice, taking some of the
+lilies and weaving their long stems together.
+
+"No, no. There are but few who can wear lilies alone, Miss Bernard.
+Some may wear them, but not I."
+
+"You are not the best judge, perhaps, as to what becomes your
+spiritual and physical nature," said Basil.
+
+"I know my states, and that lilies are not suited to my present
+condition," answered Dawn.
+
+"Since you will not be crowned, Miss Wyman, will you please pass
+that basket? I think we all need to descend into more normal
+conditions; we are too sublimated." Following this suggestion he
+allowed the boat to float without guidance, while they partook of
+the delicate yet substantial repast.
+
+The evening carnation tinged the clouds about the setting sun as
+they sailed homeward, gathering lilies on their way. The bells from
+a village near by were ringing, and the sound came distinctly over
+the water, musical and sweet to the ear.
+
+"Do you remember the passage in Pilgrim's Progress, where the bells
+in heaven were ringing, over the river?" said Beatrice to them both.
+
+"I do," said Dawn, earnestly. "O, that we all were across that
+river. When shall we be there?"
+
+"I suppose when our usefulness is most needed here," said Basil, in
+a tone which caused them both to start.
+
+"Why, brother?"
+
+"Because that seems to be the law of life. All men and women go when
+most needed here; as the rose dies when its tinge is brightest, its
+blossom fullest."
+
+"And that is our time," said Dawn.
+
+"And God's," he answered.
+
+Dawn found on her dressing table that night a garland of lilies and
+red roses.
+
+"Passion and purity," she said. "O, this will do for human heads."
+She laid long that night wondering whether Basil or his sister
+twined it. It did not seem like Beatrice, and yet she scarce thought
+he would do it. It lay between them, however, and pondering on that,
+and the day's keen enjoyment, she fell asleep, nor woke till morn.
+
+Miss Bernard was very busy that day from necessity, she said, and
+partly to balance the state of the day previous.
+
+"I shall want your company this afternoon for a drive," she said to
+Dawn; "this morning the library, piano and garden are at your
+disposal, to use at your pleasure. I have domestic duties to
+perform, and hope you will make yourself as comfortable as
+possible."
+
+So little time, and so much to enjoy. First, Dawn went into the
+garden and gathered some flowers for the library; then she played an
+hour, she thought, but it proved to be two, on looking at the clock,
+and the remainder of the morning was passed with books. The bell
+rang for dinner long before she thought it could be time, so quickly
+and pleasantly had the hours passed away.
+
+After dinner and a little rest, they started on their drive.
+
+"I am going to take you to a little village, or cluster of houses,
+to see how its peculiar atmosphere affects you," remarked Miss
+Bernard.
+
+After a pleasant drive through shaded streets and roads, they came
+in sight of a church spire, then a few cottages here and there, and
+were soon in the centre of the village, when Miss Bernard looked
+inquiringly to her guest.
+
+"How frigid and cold it seems here. Why, there is such a desolate,
+unsocial feeling I should not live out half my days if I had to
+remain in such a place. Have I indicated its peculiarity?"
+
+"Perfectly."
+
+"But what is the cause of it? Surely the scenery, so lovely and
+calm, ought to inspire the deepest sentiments of social life in the
+hearts of the inhabitants."
+
+"One cause is too much wealth; another, too few people. The place
+needs the addition of two or three hundred families to give it life
+and impetus. Each family now here has settled into itself, and grown
+conventional and rusty. Most of the people have considerable mental
+ability, but lock and bar their souls and hearts so closely that
+their better feelings cannot flow at all, nor find their legitimate
+sphere of action. They are all nice, quiet people, read a good deal,
+adopt theories and fine drawn sentiments in profession, but never
+make them of any use to themselves or others. They have considerable
+mental sympathy, but none of heart and soul. They seem to live by
+rule. No spontaneous outgushes of their nature are ever seen, for
+they have dropped into a kind of polite externalism, and lost all
+the warm magnetic currents of life."
+
+"But are there not a few exceptions?"
+
+"A very few, but the cold is so severe that it soon freezes out
+their warm life, and the good that they would do is put far from
+their reach. They are a very pious, church-going people, and
+invariably as a class, look upon all forms of entertainment, such as
+assemblies and theatricals, as out of order, and sinful. Of course
+the young people grow old long before their time, and leave the
+place, and you know that one of the saddest sights on earth is a
+little village deserted of youth. All this might be remedied by an
+infusion of a strong social force; but, one or two families who have
+lived very different lives, and have taken up their abode in it, can
+do but little towards so desirable a change. The little hall which
+we are now passing should have a series of assemblies each winter,
+concerts, private theatricals, meetings for conversation, and the
+like, in which all, free of caste limitation, might take part. Now
+it is seldom lighted with gay and joyous faces. The young have no
+spirited life, consequently the old have none; for it's the merry
+beating of their hearts, and happy faces which enkindles and
+rejuvenates the joys of their elders. Everything joyous is looked
+upon as innovation, and frowned down. Those who reach out for a
+little more life, become frost-bitten, and gladly retire within
+themselves. I have given you a sad picture, I know, but it's true,
+not only of this but of many places."
+
+"It is sad, indeed, because 't is true."
+
+"Notice this little vine-clad cottage, which we are approaching,"
+said Miss Bernard.
+
+"It's a lovely spot; I hope the people are adapted to it."
+
+"They are not, or, rather, are not suited to their conditions. It is
+occupied by two maiden ladies, who do not know how to live and get
+the most out of life, and each other. They live too close, too
+enwrapped within themselves. They should have separate interests, or
+occupations; but instead of that, they live in each other's
+atmosphere every day, go together and return together, see the same
+people at the same time, when their interviews should be varied, and
+each at times alone. Thus their magnetisms have become so
+interblended, that one has nothing to give the other. Now, Miss
+Wyman, after such mutual exhaustion, what can they have for each
+other?"
+
+"Nothing but exhaustion; and how many live in the same way, plodding
+through life, growing old before their time, losing power, or
+magnetism, which is power, every day. Such persons close their eyes
+to any light one might throw upon their path, and I see no way, but
+for all such to remain where they are. It is lamentably true that
+comparatively few of the inhabitants of earth are growing people;
+most of them are content with a slow, dull routine of daily life.
+I'd rather see persons full of zeal and purpose, even though their
+impulsive nature might lead them to commit many mistakes, rather
+than one whose life seems purposeless."
+
+"So had I. Motion is life; and in that motion we do many things
+which we afterwards regret, yet find them to have been the
+legitimate results of life; so I suppose we should not regret
+anything."
+
+"Nothing which has occurred outside or independent of our will or
+design."
+
+"It is hard to tell where our own will commences to act; is it not,
+Miss Bernard?"
+
+"I sometimes question whether we can; yet in order for our lives to
+be individualized there must be some point where we lay aside our
+personal will, disengage it, as it were, from the causes or outside
+forces, which seem to be ever propelling us."
+
+"What do you consider the most quiescent state of the soul?"
+
+"That state in which the mind clearly perceives it could not have
+afforded to have dispensed with one personal experience, least of
+all, with one sorrow which formed a part of that experience."
+
+"How few can subscribe to that, save in theory, yet I know by the
+few years of my own life, that I could not lose one of my
+experiences, least of all, those that deepened the mind; or gave me
+higher, broader views of life. I hope I shall live many years, Miss
+Bernard, for the more we know of this life, the better prepared
+shall we be to live and enjoy the other."
+
+"They are so interwoven that one must really know both well in order
+to act and live well in either."
+
+"Have you ever seen with your interior perceptions the conditions of
+mortals who have passed beyond the vale? I have felt their states,
+but have never seen them. I think you also have, for I have heard
+from your friend, Miss Wyman, of your wondrous power to see at
+times, those who have thrown aside the mortal. I should be deeply
+interested in a relation of any of your experiences at some future
+time when you feel inclined to give them; for my faith in the
+ability of spirits to return to earth, and influence us, is as deep
+and strong as my trust in God."
+
+"In some quiet hour, I will tell you many of my personal
+experiences. It is a strange, dual life I live, and sometimes I feel
+myself in such mixed states, that I scarcely know my mooring, if,
+indeed, I have any."
+
+"Some do not, I think."
+
+"I am one, then, of that class; I seem to belong everywhere, and to
+everybody."
+
+"I am quite certain of two, to whom you belong-myself and
+brother-but here we are in sight of home, and Basil is waiting for
+us on the piazza."
+
+"It is pleasant to have a brother like yours, and to me to look upon
+the relation you bear to each other, for usually the relation of
+brother and sister is so ordinary and means so little."
+
+"He is a noble man and brother, and has done much toward developing
+my spirit. I want you to know him well, and learn what a friend and
+companion he can be to woman."
+
+At that moment they wound around the drive, and he came to meet
+them, his face full of kindness and affection, greeting his sister
+as though she had been gone weeks, instead of hours only; and
+bestowing a look of generous hospitality upon Dawn, whose thoughts
+seemed to grow richer every moment in his presence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Gladly would Dawn have spent many days with Basil and his sister,
+but her life was too active to allow her to tarry long in one place.
+On the evening of the day, the events of which were narrated in our
+last chapter, a note was placed in her hand from Mrs. Austin,
+stating that she was ill and needed her presence.
+
+"You cannot go before to-morrow," broke in both sister and brother,
+at once.
+
+"We must make much of this evening," said Beatrice.
+
+"And spend it as though it was our last together; for life's
+conditions are so uncertain," remarked Basil, in that far-off tone,
+in which he often spoke.
+
+"We may have many experiences before another meeting, yet I hope we
+shall come together again soon."
+
+"How shall we spend our evening?" said Miss Bernard to her brother,
+yet looking at Dawn.
+
+"Naturally. Let it take its own course." Their eyes at that instant
+rested on Dawn, whose features glowed with a heavenly light and
+sweetness.
+
+"It is a trance symptom," said Basil. "Let us keep ourselves
+passive."
+
+The light of the room seemed to vibrate with life, and their bodies
+to be so charged with an electric current so etherial that it seemed
+that their spirits must be freed from all earthly hold. And then
+there came a calm over all. The features of Dawn seemed to change to
+those of one so familiar to them in their early days, that they
+started with surprise.
+
+"I was on earth known as Sybil Warner," said a voice which seemed
+not that of Dawn, and yet her vocal organs were employed to speak
+the name.
+
+"Sybil Warner!" exclaimed Basil, white with emotion, and turning to
+his sister, whose palor equaled his own, "Have you ever spoken that
+name to her?" he asked, pointing to the upturned face of Dawn.
+
+"Never! I am equally astonished and interested with yourself."
+
+"Shall we question her,--the spirit?" But before Basil could reply
+the spirit spoke:
+
+"You were not aware, I know, that I passed to the spirit-land a few
+years ago; and for that reason, and many others, I come to give you
+a test. The mention of my name must have been a surprise to you, for
+never in the earth-life, did I meet this lady whose organism I now
+employ to speak to you. You would know of my life, after I withdrew
+from the world of fashion. At some other time it shall be given you;
+enough for the present, that I became world-weary, and, possessing
+what is called second-sight, drifted through life, caring naught for
+the heartlessness around me. The life which makes up three-fourths
+of the so called happiness of humanity I could not adopt as my own;
+therefore I was alone, and a wanderer. I was, of course, called
+strange and weird. What cared I, when every-day glimpses of the
+larger life were given me,--that life which I was so soon to enter
+upon. One humble spirit stands by me here, whose name is Margaret,
+and sends love and gratitude to the beautiful being through whom I
+now address you.
+
+"Friends of my youth, always so good and true to me, I come to
+mingle my life with yours, and to grow strong with you in good and
+holy purposes. We of the upper air, do not live alone; we need your
+life, as well as you do ours. This communion is as ancient as time,
+and will endure throughout eternity. Volumes could not tell of the
+broken households united through this light. Search for its hidden
+treasures; they are worthy of untiring study. Its glory will not
+fall into your life; it must be worked out by your own efforts and
+found within your own experience. Thus it will become a part of your
+immortal self, and help you on your heavenly way. The skeptic cannot
+sit and call us who have thrown off the mortal, by words alone, for
+only in answer to deep and heartfelt desire do we come and hold
+communion with our earthly friends. They who seek shall find.
+
+"Of the spiritual condition of those who enter this state of
+existence, I can only say to you now that it is identically the same
+after what you call 'death,' as before; neither higher nor lower.
+Progress and happiness here, is as it is with you, dependent upon
+personal effort. We of the spirit-world have rest and unrest, hope
+and doubt, according as our states, conditions and surroundings
+vary. One of my strongest purposes has been to identify myself to
+you, my friends, to-night. I have succeeded beyond a doubt; none can
+exist in your minds of my identity-my self, for you have never
+breathed my name to this mortal. Again will I come to you and tell
+you of our lovely world which we enjoy, each according to individual
+development. I dwell in peace. Peace I leave with you. Farewell."
+
+Dawn passed her hand over her brow, as though trying to recall a
+vanished thought, and slowly came to her normal condition, while her
+face shone with a light most beautiful to behold.
+
+"Were you conscious of what has transpired?" asked Miss Bernard.
+
+"Yes; and yet so absorbed in another life, that my own spirit seemed
+floating, yielding to another's will and heart pulsations. This is
+imperfect, I know, as an explanation, but it is the best I can
+give."
+
+"It is something which cannot be explained," said Basil, and she
+knew by these words that he fully comprehended her.
+
+O, soul, how thou dost relieve the labor of the mind, seeing with
+finer vision into the centre of life, and there beholding the
+countless workings of the inner being. What an atom of our self do
+we exhibit in our little sojourn here. Those of limited sight say we
+are thus and so, and pass on. Others measure us by themselves, and
+call us dull, or lacking vital life, ignorant of the fact that
+they each take all they know how to appropriate, of our quality. A
+lifetime would give them no more, if their receptive states did not
+change.
+
+"This experience has given our life a new sweetness," said Basil,
+seating himself by Dawn. "We have long believed in these things, but
+have never had such proof of their truthfulness as to-night. We
+need not tell you how happy you have made us, or how much we shall
+always enjoy your coming; for we enjoy you personally, aside from
+this thrilling power which your organization embodies. I, too, have
+experienced this light, and know well the strange thrill which comes
+over us, when we meet those who are akin in soul, and assimilate
+with our mental and spiritual natures."
+
+"And how the depth is sounded, when we are brought in contact with
+those who are antagonistic," said Dawn.
+
+"I presume that those who disharmonize us, aid us to higher states,
+for they force us out in search of something better. The divine
+economy is at work in every phase of life, and our growth of soul is
+often greater in our night of sorrow than in our day of joy; or
+rather, we reach forth deeper and stronger after the true life, when
+the cloud is upon us, than when the sun shines brightly on our path,
+just as the tree extends its roots farther into the ground, when
+rocked and swayed by the tempest."
+
+"Yet the sunshine of happiness matures the leaves and branches. I
+have had much sunshine," said Dawn, speaking the words slowly and
+tenderly.
+
+"I would that the storms might pass over you, but in the human lot I
+know they must come."
+
+She looked into his eyes, and they appeared so like Ralph's just
+then that tears came to her own, and she could not force them back.
+
+"This emotion is not all your own," said Mr. Bernard.
+
+Dawn looked up inquiringly.
+
+"He is here-Ralph, and too often for your good and his own."
+
+A flush came over her face.
+
+"I mean no harm," he continued. "It is true that he will weaken you
+by too much emotion, which was ever a large component of his
+beautiful and trusting nature. Ralph must put aside his deep
+tenderness, and come less often, and then he will bring you more
+strength when he does come to you."
+
+"But what if he never left me, and never can, Mr. Bernard?"
+
+"Then you must mingle with those who are his opposite, those who can
+strengthen him through you."
+
+"I never thought of that before."
+
+"Nor I, Miss Wyman. It is the impression of the moment, but none the
+less true for that."
+
+"I feel its truth, and will act upon it; thus a portion of his
+development will come through my associations, be drawn up through
+the earthly conditions that surround me. How little we know of the
+other life, or of this."
+
+"The two are so conjoined that a knowedge of one cannot but bring
+with it some truth concerning the other."
+
+The conversation had been of so much interest that they had not
+noticed how far into the night it had been protracted, until a
+sudden glance at the clock led Beatrice to suggest that Dawn might
+wish for rest preparatory for her journey on the morrow.
+
+"How kind of you to come so soon, Dawn," said Mrs. Austin, excitedly
+clasping her to her heart. "I am so sad, and only you can relieve
+me."
+
+"What is it? Are you or any of your family ill?"
+
+"No, no. Something worse, much worse to me. Sit by me while I tell
+you."
+
+Dawn took the seat, while in hurried, trembling tones, her friend
+related her story.
+
+"You know my sister Emily, Mrs. Dalton. Well, two days ago I
+received a letter from her, stating that she had left her husband,
+and was coming to see me a few days to tell me all, and then go
+through the world alone."
+
+"Is that all? I thought something fearful had happened," said Dawn,
+looking calmly on her friend.
+
+"All? Can anything be worse than that? Think of the disgrace to us;"
+and Mrs. Austin burst into a flood of tears.
+
+"It's no disgrace if they could not harmonize, but the very highest
+and best thing they could do."
+
+"O, Dawn; but what will the world come to, if all the married people
+flare up at every little inharmony, and separate?"
+
+"You are not the judge of your sister's course. You do not know what
+she may have passed through. She knows best, and this is her work
+alone, her cross. I do not advocate that parties should separate,
+until all means for a harmonious life have been tried. Then, if they
+find there can be no assimilation, it is far better that they should
+part, rather than they should live a false life. The world in its
+different stages of progress, has been sustained thus far and will
+continue to be. We are in the midst of a social revolution, and
+there must be many separations, and changes innumerable in every
+form and condition of life. Truth and error must be divorced, and
+whatever does not affinitize in mind and matter, in the moral or
+spiritual world, must be separated. This is the inevitable result of
+God's law, and can no more be set aside than any other which he has
+ordained. You speak of 'disgrace,' but to me that would come only,
+when, after employing every possible means to live a full,
+harmonious life, united, and it is found an impossibility, the two
+continue to live together despite the decree of God, made manifest
+in their nature, that it is sinful for them to do so. This all is
+within the province of that 'higher law' which many profess to
+contemn, but to which all must sooner or later submit."
+
+"I wish you could talk with Edward; he holds nearly the same views.
+Will you stay with me a few days, until my sister comes, for I have
+not strength to bear this?"
+
+"I will; but would it be agreeable for her to see any one here? She
+naturally desires to see you alone."
+
+"She loves you, and said in her letter, 'if I could see Dawn, or Mr.
+Wyman, I think I could gain strength.'"
+
+Dawn had no opportunity to escape, for Mrs. Dalton arrived that
+afternoon, unexpectedly, and before night had opened her soul to
+her. It was while Mrs. Austin supposed she had retired for the
+night, that Mrs. Dalton sought the room of Dawn; for the heart,
+while passing ordeals, seeks another to share or to lessen its woe.
+
+"I will in a few words tell you all," she said to Dawn. "Twelve
+years ago I was married, to please my parents and friends, to one
+toward whom I never felt the thrill which should glow through all
+our being in the presence of one whom we take into so close a
+relation. Between us there never can exist the conjugal relation,
+for we are to each other but as brother and sister. Long have I
+struggled with my sense of duty and moral obligation, and the
+struggle has done me good. I have found that my life could not come
+into fulness, or my being unfold its powers while a relation not of
+my own choosing was maintained.
+
+"Henry has a good and fine nature, one worthy of the warmest love of
+some woman. We are both on the same mental plane, yet he has not the
+strength to brave the world's opinion. In my atmosphere he seems to
+see as I do, and to realize that we should be far better
+apart,--better physically and spiritually,--but when he leaves me he
+becomes weak and distrustful of himself. I cannot say that I regret
+my experience; but something within tells me that it has come to an
+end. We shall both suffer; I feel it; no ordeal of the soul is
+passed without it, but my life will be far better alone, far better.
+Now can you give me any strength or sympathy? for I know well that I
+must walk through life with but little of human friendship. My act
+is frowned upon by all my relatives, which, of course, only serves
+to raise my individuality to a higher point, and throws me still
+deeper into self. I have no children, and can easily take care of
+myself. Does my decision seem rash or impulsive to you?"
+
+"Far from it. My warmest sympathies are with you, and with all who,
+seeing the right, pursue it regardless of what the world may say or
+do. A deep, conscientious regard for the best interests of the two
+most intimately concerned in such a step, is all that is required.
+You are under inspiration now, and what you have done will be seen
+to be best for your individual lives. You have left him because
+there was wanting that heart reciprocity, which is the vital current
+of conjugal life. The experience was necessary for you, else it
+would not have been given you. Look on it as such, as no loss to you
+or to him, and life with its thousand harmonies will flow to you. If
+the married could but see that the moment they are not in spiritual
+harmony they are losing life and strength, and in order to avoid the
+loss would seek a change of some kind,--such change as their interior
+wisdom may determine,--earth would be a paradise to-day, and family
+relations what God designed they should be. But it is usually the
+case, that, instead of a mutual discernment of this truth, one only
+perceives it, and it follows that it is best the evil should for a
+time be borne, for the one of smaller vision would only be filled
+with jealousy and unrest at the suggestion even, of a change. There
+are innumerable families that this very moment should change their
+relations. Old elements should be superseded by new; conditions
+which have surrounded them so long that they have become powerless
+for good and powerful for evil, so far as physical and spiritual
+strength is concerned, should be radically changed. We need a
+revolution in social life, an amendment to the constitution which
+governs society. Have this right, and all will be right,--politics,
+religion, and all else. Slowly these truths are being unfolded to
+the comprehension of the human mind. Some have seen them for years;
+and they whose views of life have been broadened and deepened by the
+adoption of a spiritualistic faith, long since became familiar with
+them. Such are now catching glimpses of the coming light, and have
+the assurance that ere long will arise the perfect day."
+
+"You have done me good, Miss Wyman; and now there is but one person
+to whom I wish to speak my thoughts, and that is-"
+
+"My father."
+
+"You are right; for he can give me what I so much need-moral
+strength."
+
+"I think your next step will be to return with me," said Dawn, in
+that cordial and positive manner which made it seem as though there
+was really no other step, or at least that it was the first to be
+taken. The next day Mrs. Dalton and Dawn left together, and a
+feeling of relief came to Mrs. Austin, for outside of her own
+judgment and prejudice, she seemed to feel that it would do her
+sister good. Thus are we often obliged to leap mental barriers, lay
+aside preconceptions, and accept what does not strictly accord with
+our reason, for the soul has larger orbits than those of mere mental
+states.
+
+It was almost as though they had never met before, so delightful was
+the re-union between Dawn and her father. Would that all might learn
+how closely we may come together by bodily separation, paradoxical
+as this may seem at first thought.
+
+"I have been very happy, father, while away, and have brought a
+needy soul to you for life," said Dawn, nestling close to that
+strong, protecting form, and gazing into his eyes, as though she
+would infuse his being with her own life.
+
+"I am glad you have been happy, and that your happiness does not
+abate, but increase by change of states. Dawn, my own darling, I saw
+your mother last night in my dreams. She brought to you a blue
+mantle, which signifies rest and protection, a rest not of this
+world. She enfolded you in it, and as you passed through the dark,
+sunless places of earth, the mantle grew brighter and brighter,
+until its color almost dazzled the human eye. There were many who
+could not gaze upon it, and turned away. Others stood until the
+blinding effect passed, and then followed you with their gaze. This
+mantle of blue signifies inspiration, as well as rest. They whose
+inner light is strong, will look upon the truths you utter, and
+appreciate them, while others, less strong, will turn away, blinded
+by their brilliancy, and repair again to their old and worn ideas.
+Blue is of heaven; its quality is not of earth. May it never fade
+while this mantle enwraps my child." Mr. Wyman remained silent for
+some moments, and then remarked: "Now, if you will bring Mrs.
+Dalton, whom I have not seen for many years, I shall be happy to
+meet her."
+
+Dawn found her weeping bitterly, and folded her arms about her until
+the sobs ceased.
+
+"I am not presentable, had I not better wait and see him to-morrow?"
+she said, leaning her head upon Dawn's bosom.
+
+"No; go now. This is just the time for you. You need his counsel and
+sympathy most, now. Come," and she led her like a child into his
+presence.
+
+He did not meet her with formality, but took her hand, and led her
+to a seat, then sat beside her. Dawn left, and soon found her mental
+poise.
+
+Words grew into sentences, thought leaped after thought, and newly
+perceived truths came to the mind of Hugh with strange and wonderful
+rapidity, as he sought to calm and console the tempest-tossed mind.
+A blessing descended on the communion, and when they parted, one
+could not tell which face shone the brightest.
+
+Mrs. Dalton laid down that night with stronger purposes of life, and
+a deeper conviction that the step which she had taken was the right
+one, though all before her was dark and unknown.
+
+"Give all to her that she calls forth, and inspires in you, for that
+is her right," said Mrs. Wyman, when her husband told her of his
+interview with Mrs. Dalton.
+
+How many wives of the present day are deep and strong enough to
+utter such sentiments? It was no lip phrase, for it came from her
+heart-a true heart, which pulsated to human needs.
+
+"Noblest of women!" her husband was about to exclaim, but instead of
+speech, he pressed her to his heart, and then turned and wept.
+
+Why had woman so blest his life, and showered so many gifts upon it,
+when thousands were dying for one blessing? It was an orison which
+rose to heaven from his heart that night, and when he laid his head
+upon his pillow, a rich resolve stirred his being to its depths,
+that then and ever, his best self should be dedicated to the service
+of humanity. Pastors sounded the name of God, and proclaimed what
+they called, "his word," far and near over the land, and were paid
+in gold for their speech, but few men lived, acted and spoke like
+Hugh Wyman. Few reached the human heart so closely, or breathed more
+consolation into it than he. Old and young, rich and poor, received
+blessings from his hand and from his cultured mind, each according
+to his needs. He placed in the hands of those who groped in darkened
+ways, a light which guided them to the temple of truth, and going
+out into the highways and hedges of life, invited all to the feast
+which his heavenly father had spread out for every child of
+humanity.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I met Howard Deane a few nights since. He appears to be sadly out
+of health and somewhat consumptive," remarked Mr. Wyman to his wife,
+a few evenings subsequent to Mrs. Dalton's departure.
+
+"And the reason is quite apparent. He lives too closely in one
+atmosphere. He needs a change of surroundings, mental and physical."
+
+"No one of our course of thinking can fail to perceive that the
+long, uninterrupted companionship of his wife, she being naturally
+weaker than himself, has so drawn upon his magnetism, that his
+vitality has become thoroughly exhausted," remarked Hugh.
+
+"I do not doubt that it is so. His nature is large and social, and
+he requires a circle of varied minds to keep him in a good, healthy
+condition of body and spirit, as we all do; for though they may be
+those who can unite with one alone, and lose nothing by such
+exclusiveness, yet generally, the larger the orbit of life, the
+better the results that accrue to both, and the greater the
+development of each.
+
+"You are right; yet how closely we have lived together, Arline,
+since we were married."
+
+"Because we both had large experiences and had mingled in many
+spheres, previous to our union."
+
+"Right again; ever right," and he gazed on her with tenderest
+emotion, while she wondered if the time would ever come when she
+should not hold him as she then did. The thought made her tremble,
+so deeply did she love this man who supplied her nature so richly
+every day with that element of manliness which all women need, but
+so few receive.
+
+"I will invite Howard here to spend an evening," said her husband,
+little knowing how tenderly the heart of his wife was going out to
+him, at that moment.
+
+The next evening Mr. Deane came with Hugh to tea. Mrs. Wyman was
+surprised to see how pale and care-worn he appeared, and longed to
+reach his mind, that she might give him that life which he so much
+needed.
+
+Mrs. Deane, after the recovery of their child, finding her husband's
+tenderness revived towards her, settled into her own ways of
+thinking and living more completely than ever. For a time she with
+her husband lived in a state of undivided love. When that passed
+away, she was the same exacting woman as before, allowing him no
+life but what he gathered from her; no thoughts but her own to live
+upon. In such an atmosphere he drooped, and would have died, but for
+the timely aid of Mr. Wyman and his wife; those truth-loving souls
+who cared not for the popular sentiment when principles were to be
+maintained, and who stood up courageously for the truth, regardless
+of those who turned sneeringly aside from them, or ridiculed and
+misrepresented their views.
+
+Mrs. Deane's course amply illustrated one of the evils of our
+present marriage system, the removal of which will cause confusion
+and perhaps some wrong doing. But we have confusion and wrongs at
+present, and all history testifies to the truth that revolutions in
+political, religious and social institutions, though seemingly
+disastrous for the time, have been followed by better conditions for
+humanity, and advanced mankind to higher states. In a relation so
+intimate, so holy, as the union of two souls, human law has but
+little to do. When it enters as an external agent, with its rites in
+conformity with custom, this human law is liable to err, but the
+divine law which governs internal relations can never err. Hence,
+marriage should be subject only to this divine or higher law. The
+questions which grow out of this statement are many, none of which
+are probably greater, or about which the public pulse is more
+sensitive than those relating to property. But they, too, may have
+had their day, and higher conditions as regards material wealth, be
+ready to descend upon us. Of woman's right to be paid according to
+her labor-of her right to the college and the various professions,
+her eternal right to follow her inspiration, and become just what
+she feels she is fitted for, and thus fulfil her destiny, we have
+been in the dark, and have groped and stumbled; and our theory and
+practice of marriage have been as imperfect as all others. Whatever
+has been, has been right and proper for its time, but now a change
+is called for. The advancement of the race demands it. No more shall
+one man amass great wealth, and in so doing leave thousands
+penniless; no more shall politicians, who twaddle and toady for
+offices, deprive themselves and others of manhood and all that is
+noble; no more shall the pastor love his money, his position, and
+the praise of men, better than an opportunity to speak the truth
+fearlessly.
+
+We are living in a great age, and the age demands great men and
+women, who dare brave the public voice and popular side, if that
+voice and side are wrong. We would not confound daring with heroism,
+or mistake boldness for bravery. Nor should we throw our truths away
+upon the dull and listless. There are seekers enough, who, when they
+receive these gems of truth, will value them. Let those who possess,
+learn to know when and where to utter them. Then will the darkness
+flee away, for every ray of light aids the advance of the golden
+age.
+
+Mrs. Wyman did not speak to Howard Deane of himself, but upon
+subjects of equal interest to both, until of his own accord, he
+alluded to his own state. Hugh left the room to write letters,
+leaving them to that close communion which is never perfect with a
+third person present.
+
+"I think disease often commences in the mind, and acts upon the body
+until that may succumb to its power," said Mrs. Wyman, in answer to
+a remark of Mr. Deane upon his bodily state.
+
+"Do you think mine is of the mental?" he inquired, looking at her so
+earnestly that he seemed to penetrate her very being.
+
+"I do."
+
+"What has caused it, can you tell me?"
+
+"I think the need of cheerful and varied society. Your nature is
+large, social in its proclivities, and has great needs. It is
+therefore wrong for one person to claim all of your society, and
+injurious to you to grant it."
+
+"I know it, and, feel the truth, but society allows me no communion
+or association with women. I need their society more than all else
+just now-their thought, their inspiration."
+
+"Take whatever comes in your way, when it is in order, and let
+society quibble. How is the world to be made any better, if each one
+goes on in the old way for fear of speech."
+
+"Yet we cannot explain our course to those who do not perceive these
+truths, and our innocent enjoyment may be misconstrued."
+
+"Can the higher ever be revealed to the lower? Can the less
+understand the greater? Never. Through the moral and natural worlds
+no recognition takes place, save when the lower comes up to a higher
+plane. The rose which needs more sunshine, more air, can never
+expect to reveal its need to, or be understood by one of the fungus
+order. We must work and wait, and expect to be misunderstood every
+day of our lives. We may be in order and in perfect harmony to some
+higher law, the relation of which to ourselves it is impossible to
+explain to our brother, our sister, or our friend. There would be no
+individual life, if there were no separate harmonies and methods of
+action. You need, my friend, more of woman's sphere to help you to
+live in strength and harmony with the one you are united to. She is
+mentally strong, and gives you of your own quality too much. Find
+your balance, your mental and spiritual poise, by mingling with
+those who supply your deficiency."
+
+"You have given me life, Mrs. Wyman, and hope. If I had your
+independent mind, I might be my own helper."
+
+"I may be the one to give you independence of thought and action,
+or, rather, to stimulate yours, for all have some independence."
+
+"I feel stronger, now, bodily, than I have for a long time," he
+said, looking at his watch, "and hope I shall have the pleasure of
+seeing you again soon."
+
+"Come whenever you feel to; you will always be welcome."
+
+They bade each other good night; he, refreshed and encouraged by her
+thoughts and words; she, happier, as all are, by extending their
+life.
+
+But we must turn another leaf, and look at life as it appears to the
+narrow-minded and opinionated.
+
+"You have been gone a long time, Howard; I'm very tired," were the
+words that came from the lips of Mrs. Deane, as she looked at the
+clock, which was just striking ten as her husband entered.
+
+"Not so very late, my dear. I am sorry your head aches; would you
+not feel better to go out a little oftener?"
+
+"Howard, you know I am not able. Besides, I'm weary of society. I do
+not find any congenial souls here; the most of them are growing so
+radical I feel heart-sick and weary whenever I think of mingling
+with them. No, Howard, I must be left to myself; my home and my
+husband are all on earth I care for. By the way," she said, a trifle
+brighter, "have you heard that Hugh Wyman and his wife have been the
+means of separating a Mrs. Dalton and husband? I do wish that man
+was at the bottom of the Red-"
+
+"Mabel!"
+
+"Why do you always flare up so when I mention his name? I do believe
+that in your soul you care more for him than all the good men in
+this village."
+
+"I do."
+
+"You do? Then you are no better than he, in my opinion, and others,
+Howard; you will ruin your reputation if you associate with him."
+
+"I wish I was half as good as he is; that I had one fraction of his
+independence and manhood to help me through life. O, Mabel, lay
+aside your prejudices, and learn to see life for yourself, with
+unclouded vision."
+
+"You would have me mingle, then, with people who have no respect for
+the holy law of marriage; and people who talk as coolly of
+separation of men and women as they would of parting animals?"
+
+"Who told you they were the cause of their separation?"
+
+"Mrs. Ford. She spent an hour with me this evening."
+
+"And you believe her, and think that she has all the facts of the
+case?"
+
+"I do. She is a christian woman, and leads a blameless life."
+
+Mr. Deane felt the peaceful state he had that evening gained, fast
+leaving him, and he sought his bed, hoping to lose in sleep the
+inharmony that swept over him. He did not, however, and morning
+found him unrefreshed and weak, the mind restless, seeking for
+something which it could not grasp, though within its reach.
+
+"I think I will not go to the office to-day," said he, after trying
+to swallow a little breakfast.
+
+"If you are too ill to work, you surely need a doctor. I shall send
+for Dr. Barrows when Charley goes to school," said his wife.
+
+"Do no such thing. I am not sick. I only need rest."
+
+"You would have your own way, Howard, if you were dying; but I
+really think you do look ill, and ought to have something done."
+
+That "something" she could not do. She could not reach the mind
+which needed ministering to, because she had kept her own so
+impoverished.
+
+Reader, did you ever have one attempt to do anything for you, and
+while the labor was being performed, have your nerves strained to
+their highest tension, and the assistance thus kindly and obligingly
+rendered, wearying you far more than to have done all yourself? Such
+was somewhat the way in which Mrs. Deane administered to her
+husband's needs that day. She made him realize every step she took.
+She called him a hundred times from his meditations into her sphere
+of thought, concerning some petty detail or minor question. She
+professed to take care of him, but kept him ever caring for her.
+
+"Howard, these blinds need new fastenings. Howard, the children's
+shoes are wearing out. Howard, I wonder if my new dress will fit; I
+fear it's spoiled. Howard, I must have fifty dollars to get the
+children's hats and dresses for next month, I'm behind-hand now. Now
+you are at home, do you suppose you could help me arrange some
+magazines I want bound?"
+
+"I'm tired to death. I've been up and down stairs twenty times, at
+least, this morning," she said, as she handed him some drink which
+he asked to have brought up when convenient. All these questions,
+suggestions and requests added to his weakness, so that by night, he
+concluded he would have been far better off at his office.
+
+When night came Mrs. Deane was too weary to bathe his aching head.
+They occupied, as they should not, the same room, and exhausted each
+other, and arose in the same debilitated state in the morning.
+
+"Yesterday was a most fatiguing day to me," said his wife. "Are you
+well enough to go to the office, to-day, Howard?" He thought he was,
+and thanked heaven that he had strength enough to get there.
+
+It was no wonder he sought what gave him life and strength. It was
+his right, and he followed the strong impulse of his being, and went
+often to the home of Hugh Wyman. He felt greatly relieved on
+learning that Hugh and his wife had no knowledge of the separation
+of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, until it was over; and could not realize
+that it made no difference to them what judgment public opinion
+passed upon them. They looked only to the right and justice of the
+movement; he had not sufficient strength thus to brave the
+opposition of popular error. His vital life, the real breath of his
+manhood came to him only in the inspiring presence of Hugh and
+Arline. In their atmosphere he grew, therefore he felt drawn to them
+by a power that he could not withstand, and would not if he could.
+
+The years swept on with majestic step. Many went over the silent
+stream; among them Mrs. Temple and her two children, leaving the
+home of Herbert desolate and cheerless. Dawn stood beside her to the
+last, and saw her go down to the valley, and then she could almost
+feel the pulsing of her new birth.
+
+"How fast they travel home," said Hugh, when the rosy lips were
+sealed forever, and the poor stricken husband looked on the form
+that would never more spring to greet his coming.
+
+"Where is she now?" Again and again the question would force itself
+upon Herbert's mind, until his heart so wearied with its long
+watching, and waiting, and hoping, sank overpowered with grief
+within him. Three days had worked a sad change in his family, by
+that disease which was laying parents and children in one grave, and
+left few households unvisited.
+
+We have been so poorly schooled in the past, that it is not strange
+when one passes from this world, or state of existence, to another,
+that we should speak of them as having gone away, little realizing
+that loving hearts can never be separated: that what we call spirit
+life is but a natural continuation of this, with no "river" running
+between.
+
+Words could not add to the impressiveness of the scene, when, as the
+friends met to look their last upon those they should know no more
+as of earth, the grief-stricken husband and father bowed himself and
+kissed the cold lips of the forms that once enshrined the spirits of
+his wife and children. Many mourners were there beneath the shadow
+of the cloud that had not as yet disclosed its silver lining; but
+when was read that beautiful psalm: "The Lord is my shepherd, I
+shall not want," every soul was lifted into the region of faith;
+that faith so calm and comforting to
+
+  "Hearts that are broken with losses,
+  And weary with dragging the crosses,
+  Too heavy for mortals to bear."
+
+It seemed to Herbert to be Florence that they placed in the earth;
+he could not separate her from that lovely form of clay. How could
+he see her lowered into the grave, and his two darlings beside her?
+How bear this great grief? Not alone. Only by the help of Him whose
+ways are not as ours, and who doeth all things well. Long was the
+night of sorrow; it seemed as though day would never dawn, so deep
+and chastening was his grief.
+
+"I would I had your faith to sustain me," he said to Hugh, a few
+weeks after the burial.
+
+"It's the only thing which takes the sting of death away, and makes
+the tomb but a passage to the skies," was the response. "I would not
+be without its blessed, consoling influence for all this world can
+give, aside from the light which we daily receive into our lives
+from those who have passed the vale."
+
+"Are they not about us the same, whether we believe in their
+presence or not?"
+
+"No, not the same. You are not the same to your friend who has
+little or no faith in your life, and your motives of action, as you
+are to one who has full trust and belief."
+
+"No, I am not. In order, therefore, that our unseen friends may
+fully aid us, we must believe in their presence and ability to do
+so. Christ could not help some because of their unbelief."
+
+"Even so. He who gives us no heed, has no communion with us. But the
+faith of which I speak, is not gained at once; it is of a slow and
+natural growth. Again and again must we thrust our hand through the
+darkness, ere we grasp the anchor. Often will the cloud envelope us,
+and all seem dark as night. There will be hours and days when
+Florence will come into your atmosphere, bringing her own state of
+loneliness and longing to be felt by you; days when you must both
+mourn that the veil is dropped between you; but above all, the sun
+of spiritual light will shine gloriously."
+
+"Then you think that they suffer after they have gone?"
+
+"I certainly do. It is perfectly reasonable to suppose that they
+mourn for us as we for them. Reverse the case. Suppose that you were
+where she now is, and that she were here, and that you made strong
+efforts to approach her, and having thus far succeeded, endeavored
+to impress her with the fact of your presence. If she recognized
+you, would you not feel rejoiced? and if she did not, would you not
+feel grieved, and all the more so, if instead of honestly admitting
+self-evident facts, she sought to evade them?"
+
+"True; all that would be most natural. I have never thought of it in
+that light before. Do you think I may sometime feel and know that
+Florence is with me?"
+
+"I trust, indeed, I know you will. In some unexpected manner some
+human instrument may be used to give your mind the test it needs."
+
+"Will it be real to me? O, tell me if I shall feel and know that it
+is really her?"
+
+"If genuine there will be no doubt in your mind. All this is
+something which must be experienced, and not told. A thrill will
+come to your heart and brain which you have never felt before, when
+you first realize the possibility of our departed friends communing
+with us, and this because the truth will be more intimately related
+to your inner self than anything you have before felt. Dawn is too
+much affected by the death of Florence, yet, to see her; too much in
+her own state. When she returns to herself-becomes disengaged from
+the anxious condition of Florence, she will see and bring her in
+communion with you; yet a stranger can do better, and give your mind
+more satisfactory evidence of her ability to speak to you."
+
+"One of the conditions of this communion has been, that we must
+receive it through strangers. This robs it of its sacredness to me."
+
+"You will never have that feeling after having once felt her
+presence through another. You will feel the blending of humanity
+more sensibly, and see how we are all conjoined, that there is very
+little that is yours or mine exclusively; yet we hold all things,
+and all hearts that inspire us. Human souls belong to God and
+humanity. It follows not, because one is near us, blessing us with
+her daily presence, that she is ours, wholly. She belongs to
+humanity, and becomes ours through dissemination. It is like a truth
+which we give unto others; it is more within us, the more we give it
+forth. Whatever thrills me with joy, is far more to me when I have
+told it to a multitude. It is the same with those we love; the more
+humanity claims them, the greater they are to mankind, the more they
+become to us. Florence was more to you, because she was beloved by
+Dawn and myself. If she was much to you here, how full and replete
+with love will be her ministration to you now. Her immortal spirit
+is with you each hour, and will act on you through all time. When
+you know that she is with you, you will feel the thrill of her joy,
+and your hours will be greatly relieved of their present loneliness.
+It is strange that for so many years we have laid our friends in the
+tomb and sat sorrowing at its door. But Spiritualism has rolled away
+the stone, as the angel did of old. It comes with its teachings and
+humble appeals to earnest, truthful souls. It reaches our daily
+wants, and is to us a life-book, not a musty, worthless creed. It is
+a stream of life, flowing from heart to heart; not for one only, not
+for a few, but for all. It winds by eternal habitations, and flows
+to the city of our God. Happy is he who drinks from this lowly
+stream, so untainted by the opinions of men, and clear and crystal.
+Herbert! happy will thy day be when thou hast tasted of its living
+waters."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Then you do not wholly ignore the church," said the village pastor
+to Hugh, after a long and earnest conversation upon religious and
+social topics.
+
+"I do not. But I deny that its limitations and its dogmas can
+control the growing mind, and believe it to be wrong for the church
+to assume or desire to do so. As a great, leading guidance to
+popular thought, I would combine the church with the theatre-."
+
+"The theatre!" exclaimed the minister, holding up both hands in holy
+surprise. "You don't mean that we should turn the sanctuary into a
+play-house? I tremble for the age, sir, indeed I do, if such views
+are to be tolerated."
+
+"Not turn the church into a theatre, but combine the two, and with
+the good that is to be derived from each, form a perfect temple."
+
+"But the theatre is a temple of evil," remarked the pastor.
+
+"Not so. Because it has at times been perverted and made to
+contribute to what we denominate 'evil,' is no reason why the
+theatre should be condemned. For the same reason we might condemn
+the church, for it, also, has in some periods of its history been
+made the means of base oppression and wrong-doing; it has drenched
+fields with blood, and slaughtered innocent beings by thousands."
+
+"But that was not the true church."
+
+"Neither in the former case, was it the true theatre; for the
+theatre, when confined to its legitimate purpose, is the greatest
+moral instructor the world has ever known. Were you accustomed to
+visit the theatre, as I know you are not, you would find that the
+triumph of the right is always applauded by the audience, while the
+tricks and momentary successes of evil-doers are invariably
+condemned. This proves more correctly the tendency of the theatre
+than all the homilies of those who spin fine-threaded arguments from
+the pulpit and the press. Why, my dear sir, the church itself is
+unconsciously passing to the theatre, and the theatre equally
+unconsciously passing to the church. Witness the fairs, the school
+exhibitions, the tableaux, and the private dramatic entertainments
+of the former, and the Sabbath evening services within the walls of
+the latter. Does not this condition point to the ultimate
+combination I have spoken of?"
+
+The pastor sat for a long time in deep thought. At length he looked
+up to Hugh, as though relenting from his inward desire to be true to
+what was obviously the right, though contrary to public opinion, and
+said:
+
+"I hope the day of its coming is far distant, Mr. Wyman; I fear your
+views would destroy all religious sentiment, and make us a godless
+people."
+
+"What do you consider 'religion' sir?" responded Hugh; "merely
+attending to the outer forms, or living an earnest life?"
+
+"Living a blameless life, to be sure, while attending to the outer
+forms; not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together."
+
+"Which is right, but which is the very smallest part of the
+christian's battle. What I call a religious life, is paying tribute
+to all the arts of living. Everything which contributes to the
+health and happiness of mankind, is to me of vital importance, and a
+chief part of my religion. My christianity leads me to build the
+best house I can with my means, and to furnish it in good taste,
+that the sentiment of its inmates may be uplifted. It extends to
+every department-to the food, the garden, the dress, the amusements,
+to every social want; in fact to everything which elevates the
+standard of life. Religion to me, is living in all that elevates,
+therefore I love the temple in which we all congregate, and believe
+it ought to be decked with every form of art."
+
+"I think you are right, thus far; I do not, myself, like the barren
+walls of the present style of churches."
+
+"That is one step; you have taken that; I have taken another, and
+see that the drama is as much a part of God's method of elevating
+mankind as flowers and music. Ere long you will see it as I do. The
+church of the present day is too cold for me; it does not call forth
+the deep sentiment of my being, therefore I come near to God through
+Nature. When the church is divested of theology, and has enshrined
+the beautiful within its walls, I shall be happy to be among those
+who 'assemble,' for all need the magnetic life of assemblies to
+complete the cycle of their existence. I do not like a fractional
+life, one which seizes some parts and discards others. In the
+present age of transition, the best minds are thrown out of the
+sanctuary, waiting for the perfect temple, where they can worship in
+fulness of soul and purpose."
+
+"Yet all are better for the assembling, are they not, even in its
+imperfect state, as you term it?"
+
+"It is well and good for all, but not so essential to some as to
+others. Some natures are so alive to sentiment and life, so infused
+with religious thought, that they live deeper and more prayerful,
+more Godly in one hour, than others do in a hundred years. Every
+emotion reveals to such the presence of the Deity. To them each hour
+is one of worship, and every object a shrine. No words of man can
+quicken their feeling to a brighter flame, for such commune with
+God. The dew and the flower, speak unto them of their father's
+protecting care. The manifestations of their daily lives, replete
+with heavenly indications, tell that God is nigh. 'Day unto day
+uttereth speech,' and to such all hours are holy. The heart which is
+attuned to life, is full of worship. Every manifestation, whether of
+joy or woe, brings God near; and the world becomes the temple.
+Religion should come through life and be lived. It is in the dress,
+in the kitchen, in the parlor, in books, in theatres, in fact in all
+forms of life. Theology is dead to the people. They want the living,
+vital present, with no dogmas nor sectarian limitations to keep
+their souls from growing."
+
+The pastor felt the force of Hugh's remarks, and the weakness of any
+argument he might bring to bear against them. The truth kept
+pressing upon his mind, and he felt that he might be obliged to
+relinquish his long-cherished opinions.
+
+Thus we lose, day by day, one opinion after another. They wear away,
+and we lay them aside like worn garments that have served their
+purpose. The greatest error of the past has been the belief that
+opinions and surroundings must be continuous and unchanging. When we
+look to Nature we learn a different lesson. She is ever changing and
+reproducing. The world's opinion holds too many back. One dare not
+go forward and live out his or her life, for fear of a neighbor or
+friend, and in this way is retarded the full flow of inspiration to
+all. Strength in one, is strength in many; and he who dares to
+strike out in an individual path, has the strength of all who admire
+the bravery of the act. Time is too precious to pattern; let each
+one seek to do his own peculiar work, for each soul has a separate
+mission upon earth, though we may all labor apparently in the same
+direction. Of a thousand persons taking the same journey, each would
+see something which none other would. Each soul we meet in life has
+a new voice, a new truth to utter, or a new method of presenting an
+already known truth to our minds. Each arouses a new sentiment
+within us, touches some tender emotion delicately, while another
+grates on our senses like harsh music, until we go searching for
+harmony and rest and we find treasures of thought within us which we
+should never have known had we not thus been driven to the depths of
+our being. All help us, then, to higher states; those who
+tranquilize us, and those who disharmonize us till we fain would
+withdraw to our soul's innermost for peace. We must look at life on
+the grandest scale, if we would find rest. A limited vision gives us
+nought but atoms, fragments floating in seeming disorder; but the
+mountain view gives the spirit all the vales and hills, and shows
+them as parts of an extensive landscape, a complete and perfect
+whole.
+
+"I think it will be a long time before I can see these things as you
+do," remarked the pastor, after a long period of thought. "I fear
+your radicalism on on this and some other questions, Mr. Wyman, will
+injure society, if broadly disseminated."
+
+"I do not think that you understand my views upon marriage, any more
+than you comprehend them on religious subjects."
+
+"I hear that you give the fullest license to men and women, to sever
+their bonds and unite themselves to others."
+
+"In one sense I do, sir; in another, nothing can be farther from me.
+I boldly assert everywhere, that men and women should not live
+together in daily inharmony, and give birth to children to inherit
+and perpetuate their angularities and discordances. You, yourself,
+if you spoke without prejudice and fear of the world, would say the
+same."
+
+"But ought they not to try to live in harmony?"
+
+"Most surely; but what if they cannot; if the magnetic life is
+consumed? If those whose union is so, merely in a legal sense, feel
+that in continuing that union they are daily losing life, power, and
+mental force, they should surely separate. I had much rather see
+such bonds severed than to witness the soul-harrowing sight I do
+every day of my life-parties fearing public opinion, and dragging
+each other down, living false and licentious lives-"
+
+"What, sir! Licentious lives?"
+
+"Certainly. Licentiousness is not all outside of wedlock. Every day
+and hour, children are being ushered into the world without love or
+true parentage-left in the hands of hired, and often vicious and
+ignorant servants, while those who should care for them, spend their
+time in folly and pleasure,--children undesired, enfeebled mentally
+and physically, with no love-sphere to enfold them-offspring of
+legalized prostitution, nothing more nor less."
+
+"I think myself, sir," said the pastor, deliberately, "that many
+children are born thus, but how does this evil affect the other form
+of licentiousness, which is so on the increase?"
+
+"It is very closely allied to it. Let married parties see that they
+give birth to pure, harmonious children, and the 'social evil' is
+blotted out forever. The evil of our life to-day is traceable to
+offspring, born of false and foolish mothers-of wild and reckless
+fathers."
+
+"It's a great evil, I own, but how can we avert it?"
+
+"By making our marriages pure and holy, and by changing our
+relations after the life of each is exhausted."
+
+"But what would become of the children?"
+
+"That is another question, and one which would settle itself. The
+order of all life is by steps; these we cannot overleap. One truth
+enfolds another. If the marriage system was perfect, or the relation
+between the sexes understood, we should not see, as we now do,
+manifestations which force us continually to question the existence
+of a God, and to be ever in search of the disturbing cause.
+Something is needed, sir, in our present social system to make us
+pure, and that something, is less restraint, and more personal
+freedom. We never become pure under restraint. All who know me, know
+that I seek to bring the sexes into pure and holy communion of
+spirit. Walls and partitions have ever produced clandestine
+movements. Boys and girls in schools should not be separated, but
+should meet each other daily; their studies, their sports be one as
+far as possible, thus blending their natures, not hividing them. If
+men lived more in the society of women they would be astonished to
+find how much purer and higher-toned their nature would become; how
+the mental assimilation was refining their wilder dispositions,
+their grosser passions. If such was your experience, you would tell
+me in one year that men and women do not mingle enough."
+
+"I think you mean well," said the pastor, "and if I had your faith
+in personal freedom, I should almost dare to hope the earth might
+see better days."
+
+"I wish you had my trust in man, and the God-life which is within
+him, waiting to be out-wrought through his deeds. But my faith
+cannot be transmitted to another; it is a matter of inward growth
+with each. It comes to us when our souls soar above the labarynthian
+forest of opinions and theories, high into the clearer atmosphere,
+untainted by the dust and smoke of our daily lives. Yes; on the
+mount must the vision ever come. We must ascend, if we would look
+beyond; but no words of ours can portray to another the glory of the
+scenes we there behold."
+
+Hugh paused, and his face seemed glowing with light. The pastor went
+home to think over the words and thoughts of an earnest soul-words
+which sank deep within him, and displaced many of his own opinions.
+
+"I do believe Hugh Wyman is a good man, after all that is said of
+him," he remarked to his wife as he opened his Bible that night for
+the closing service of the day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+The years passed by and left Dawn steadily and peacefully doing her
+work, giving men and women each day extended views of life and
+deeper consciousness of their own powers. By the aid of friends and
+her father, she had succeeded in establishing a home for orphans, of
+both sexes, in a wild and beautiful locality, where all the varied
+faculties of their minds could expand. All were required to work a
+certain number of hours each day; then study and recreation
+followed. She became daily firmer in her belief that bringing the
+sexes together was the only way to make them pure and refined. Their
+labors in the garden and field were together; as also were their
+studies and lessons. There was a large hall, decorated with wreaths
+and flowers, where they met every evening and sang, danced, and
+conversed, as they were disposed; while each day added to their
+number. The boys were trained in mechanical as well as in
+agricultural pursuits, and it was pleasing to witness their daily
+growing delicacy of deportment towards the other sex, as well as the
+tone of love and sympathy which was growing stronger between them.
+
+Dawn did not succeed in her effort at once; the majority laughed at
+and ridiculed her plan, but faithful to her inspiration, she
+continued on, and a few years witnessed the erection of a large,
+substantial building among the tall pines and spreading oaks.
+Parents who had passed "over the river," came and blest her labors
+for their children; and they who, though living on earth, had left
+their offspring uncared for, wept when they heard of the happy home
+among the verdant hills, where their children were being taught the
+only religion of life-the true art of living.
+
+The leading idea and aim was to educate these children into a
+harmonious life, and to preserve a proper balance of the physical
+and mental by an equal exercise of both. The result of her efforts
+was most gratifying and encouraging to Dawn. Her success was
+apparent to all, even to those who at first sneered at her course.
+The mutual respect which was manifest among them; the quick,
+discerning minds, and the physical activity; the well-cultured
+fields, the beautiful lawns, the gardens brilliant and fragrant with
+flowers, the neatly arranged rooms, the books, the pictures and the
+various means of study, amusement and exercise: and around all, the
+gentle and loving spirit of Dawn, hovering like a halo of heavenly
+protection, combined to form a scene which no one could fail to
+admire. It taught one lesson to all, and that was: make children
+useful and you will make them happy.
+
+Basil and his sister came often to the home, where Dawn seemed to
+preside like a guardian angel. It had been the wish of their lives
+to see such a home for orphans, a wish they never expected to see
+fulfilled. They gave largely to its support, and were never
+happier than when within its walls. Mrs. Dalton, whom the world
+pitied so generously, here found her sphere, as did many others who
+had felt long unbalanced. She taught the children music, drawing,
+and the languages, and extended her life and interest throughout the
+dwelling, to every heart therein. Thus the maternal was satisfied
+each day, and each hour she felt less need of a union which the wise
+world predicted she would enter into by the time her divorce was
+granted. Beatrice came and took Dawn's place whenever she wished to
+go to her home to refresh herself in the abiding love of her father
+and mother.
+
+"I never thought sich a beautiful thing could be on airth," said
+Aunt Polly Day, one of the eldest of the town's people, to Dawn, the
+first time that she met her after the "home" was established. "Seems
+as though the angels had a hand in't, child, and only ter think,
+you're at the head o'nt. Why, I remember the night, or it was
+e'en-a-most day though, that you was born. Beats all natur how time
+does fly. It may be I shan't get out ter see yer home fer them e'er
+little orphans, in this world, but may be I shall when I goes up
+above. Do you s'pose the Lord gives us sight of folks on airth, when
+we're there, Miss Wyman?"
+
+"I know he does. I feel that I have been helped by the angels to do
+this great work."
+
+"Well, it's a comfortin' faith, to say the least on 't; and I don't
+care how much you and your pa has been slandered. I believe yer good
+folks, and desarving of the kingdom."
+
+"I suppose no one ever feels worthy of the kingdom, Aunty; but we
+all know that if we seek the good and the true, that we shall find
+rest here and hereafter."
+
+"Them's my sentiment, and I don't see how folks make you out so
+ungodly, if livin' true, and bein' kind to the poor is
+unrighteousness, then give me the sinners to dwell among. Think of
+all the things yer pa has given me, all my life, and there's old
+Deacon Sims won't take one cent off of his wood he sells me, when
+the Lord has told him in the good book to be kind to the widow and
+fatherless. He makes long prayers 'nough, though. Well, I s'pose he
+has ter kinder reach out to heaven that way, and make up in words
+what he lacks in deeds."
+
+"He will make it all up, Aunty, when he has passed into the other
+life, and becomes conscious how little he has done here."
+
+"May be; but it's like puttin' all the week's work inter Sat'day
+night. I reckon he'll have to work smart to make up."
+
+Dawn could but smile at the quaint, but shrewd remark, and slipping
+a generous gift of money into the hand of the old lady, departed to
+spend her last evening with her father, and Herbert, who was now
+with them every evening, before going to her home among the hills.
+
+How still and white his face looks, thought Dawn, as Herbert, at
+their request, seated himself at the instrument to play. One long,
+rapt, upturned gaze, and then the fingers stole over the keys.
+
+Was it the music of the air, or some being of the upper realms
+breathing on him, infusing his soul with sound, that caused him to
+produce such searching tones, and send them quivering through the
+souls of the listeners? Now, moaning like the winds and waves; now,
+glad as though two beings long separated, had met. Then the song
+grew sweeter, softer, mellower, till every eye was flowing; on and
+on, more lovely and imploring till one could only think that
+
+  "The angels of Wind and of Fire
+  Chant only one hymn, and expire
+    With the song's irresistible stress;
+  Expire in their rapture and wonder,
+  As harp-strings are broken asunder
+    By music they throb to express."
+
+The strains died away. Herbert sank back and spoke not; but on the
+white, uplifted face they read that an angel had been with him, one
+of the upper air. No words broke the stillness of that atmosphere;
+not a breath stirred its heavenly spell.
+
+Without speech they separated, and the hallowed sweetness of that
+hour remained with them in their dreams, which came not to either
+until long after midnight.
+
+From her own experience, Dawn saw that Herbert must mingle more with
+people, and become interested in life. She knew that it would not be
+well for him to think too much of the one whom the world pronounced
+gone, but who had come nearer than any earthly relation known.
+
+"Come to my mountain home, and see my family," she said to him the
+next morning, at parting.
+
+He partly promised by words, but his air of abstraction indicated
+that he had no intention of so doing.
+
+What was that look which flashed over her features just then?
+Surely, the expression of his own dear Florence, pleading for
+something.
+
+"I will come, Dawn, and very soon," he said, this time decisively.
+
+Dawn's face lit up with another joy beside her own, as she pressed
+his hand and bade him good bye.
+
+Not many weeks elapsed before Herbert fulfilled his promise to visit
+the Home. A murmuring sound of voices fell upon his ears as he
+approached the dwelling, and as he came nearer, the beautiful air of
+"Home" touched his heart with a new sweetness. The children were
+singing their evening hymn. Just as he stepped upon the portico the
+song ceased, and Dawn came gliding from the hall.
+
+"Herbert! Welcome!" she exclaimed, with such an expression upon her
+face that no words were needed to tell him how glad she felt at his
+coming.
+
+In her own little sitting room she had his supper brought, which he
+seemed to enjoy greatly, and then they walked in the garden till the
+dew hung heavy on the grass.
+
+The days went by, and still he lingered. It was life to him to see
+so many children happy through labor and usefulness. Soon a desire
+to benefit them in some way took possession of his mind, and it was
+not long before he had so won their love by songs and stories of
+travel and history, that the evening group was not considered
+perfect without Mr. Temple, or "Uncle Herbert," as a few of the
+youngest ventured to call him.
+
+How childhood, youth, and age need each other's companionship. How
+perfect is the household group which includes them all, from the
+infant to the white-haired sire. Homes without children! Heaven help
+those who have not the sunshine of innocent childhood to keep them
+fresh-hearted.
+
+Through this sphere of life and love, he found his life revived.
+Gradually the sorrow-clouds passed away, fringed by the sunshine of
+hope which was rising in his breast.
+
+Dawn was his strength and counsellor every day. Through her he
+learned how closely we are related to the other life, and yet how
+firmly we must hold our relation to this, that we may become
+instruments for good, and not mere sensitives, feeling keenly human
+wants, but doing nothing to supply them.
+
+"I intend to devote myself to life, and help the human family in
+some way," he said to Dawn one evening, as the twilight was robing
+itself in purple clouds. "I have caught my inspiration from you, and
+will no longer moan my days away. My treasures lie beyond, and I
+will strive to make myself worthy of the union when I am permitted
+to go over the silent stream.
+
+"Do," answered Dawn, "and thus make her life richer and happier."
+
+"I make her happier? Has she not gone to rest?"
+
+"A kind of rest, I know; but does she not still live and mingle her
+life with yours each day? Therefore, whatever the quality of your
+thought and action is, she must partake of it, and for the time
+absorb it into her spirit. If your life is vague and full of unrest,
+her life will become so. On the contrary, if yours is strong and
+full of purpose, you give her strength and rest of soul."
+
+"Is it so? Are we so united after death?"
+
+"What part of Florence died, Herbert? The spirit passed out,
+carrying every faculty, every sense and emotion, to that land where
+many dream that we lose all consciousness of life, below, and remain
+in some blest state of dreamy ease. Not so. Our lives at death, so
+called, are made more sensitive to all we owe our friends on earth,
+and death is but the clasp that binds us closer."
+
+"Your words stimulate me to labor and make my dear ones happy
+through my life. O, that like you, I could know that they at times
+are with me; or, rather, that they could come and give me that
+evidence I so much need, of their presence and their power to
+commune with us."
+
+"I could not bring to you that evidence, because I know them and
+you, but I have a lovely girl who has just come to our Home, a
+stranger to you and to myself, who has this gift of second-sight,
+and if you wish, I will present her to you."
+
+"Do so, for nothing would give me more happiness."
+
+A young girl, with light hair, and blue eyes which ever seemed
+looking far away, was led into the sitting room by Dawn, and stood
+silent and speechless as soon as she had entered. Her outer senses
+seemed closed, as she spoke in a voice full of feeling these words:
+
+"Be comforted, I am here; thy wife, Florence, and thy little ones.
+The grave has nought of us you hold so dear. Believe, and we will
+come. I whispered a song to your soul one night, and your fingers
+gave it words. Farewell, I will come again; nay, I go not away from
+one I love so well. 'T is Florence speaks to Herbert, her husband,
+from over the river called Death."
+
+The child looked wonderingly around, then wistfully to Dawn, who
+motioned her to the door, that she might join her companions.
+
+"Is she always thus successful?" asked Herbert, after a long
+silence.
+
+"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes,
+it's invariably correct."
+
+"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain
+this strange gift?"
+
+"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She
+cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy
+lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically or mentally."
+
+"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful
+power."
+
+"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed
+and happy dreams."
+
+There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights"
+echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat
+by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its
+intimate connection with this life, so fraught with pain and
+pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Tenderly Dawn looked upon her little group each day, and all the
+maternal instincts of her nature sprang to the surface, as she
+thought of their lives coming without their asking, forced upon them
+to be battled out through storm and fire. Would that all parents
+might feel the responsibility of maternity, as that pure being did,
+who gave the richest, warmest current of her life to bear those
+children on. "He who has most of heart, knows most of sorrow," and
+many were the moments of sadness that came to Dawn, as she saw
+beings who were recklessly brought into life to suffer for the want
+of love and care. But, though sorrowed, she never became morbid. She
+lived and worked by the light that was given her, earnestly, which
+is all a mortal can do.
+
+No season was complete to her which did not bring to her side Miss
+Bernard, who seemed the complement of her very self. One warm summer
+evening when the air was sweet with the breath of roses, they sat
+together; earnest words flowing from soul to soul, and their natures
+blending like the parts of a sweet melody; Dawn's high hope floating
+above the rich undertone of the deep life-tide on which the soul of
+her friend was borne.
+
+"I have often wondered," said Dawn, as she clasped the friendly palm
+more tenderly, "if my life will be as firmly rooted as your own; if
+the same rich calm will pervade my being."
+
+"If it be once full of agitation, it will surely be calm at last,"
+said Miss Bernard, in that firm tone which indicates that the storms
+of life are over, "for we are like the molten silver, which
+continues in a state of agitation until all impurities are thrown
+off, and then becomes still. We know no rest until the dross is
+burned away, and our Saviour's face is seen reflected in our own."
+
+The moonlight fell on her features just then, almost transfiguring
+the still, pale countenance. That holy moment brought them nearer
+than years of common-place emotions, or any of the external
+excitements of life. A tenderer revealing of their relation to each
+other flashed through their hearts-a relation which the silvery
+moon, and still summer night typified, as all our states find their
+analogies in the external world.
+
+"I often query," said Dawn, breaking the silence, "what portion of
+your being I respond to?"
+
+"I have often asked myself the same question. Dawn, of those whom I
+loved, and in my earlier years felt ambitious to become the
+counterpart of friends dear to my life. I have grown more humble
+now, and feel content to fill, as I know I only can, a portion of
+any soul. I can truly say, you touch and thrill every part of my
+being, if you do not fill it, and that just now you answer to every
+part. With some, my being stands still, I forget the past, and know
+no future. There is one who thus acts upon me now, though many
+others have stirred me to greater depths, and excited profounder
+sentiments,--this one calls forth the tenderest emotions of my heart
+and stimulates me to kindlier deeds. Thus do all in turn act and
+re-act upon each other, and what we need is to know just how to
+define this relation, for the emotions it calls forth are so often
+mistaken for those of love between the sexes, which marriage seals,
+and in few years reveals the painful fact, that what was supposed to
+be soul blending with soul, was only the union of a single thought
+and feeling, while the remainder of their nature was wholly
+unresponded to, its deepest and holiest aspirations unmated."
+
+"Do we not answer to each other now, because we are aglow with life,
+and each susceptible to the others emotion?" asked Dawn.
+
+"Something deeper," said her friend. "It is because we are both
+illumined by the divine essence which pervades all space and matter,
+as the air surrounds this globe. We are both full, and reflect each
+other's repletion. The theme is grand, and one which I would like to
+enlarge upon to-night, before our states are changed to those
+harsher ones, in which diviner truths are ever refracted."
+
+"I feel the force of your last assertion most thrillingly," said
+Dawn, "for I know that a purely mental condition is antagonistic to
+spiritual light. How beautiful life becomes as we grow into the
+recognition of its laws, and learn of Him, who is law itself, and
+whose daily revealings, are the protecting arms around us."
+
+"Fully realizing this fractional mating of which we have spoken, I
+am led to question if we ever find one soul who meets every want, or
+whether we wander, gathering from this one, and that one, until the
+soul has all its emotions sounded, all its sentiments aroused and
+responded to. In my deepest, most earnest questioning for truth,
+this answer seems to be the only one, which gives me rest. How is it
+with you, whose vision is clearer than my own?"
+
+"I feel that no one soul can meet all the wants of another. Yet
+seeing this principle, sufficient light does not dawn on the method
+of its application."
+
+"The light will come with the labor, as the fire flashes from the
+flint by strokes of the steel."
+
+"True," said Dawn, gathering inspiration from the words, "And I have
+often felt that the world would be better to-day, if people agreed
+to live together while life and harmony inflowed to each, and no
+longer. I think the whole moral atmosphere would be toned and
+uplifted, the physical and spiritual beauty of children increased,
+and purer, nobler beings take the place of the angular productions
+of the day, if our unions were founded on this principle. And yet no
+one mind can point out the defects of our present system, and apply
+the remedy. The united voices of all, and the efforts of every
+individual must be combined, to accomplish a change so urgently
+demanded. All men and women should fortify themselves, and see that
+no being comes through their life, unless they have health and
+harmony to transmit. Maternity should never be forced; woman's
+highest and most sacred mission should never be prostituted, and yet
+this sin is every where. When every woman feels this truth, she will
+purify man, for he rises through her ascension. He needs her
+thought, her inspiration, her influence, to keep him every hour; and
+when the world has risen to that point, where minds can mingle; when
+society grants to man the right, to pass an hour in communion with
+any one who inspires him, we shall have made an advance towards a
+purer state. To-day mankind are suffering for mental and spiritual
+association. Give to men and women their right to meet on high,
+intellectual, and sympathetic grounds, and each will become better.
+We should then have no clandestine interviews, and few, if any of
+the passional evils which now burden every community, for the
+restraints which the jealousies and selfishness of the married have
+established, in a great measure create these."
+
+She paused: and the tall trees waved their branches as though in
+benediction on her head. Beauty was every where. There, in that
+summer night, who could utter aught but truth. The soft and gentle
+light of the hour, silvering with heavenly charms every rock, and
+tree and singing brook, excited no sophistries, but rather inspired
+the soul with divinest truths. Their words died away, but the
+spirit, the influence of their thoughts, will live through ages, and
+bring, perhaps, to those who read them, states peaceful and calm.
+That the relation between men and women needs some new revelation,
+we all know, but the light comes very slowly to us. We must work
+with such as is vouchsafed to us. Revelation comes to but few, and
+such can only work and wait, for the multitude. He who has toiled up
+the mount of vision, cannot reveal to the pilgrim in the vale, the
+things his eyes behold. The landscape view cannot be handed down,
+nor the emotions of the beholder, imparted to another.
+
+The day is coming for true and earnest communion between the sexes,
+and the day is rapidly passing by when the glorious life which has
+been given us is misdirected and misapplied.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Threads of silver shot through Dawn's silken hair, yet she grew more
+beautiful as the years matured her. The children under her care grew
+to be young men and women, and went out into the world qualified to
+live harmonious lives. She had taught them the true religion of
+life; had impressed upon their minds the importance of enjoying this
+life, that they might be prepared to enjoy the life that follows it;
+that to be happy now is to be happy forever, for the present is
+always ours, the future never.
+
+"I have one wish more," she said to her friend, Miss Bernard.
+
+"And pray tell me what modest ambition you have just now?"
+
+"It is one I have long cherished. I wish to see a hospital for
+invalids erected within sight of this Home."
+
+"You are so successful in seeing your wishes ultimated, I shall
+expect to see one in a few months."
+
+"I should be glad to see a good list of names with generous
+subscriptions by that time. I think if all the extra plate and
+jewelry of wealthy families, articles which do them no good, or
+rather the surplus (for the beautiful in moderation ever does us
+good) were sold, and the money given to such an object, very much
+might be done. I see, when I come in contact with people, the great
+need that exists for an institution where patients can be surrounded
+with all that is lovely and artistic, and their spiritual and
+physical needs attended to. Many need only change of magnetism and
+conditions, with the feeling that they have a protecting care around
+them, to change the whole tone of the system. Others are weak, have
+lost mental stamina, and need the tonic of stronger minds; while
+some need tenderness and love, and to be treated like weary
+children. Many would need no physical ministration direct, but
+spiritual uplifting, which would in time project its force through
+the mental, and harmonize the body. There are many such cases."
+
+"True, I know we need such an institution to meet those wants which
+you have so faithfully sketched; and if a few earnest men and women
+work for that end, may we not hope to see it accomplished, and the
+blue dome rising somewhere among these hills? I will contribute my
+part, and give a good portion of my time for its accomplishment."
+
+"If all felt as you do we might surely see it in our day; but we
+will hope that the need will develop such a place, for the need is
+but an index pointing to the establishment of such an institution."
+
+"I have often wondered if cases of insanity might not be treated
+more successfully than they are by scientific men."
+
+"I feel that they could be under pure inspiration, and in nine cases
+out of ten, the disharmonized mind be restored to harmony."
+
+"O, Dawn, let us work for this, and though we may never see it in
+our life, we shall have the consolation and happiness of knowing
+that we had a part in the beginning."
+
+"And the beginning is the noblest part, because the least
+appreciated. The ball in motion will have many following it, but the
+starting must be done by one or two."
+
+Their conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of a
+visitor, who proved to be Miss Weston, whom Dawn was delighted to
+see.
+
+"I had a singular feeling," she said, to Dawn "as I came up the
+steps of the portico, what do you suppose it was?"
+
+"I am not clairvoyant to-day. Be kind enough to tell me."
+
+"I felt as though I was coming to a home, one which I should never
+wish to leave."
+
+"And you need not, so long as you can be happy with me. I have long
+needed some one like yourself to help me. Will you stay?"
+
+"Dawn, may I?"
+
+"Nothing would give me more happiness, because you have come in this
+way; of your own spontaniety-simply gravitated to my life-and when
+the exhaustion of our mental and vital forces demands our separation
+we will part, and consider that as natural and agreeable to each as
+our present coming together."
+
+"O, if these principles could be understood and lived out, how
+happy, how natural we all should be; and happy because natural."
+
+"The world is slowly coming to an understanding of them, and you and
+I may help its advance by living what we feel to be true lives."
+
+"Dawn, you are life and light to every one, I shall stay here the
+rest of my life."
+
+With the clasp of true friendship about them, they lived and worked
+together. Winter came, and they sat at evening by the fire-side and
+talked of the past, and the golden future for mankind. The textures
+of their lives were fast weaving into one web of interest. Dawn's
+excess of spiritual life flowed into Edith's, who never forgot the
+hour upon the seashore, and the awakening there of her spiritual
+trust.
+
+Miss Weston proved to be one of those household angels who see
+things to do, and seeing, perform. Silently she slipped into her
+sphere of usefulness, and became Dawn's helper in the thousand ways
+which a woman of tact and delicacy can ever be.
+
+Silently the pines waved over the graves of Florence and her
+children. The snow of many winters fell on their tasselled boughs,
+while her husband learned through the beautiful philosophy, that our
+loved ones find death no barrier to the affections. Gradually he
+learned the great lesson of patience, which must be inwrought in
+every soul-that all our experiences of life are necessary, and in
+divinest order; that everything which happens is a part of the great
+whole, and that none of the bitter could have been left out of his
+cup. The unrest, produced by what he once considered his loss passed
+away, as the recognition of life's perfect discipline flowed unto
+his vision.
+
+The nearest person on earth, now, was his friend and sister Dawn,
+kin of spirit, heart and mind. Regardless of people's speech, he
+went often to her home, and received the sympathy he needed. To him,
+she was life and inspiration. Why should he not seek where he could
+find? It was her soul-life he needed, and long and earnestly they
+conversed of those interior principles which so few perceive.
+
+"I have learned by experience what true relationship may exist
+between men and women," said Dawn to Edith, one day when every
+moment had been given to Herbert, "and how God intended us for each
+other?"
+
+"And I see how your own life is increased by giving it to others, as
+you are every day doing. If I had a husband, Dawn, I should enjoy
+him most after he had been in your society. Uplifted and toned by
+the life of another, he could be far more to me,--far dearer and
+vital. I wonder women do not see this great truth."
+
+"They cannot on the merely human plane, which is ever selfish. Raise
+them out of that, place them on the mount of vision, and they would
+at once see it, and be glad to give their husbands the liberty of
+true women's society, knowing that they were extending their own
+lives in so doing. If men are unduly restrained, they take a lower
+form of freedom."
+
+"It is too true. I can now see that had I been allowed the earthly
+alliance, I might have been selfish and contracted. I almost know I
+should. O, Dawn, how much life is worth to us all; how much we have
+to thank our heavenly father for,--most of all for the clouds with
+silver linings."
+
+"I am glad that you see it thus, my friend, my sister. That is the
+soul's only sure position. Life is a great and glorious gift. If all
+its hours were mixed with pain, even to have lived is grand." Then
+with her eyes looking afar, as if discerning scenes invisible to
+others, she repeated these beautiful lines:
+
+  "Two eyes hath every soul:
+    One into Time shall see;
+  The other bend its gaze
+    Into Eternity.
+  In all eternity
+    No tone can be so sweet
+  As where man's heart with God,
+    In unison doth beat.
+  What'er thou lovest, Man,
+    That too become thou must;
+  God-if thou lovest God;
+    Dust-if thou lovest dust.
+  Let but thy heart, O man!
+    Become a valley low,
+  And God will rain on it
+    Till it will overflow."
+
+Golden bars of light lay in the room. The sun was sinking peacefully
+to rest, like a great soul who had been faithful to every duty, and
+rayed out its life on the barren places of earth. In that calm
+evening, in the greater calm of their lives they sat, gathering rest
+for the morrow, and peace for their midnight dreams-dreams which
+brought to them the forms of their loved ones who had gone but a
+little while before, and who loved them still, rippling the silent
+stream with memory-waves, till they broke on the shore and cooled
+their weary feet.
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, DAWN ***
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dawn, by Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Dawn
+
+Author: Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
+Release Date: December, 2003  [EBook #4794]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on March 22, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: Latin-1
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, DAWN ***
+
+
+
+
+Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com)
+
+
+
+DAWN.
+
+BOSTON:
+LONDON:
+
+1868.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DAWN.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+
+
+
+They sat together in the twilight conversing. Three years, with
+their alternations of joy and grief had swept over their married
+life, bringing their hearts into closer alliance, as each new
+emotion thrilled and upheaved the buried life within.
+
+That night their souls seemed attuned to a richer melody than ever
+before; and as the twilight deepened, and one by one the stars
+appeared, the blessed baptism of a heavenly calm descended and
+rested upon their spirits.
+
+"Then you think there are but very few harmonious marriages, Hugh?"
+
+"My deep experience with human nature, and close observations of
+life, have led me to that conclusion. Our own, and a few happy
+exceptions beside, are but feeble offsets to the countless cases of
+unhappy unions."
+
+"Unhappy; why?" he continued, talking more to himself than to the
+fair woman at his side; "people are only married fractionally, as a
+great thinker has written; and knowing so little of themselves, how
+can they know each other? The greatest strangers to each other whom
+I have ever met, have been parties bound together by the marriage
+laws!"
+
+"But you would not sunder so holy a bond as that of marriage, Hugh?"
+
+"I could not, and would not if I could. Whatever assimilates,
+whether of mind or matter, can not be sundered. I would only destroy
+false conditions, and build up in their places those of peace and
+harmony. While I fully appreciate the marriage covenant, I sorrow
+over the imperfect manhood which desecrates it. I question again and
+again, why persons so dissimilar in tastes and habits, are brought
+together; and then the question is partly, if not fully answered, by
+the great truth of God's economy, which brings the lesser unto the
+greater to receive, darkness unto light, that all may grow together.
+I almost know by seeing one party, what the other is. Thus are the
+weak and strong--not strength and might--coupled. Marriage should be a
+help, and not a hindrance. In the present state of society, we are
+too restricted to know what marriage is. Either one, or both of
+those united, are selfish and narrow, allowing no conditions in
+which each may grow."
+
+"Do I limit you, Hugh?"
+
+"No, dearest, no; I never meant it should be so, either. When I gave
+you my love, I did not surrender my individual life and right of
+action. All of my being which you can appropriate to yourself is
+yours; you can take no more. What I take from you, is your love and
+sympathy. I cannot exhaust or receive you wholly."
+
+"But I give you all of myself."
+
+"Yet I can only take what I can absorb or receive into my being. The
+qualities of a human soul are too mighty to be absorbed by any one."
+
+"What matters it if I am content in your love that I wish for none
+other?"
+
+"I have often feared, dear Alice, that your individual life was lost
+in your love for me."
+
+"What matters it, if you give me yourself in return?"
+
+"It matters much. If we are not strong for ourselves, we are not
+strength to each other. If we have no reserve force, we shall in
+time consume each other's life. We can never be wholly another's."
+
+"Am I not wholly yours, dear Hugh?" she said, raising her eyes
+tenderly to his, in that summer twilight.
+
+"Not all mine, but all that I can receive."
+
+"It may be true, but it seems cold to me," she replied, a little
+sadly.
+
+"Too much philosophy and not enough love for your tender woman
+nature, is it not, darling?"
+
+"I think you have explained it. I feel as though you were drifting
+away from me, Hugh, when you talk as you do to-night. Although I
+dearly love progress and enlarged views of life, I do not like many
+of the questions that are being agitated in reference to marriage."
+
+"Because you do not take comprehensive views of the matter. I can, I
+think, set you clear on the whole subject, and divorce from your
+mind the thought that liberty is license. Liberty, in its full, true
+meaning, is the pure action of a true manhood, in obedience to the
+laws of the individual. For a simple illustration, look at our
+neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Danforth. She, as you well know, is an
+ambitious woman; smart, and rather above the majority of her
+neighbors, intellectually, but not spiritually. Her husband is a
+kind-hearted man, content to fill an ordinary station in life, but
+spiritually far her superior. His nature is rich in affection; her
+nature is cold and intellectual. He knows nothing of other woman's
+views, consequently has no standard by which to form an estimate of
+those of his wife. If she was wise, as well as sharp, she would see
+that she is standing in her own light; for the man whom she wishes
+to look upon her, and her only, will soon be a pure negation, a mere
+machine, an echo of her own jealousy and selfish pride. Now,
+freedom, or his liberty, would give him the right to mingle and
+converse with other women; then he would know what his wife was to
+him, while he would retain himself and give to her his manhood,
+instead of the mere return of her own self. At present he dare not
+utter a word to which she does not fully subscribe. She talks of his
+'love' for her; it should be his 'servility.' They live in too close
+relation to be all they might to each other. I have heard her
+proudly assert, that he never spent an evening from home! I think
+they are both to be pitied; but, am I making the subject of freedom
+in any degree clear to your mind, my patient wife?"
+
+"Yes, I begin to see that it is higher and nobler to be free, and
+far purer than I supposed."
+
+"Yes, dear one," he said, drawing her close to his heart, "we must
+at times go from what we most tenderly love, in order to be drawn
+closer. The closest links are those which do not bind at all. It is
+a great mistake to keep the marriage tie so binding, and to force
+upon society such a dearth of social life as we see around us daily.
+Give men and women liberty to enjoy themselves on high social
+planes, and we shall not have the debasing things which are
+occurring daily, and are constantly on the increase. If I should
+take a lady of culture and refinement to a concert, a lecture, or to
+a theatre, would not society lift up its hands in holy horror, and
+scandal-mongers go from house to house? If men and women come not
+together on high planes, they will meet on debasing ones. Give us
+more liberty, and we shall have more purity. I speak these words not
+impulsively; they are the result of long thinking, and were they my
+last, I would as strongly and as fearlessly utter them."
+
+"I feel myself growing in thought, to-night, Hugh, and O, how proud
+I feel that the little being who is soon to claim our love, if all
+is well, will come into at least some knowledge of these things."
+
+In a few weeks she expected to become a mother, and was looking
+hopefully forward to the event, as all women do, or should, who have
+pleasant homes and worthy husbands.
+
+"I, too, am glad that we can give it the benefit of our experience,
+and shall be proud to welcome into the world a legitimate child."
+
+"Why, Hugh! what do you mean? All children are legitimate, are they
+not, that are born in wedlock?"
+
+"Very far from it. In very many cases they are wholly illegitimate."
+
+His wife looked eagerly for an explanation.
+
+"All persons who are not living in harmony and love, are bringing
+into the world illegitimate offspring. Children should be born
+because they are wanted. A welcome should greet every new-born
+child, and yet a mere physical relation is all that exists between
+thousands of parents and children, while thousands who have not
+given physical birth are more fitted by qualities of heart and soul
+to be the parents of these spiritual orphans than the blood
+relations, who claim them as their own. I often think that many in
+the other life will find, even though they may have had no offspring
+in this, that they have children by the ties of soul and
+heart-affinity, which constitutes after all the only relationship
+that is immortal."
+
+Ten days after the above conversation, the eventful period came. All
+night she lingered in pain, and at daybreak a bright and beautiful
+daughter was laid at her side. But, alas! life here was not for her.
+Mother and babe were about to be separated, for the fast receding
+pulse told plainly to the watchful physician that her days were
+numbered. Her anguished husband read it in the hopeless features of
+the doctor, and leaning over the dear one he loved so well, be
+caught from her these last words,--
+
+"Call her DAWN! for is she not a coming light to you? See, the day
+is breaking, Hugh,"--then the lips closed forever.
+
+"Come back, come back to me, my loved, my darling one," broke from
+the anguished heart of the stricken husband, and falling on his
+knees beside the now lifeless form, he buried his face in his hands,
+and wept.
+
+But even grief cannot always have its sway.
+
+A low, wailing cry from the infant moved his heart with a strange
+thrill, he knew not whether of joy or pain, and rising from the
+posture in which grief had thrown him, he went and bowed himself
+over the silent form.
+
+One gone, another come.
+
+But the little being had her life in its veins, and slowly he felt
+himself drawn earthward by this new claim upon his love and
+sympathy.
+
+A strange feeling came over him as the nurse took the little child,
+and laid upon the bed the robes its mother had prepared for it.
+
+It was too much, and the heart-stricken man left the room, and
+locking himself in his library, where he had spent so many happy
+hours with his lost one, gave full vent to the deep anguish of his
+soul. He heard the kind physician's steps as he left, and no more.
+For hours he sat bowed in grief, and silent, while sorrow's bitter
+waters surged over him.
+
+No more would her sweet smile light his home; no more her voice call
+his name in those tender tones, that had so often been music to his
+ears; no more could they walk or sit in the moonlight and converse.
+Was it really true? Had Alice gone, or was it not all a troubled
+dream?
+
+Noon came, and his brow became more fevered. But there was no soft
+hand to soothe the pain away. Night came, and still he sat and
+mourned; and then the sound of voices reached his ears. He roused
+himself to meet the friends and relations of his dear departed one,
+and then all seemed vague, indefinite and dreamlike.
+
+The funeral rites, the burial, the falling earth upon the coffin
+lid; these all passed before him, then like one in a stupor he went
+back to his home, and took up the broken threads of life again, and
+learned to live and smile for his bright-eyed, beautiful Dawn. May
+she be Dawn to the world, he said unto himself, as he looked into
+her heaven-blue eyes; then thanked God that his life was spared to
+guide her over life's rough seas, and each day brought fresh
+inspirations of hope, new aspirations of strength, and more
+confiding trust in Him whose ways are not as our ways.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+
+
+Dawn grew to be very beautiful. Every day revealed some new charm,
+until Hugh feared she too might go and live with the angels. But
+there was a mission for her to perform on the earth, and she lived.
+
+Each day he talked to her of her mother, and kept her memory alive
+to her beautiful traits, until the child grew so familiar with her
+being as to know no loss of her bodily presence, save in temporal
+affairs.
+
+A faithful and efficient woman kept their house, and cared for
+Dawn's physical wants; her father attending to her needs, both
+mental and spiritual, until she reached the age of seven, when a
+change in his business required him to be so often away from home,
+that he advertised for a governess to superintend her studies and
+her daily deportment.
+
+"What was mamma like?" asked Dawn of her father one evening as they
+sat in the moonlight together, "was she like the twilight?"
+
+He turned upon the child with admiration, for to him nothing in
+nature could better be likened unto his lost and lovely Alice.
+
+"Yes, darling," he said, kissing her again and again, "mamma was
+just like the twilight--sweet, tender, and soothing."
+
+"Then I am not at all like mamma?" she remarked, a little sadly.
+
+"And why?"
+
+"Because I am strong and full of life. I always feel as though it
+was just daylight. I never feel tired, papa, I only feel hushed."
+
+"Heaven grant my daughter may never be weary," he said, and stooped
+to kiss her, while he brushed away a tear which started as he did
+so.
+
+"I shall never be weary while I have you, papa. You will never leave
+me, will you?"
+
+"I hope to be spared many years to guard and love my charge."
+
+A few days after, Dawn was surprised to find the governess, of whom
+her father had spoken, in the library, and her father with his
+carpet-bag packed, ready for a journey.
+
+Am I not going too, papa?" she said, turning on him her face, as
+though her heart was ready to burst with grief. It was their first
+parting, and equally hard for parent and child.
+
+"Not this time, darling, but in the summer we shall go to the
+sea-shore and the mountains, and take Miss Vernon with us. Come,
+this is your teacher, Dawn; I want you to be very good and obedient
+while I am away," and then, looking at his watch, he bade them both
+adieu.
+
+He knew the child was weeping bitterly. All the way to the cars, and
+on the journey through that long, sunny day, he felt her calling him
+back. There could be no real separation between them, and it was
+painful to part, and keep both so drawn and attenuated in spirit.
+
+In vain Miss Vernon exerted herself to make the child happy. It was
+of no use. Her delicate organism had received its first shock; but
+in due time her spirit broke through the clouds in its native
+brilliancy, and there was no lingering shadow left on her sky. Dawn
+was as bright and smiling as she had been sad and dispirited.
+
+"I will gather some wild flowers and make the room all bright and
+lovely for papa," she said, and in a moment was far away.
+
+"It's no use training her, you see, Miss," the good housekeeper
+asserted, as a sort of an apology for the child, whom she loved
+almost to idolatry, "might as well try to trap the sunlight or catch
+moonbeams. She'll have her way, and, somehow to me, her way seems
+always right. Will you please step out to tea, Miss, and then I will
+go and look after her; or, if you like, you can follow that little
+path that leads from the garden gate to the hill where she has gone
+for her flowers."
+
+Miss Vernon was glad to go; and after a light supper, was on her
+way, almost fearful that the child might consider her an intruder,
+for she instinctively felt that she must work her way into the
+affections of her new charge.
+
+She followed the path to the hill, and after walking for some time
+and not finding Dawn, was about to retrace her steps, when she heard
+a low, sweet voice, chanting an evening hymn. She sat upon a bed of
+grey moss until the chanting ceased, and then went in the direction
+from which the sound came.
+
+There sat Dawn, with eyes uplifted, lips parted as though in
+conversation, and features glowing with intensest emotion. Then the
+eyes dropped, and her little hands were pressed to her heart, as
+though the effort had been too great.
+
+Slowly Miss Vernon stepped towards her. Dawn caught her eye, and
+motioned her to come nearer.
+
+"Are you not lonely here, child?" she asked.
+
+"Lonely? O, no. I am not alone, Miss Vernon, God is here, and I am
+so full I sing, or I should die. Did you hear me?"
+
+"I did. Who taught you that beautiful chant?"
+
+"No one; it grew in me; just as the flowers grow on the plants."
+
+"I have an instructor here, and one I shall find more interesting
+than tractable," mused the governess, as she looked upon the child.
+But Dawn was not learned in one day, as she afterwards found.
+
+The sun sank behind the hills just as they entered the garden
+together. Dawn missed her father too much to be quite up to her
+usual point of life, and she went and laid herself down upon a couch
+in the library, and chatted away the hour before her bedtime. She
+missed him more than she could tell; and then she thought to
+herself, "Who can I tell how much I miss my father?"
+
+"Did you ever have any body you loved go away, Miss Vernon?" she at
+last ventured to ask, and her voice told what she suffered.
+
+"I have no near friends living, dear child."
+
+"What! did they all die? Only my mamma is dead; but I don't miss
+her; I think she must be in the air, I feel her so. Have n't you any
+father, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"No. He died when I was quite young, and then my mother, and before
+I came here I buried my last near relative-an aunt."
+
+"But aunts don't know us, do they?"
+
+"Why not? I don't quite understand you," she said, wishing to bring
+the child out.
+
+"Why, they don't feel our souls. I have got aunts and cousins, but
+they seem away off, O, so far. They live here, but I don't feel
+them; and they make me, O, so tired. They never say anything that
+makes me thrill all over as papa does. Don't you see now what I
+mean?"
+
+"Yes, I see. Will you tell me after I have been here awhile, if I
+make you tired?"
+
+"I need not tell you in words. You will see me get tired."
+
+"Very good. I hope I shall not weary you."
+
+"I can tell by to-morrow, and if I do look tired you will go, won't
+you?"
+
+"Certainly; and for fear I may weary you now, I will retire, if you
+will promise to go too."
+
+She yielded willingly to Miss Vernon's wish, and was led to her
+room, where the sensitive, pure being was soon at rest.
+
+It seemed almost too early for any one to be stirring, when Miss
+Vernon heard a little tap on her door, and the next moment beheld a
+childish face peeping in.
+
+"May I come?"
+
+"Certainly. I hope you have had pleasant dreams, Dawn. Can you tell
+me why they gave you such a strange name?"
+
+"Strange? Why I am Dawn, that is the reason; and mamma was Twilight,
+only her mother did n't give her the right name."
+
+"Have you slept well?"
+
+"I did n't know anything till I woke up. Was that sleeping well?"
+
+"I think it was. Now will you tell me at what hour you have
+breakfast, that I may prepare myself in season?"
+
+"When papa is at home, at eight o'clock. This morning I am going to
+see Bessie, the new calf, and Minnie Day's kittens, and Percy
+Willard's new pony, so Aunt Sue says she can have breakfast any
+time."
+
+Miss Vernon upon this concluded that she need make no hasty toilet,
+and sank back upon her pillow to think awhile of her new
+surroundings.
+
+Breakfast waited, but no Dawn appeared. Aunt Sue, fearing that the
+toast and coffee might be spoiled, rang for Miss Vernon.
+
+At eleven Dawn came in with soiled clothes and wet feet.
+
+"O, Aunty, the pony was so wild, and the kittens so cunning, I could
+n't come before."
+
+"And see your clothes, Dawn. I must work very hard to-day to wash
+and dry them. Now go to your room and change them all, and try to
+remember others when you are in your enjoyments, won't you?"
+
+"Yes, and I won't soil them again, auntie."
+
+"Until the next time, I fear," said the kind housekeeper, who was,
+perhaps, too forgiving with the strange, wild child.
+
+The next day Dawn was filled with delight at her father's return. He
+came early in the morning, and found his pet awake and watching for
+his approach.
+
+"O, papa, such a dream, a real dream, as I had last night. Sit right
+here by the window, please, while I tell it to you."
+
+"Perhaps your dream will be so real that we shall not want anything
+more substantial for breakfast."
+
+"O, it's better than food, papa."
+
+"Well, go on, my pet."
+
+"I was thinking how glad I should be to see my papa, when I went to
+sleep and had this beautiful dream:--
+
+"I was walking in a garden all full of flowers and vines, when I saw
+my mother coming towards me, with something upon her arm. She came
+close, and then I saw it was a robe, O, such a white robe, whiter
+than snow. She put it on me, and it was too long. I asked if it was
+for me why it was so long. 'You will grow,' she said, 'tall and
+beautiful, and need the long garment.' Then she led the way, and
+motioned me to follow. She led me down a dismal lane, and into a
+damp, dreadful place, where the streets were all mud and dirt. 'O,
+my dress,' I said, 'my pure white robe.' 'No dust and dirt can stain
+it,' she replied, 'walk through that dark street and see.' I went,
+and looked back at each step, but my pure white robe was not soiled,
+and when I returned to her, it was as spotless as ever. Was it not a
+lovely dream, and what does it mean, papa?"
+
+"A lesson too deep for your childhood to comprehend, and yet I will
+some day tell you. But here comes Miss Vernon, and the bell has rung
+for breakfast."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+
+
+The next day, while Dawn wandered over the hills, her father
+conversed with Miss Vernon on what to his mind constituted an
+education.
+
+"I know that all our growth is slow, but I wish to take the right
+steps if possible in the right direction; I wish my daughter to be
+wholly, not fractionally developed. There are certain parts of her
+nature which I shall trust to no one. Her daily lessons, a knowledge
+respecting domestic affairs, a thorough comprehension of the making
+and cost of wearing apparel, and a due regard to proper attire, I
+shall trust to you, if you are competent to fill such a position,
+and I think you are."
+
+"I have seen so much misery," he continued, "resulting from the
+inability of some women to make a home happy, that I have resolved
+if my child lives to years of maturity, all accomplishments shall
+give way, if need be, to this one thing, a thorough knowledge of
+domestic affairs. Society is so at fault in these matters, and women
+generally have such false ideas of them, that I despair of reforming
+any one. If I can educate my daughter to live, or rather approximate
+in some degree, to my ideal of a true woman's life, it is all I can
+expect. Are you fond of domestic life, Miss Vernon?"
+
+He turned so abruptly upon her that she feared her hesitation might
+be taken for a lack of feeling on the subject, and yet she could not
+bear the thought that one whose ideal was so near her own, did not
+fully comprehend her upon such a theme; but there was no mistaking
+her meaning when she replied,--
+
+"I love home, and all that makes that spot holy. I only regret that
+my one-sided labor and my circumstances have kept me from mingling,
+to any great extent, in its joys and responsibilities. My ideal life
+would be to work, study and teach, but as no opportunities for doing
+so have been presented to me, and having had no home of my own, I
+have been obliged to work on in my one-sided way, unsatisfying as it
+has been."
+
+"It shall be so no more, Miss Vernon. If you will call my house your
+home, so long as we harmonize, you shall have an opportunity to
+realize your wishes, and I will see that your services are well
+requited."
+
+She was too full of gratitude to speak, but a tear started from her
+eye, and Mr. Wyman noticed that she turned aside to brush it away.
+
+"You will stay with us, Miss Vernon, I am sure of that. Take Dawn
+into the kitchen every day, no matter if she rebels, as I fear she
+may, and slowly, but thoroughly educate her in all those seemingly
+minor details of household economy. Cause her to feel the importance
+of these things, and teach her to apply herself diligently to labor.
+I am not anxious that she should make any exhibition of her mental
+accomplishments, for I have learned to dislike parlor parades, and
+the showing off of children's acquirements. I do not want Dawn to
+dazzle with false how, but to be what she seems, and of use to the
+world. At the close of each day I shall question her about her
+studies, and show to her that I am interested not only in her books,
+but in her domestic attainments. Supply to her, as well as you can,
+that material, the want of which is so great a loss to a young girl,
+and your happiness shall be my study. Treat her as you would an own
+dear child, and when she gives you trouble, send her to me. I fear I
+may have wearied you, Miss Vernon, and as the day is so fine, had
+you not better take a walk?"
+
+She was already too anxious to go by herself, and think of the
+happiness which was about opening for her. It seemed too much. All
+the years that had passed since her dear mother's death had been so
+lonely. No one had ever understood her nature, or seemed to think
+her anything but a machine to teach the children their daily
+lessons. But now what a prospective! How earnestly would she begin
+her new life; and burdened with this thought she walked to the edge
+of a green wood, and sat down to weep tears of pure joy.
+
+When she returned she found her room filled with mosses and trailing
+vines, which Dawn had gathered for her. She was rapidly learning to
+love the child, and felt lonely when she was out of her sight.
+
+In the evening they sat together,--father, child, and teacher, or
+companion, as she really was to them, in the library, communing in
+silence, no word breaking the spell, until Dawn did so by asking
+Miss Vernon if she played.
+
+She glanced longingly at the beautiful instrument, which had not
+been opened since Mrs. Wyman's death, and said,--
+
+"I do play and sing, but not as well as I hope to with opportunities
+for practice."
+
+"Do open the piano, papa, it will spoil shut up so."
+
+"So it will, Dawn. I will open it this moment," and he silently
+accused himself for keeping it closed so long.
+
+"Do you love music, Dawn?" asked Miss Vernon, "can you sing?"
+
+"You shall hear her, and then judge. Come, darling, while I play
+your favorite song;" and he commenced the prelude to a low, sweet
+air. She began at first tremulously, but gained confidence at each
+word, until at length her sweet, childish tones rose pure and clear
+above the voice of her father, who hummed rather than sang the song
+in his deep, rich bass.
+
+His eyes were full of tears when they closed, for that hymn was his
+wife's favorite. He had taught it to Dawn, without telling her that
+her mother ever sung it.
+
+"It seemed just as though mamma was here and sang too, papa, did n't
+it?"
+
+"Mamma, no doubt, is with us. I am glad my little girl feels her
+presence, and always remember that she is with you, too, when you
+feel tempted to do wrong."
+
+She nestled her head on his bosom and wept. Tears of joy or sorrow?
+Only they whose souls are finely and intensely strung, can know what
+made her weep.
+
+"You must sing for us now, Miss Vernon," he said, and would have led
+her to the instrument, but for the burden of love, which was resting
+on his heart.
+
+"I play only simple songs, Mr. Wyman, and, indeed, am quite out of
+practice."
+
+"You have some gems stowed away, I know; please sing us one."
+
+She arose, and after a few trembling notes, sang a sweet song with
+such pathos and richness that Mr. Wyman called again for more and
+more. Dawn was wild with joy, and then her father, after Miss Vernon
+declined to play more, proposed that they should sing an evening
+hymn.
+
+In this they all joined, Miss Vernon's rich contralto blending
+sweetly with Dawn's pure soprano.
+
+Their dreams were sweet and peaceful that night. Their souls had all
+met and harmonized, and harmony ever brings rest.
+
+The following day Miss Vernon looked over Dawn's clothing, and laid
+aside whatever needed repairing. She was just folding some aprons,
+when the child rushed into the room, saying,--
+
+"O, Miss Vernon, I must wear my blue dress to-day."
+
+"Why that one?"
+
+"Because I feel good, and blue is heavenly, so let me wear it,
+please, will you?"
+
+"It's rather short, Dawn, but I suppose it will cover all your
+goodness for one day, will it not?"
+
+"O, don't laugh, I feel truly good to-day, and any other dress would
+not do."
+
+"You shall have it, Dawn. I am glad you like to dress according to
+your feelings. I do myself."
+
+"Then how do you feel to-day, and what shall you dress in?"
+
+"I feel very, very happy, but have no garment to symbolize my
+feelings."
+
+"I don't want you to wear that grey dress, though, to-day?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because it don't say anything."
+
+"Nor my black?"
+
+"O, no, no!"
+
+"How will the drab with blue trimmings suit?"
+
+"It's just the dress. You are silent, and have been rather sad, you
+know, Miss Vernon, and the blue is the glimmer of sky above your
+old, dull life. Do wear the drab with blue ribbons."
+
+"I will, Dawn. My life is brighter, because I have some one to
+love;" and she pressed her lips warmly to the cheeks of her little
+charge.
+
+When Mr. Wyman came in to dinner he thought he had never seen Dawn
+looking so fresh and beautiful, while his eyes rested in full
+satisfaction on Miss Vernon's lovely form, so becomingly arrayed. He
+liked the absence of the black dress, for its removal seemed to
+betoken a happier life, a life which he knew she needed, and which
+he mentally resolved she should possess, so far as he could
+contribute to it.
+
+At the table, Mr. Wyman was talkative and gay, touching lightly here
+and there, upon subjects, without argument. It was conversation, not
+discussion, or an array of opinions, which flowed from the minds of
+those around the board, and of such a nature that all could join,
+from young to old.
+
+Miss Vernon delighted in watching him as his eyes rested tenderly on
+his child. It was charming to witness such a tender relation
+existing between father and daughter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+
+
+The days flew swiftly by, and the still, peaceful Sabbath dawned.
+
+How tranquil, and yet how full of life it seemed to Miss Vernon as
+she sat at her window and gazed on the scene of beauty before her. A
+lovely spring morning-the distant hills soft and mellow; the emerald
+fields glittering with dew-the tasseled pines nodding in the gentle
+breeze-and the whole atmosphere vibrating with the tones of the
+Sabbath bells.
+
+"Surely," she said, "I need no form of worship. God is in all this.
+I wonder if I must go from all these beauties to a temple made with
+hands."
+
+"Is n't this pleasanter than sitting in a bare walled church?" said
+Dawn, who had entered the room so softly that Miss Vernon was only
+made aware of her presence by this inquiry.
+
+"I think it is. Do you go to church?"
+
+"No. Papa does sometimes, but he never makes me go."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+"Shall you go to-day, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"Not if I can act my pleasure."
+
+"I am so glad, for papa said if you did not go, we would all take a
+walk, but if you wished to go, he would harness Swift and take you.
+
+"I had much rather take the walk to-day. Some day, I shall want to
+go to your church."
+
+"There, papa is ready, I hear him in the hall. Get your hat, Miss
+Vernon."
+
+"But you forget he has not yet invited me."
+
+"Dawn, ask Miss Vernon whether she will take a walk with us, or go
+to church?" said Mr. Wyman, at that moment calling from the foot of
+the stairs.
+
+Miss Vernon was not long in making known her choice, for she sprang
+and put on her hat, and in a few moments the three were walking
+through the garden towards the woods and fields.
+
+"Which direction, Miss Vernon, shall we take?"
+
+"Any; it's all lovely."
+
+"Then lead the way, Dawn, and mind you act as a good pilot, and do
+not get us into any brooks."
+
+She ran gaily on before, and they soon found themselves on the verge
+of a rich, mossy dell.
+
+"O, is it not beautiful, papa? I shall carry all this lovely moss
+home."
+
+"No, Dawn, let it remain. Gather a few specimens from here and
+there, but do not mar the general beautiful effect. It is ours now;
+we can not make it more so by carrying it home to fade and die. Can
+we, darling?"
+
+"No. You are always right and good, papa."
+
+"To-morrow others may come here, and the lovely scene will be as
+pleasing to them as to us. There is a possession, Miss Vernon, other
+than that which the world recognizes; and it is always pleasant to
+me to think that though a man may build himself a palace, and call
+himself its proprietor, he alone really owns it whose eyes see the
+most of its beauties, and whose soul appropriates them. And so, a
+lovely spot like this, or the finest garden may belong to the
+passer-by whose purse does not contain a penny."
+
+"How it smoothes in life the inequalities of station, and makes us
+content to admire, rather than strive for ownership."
+
+"I see by your fervent enjoyment of the scene around us, Miss
+Vernon, that you, too, have discarded some of the old forms of
+worship, or rather found that a true worship of the divine is not
+limited by four walls."
+
+"I have. For a long time I have seen so much bigotry, and so great a
+lack of all the Christian virtues, even in the most liberal
+churches, that I have felt I must seek my own mode of enjoying the
+Sabbath."
+
+"I long ago found my true relation to all places and forms of
+devotion," remarked Mr. Wyman. "I do not for a moment ignore the
+church, nor what Christianity has done for us, yet while I see the
+good the church has accomplished, I also see its shortcomings and
+regret them. As an individual, I can say that I have done with most
+church organizations. I have heard good and earnest words spoken by
+clergymen in the pulpit once a week, and as good from the lips of
+working people at their tasks every day. I do not undervalue the
+influence that the forms of worship have on the masses. While they
+need them, they must remain where they are, and have them. I only
+want the church to be so liberal, that men and women who feel that
+they are getting life in another direction, will be recognized by it
+to be as good and true to their needs, as though they sat within its
+walls. How much have we at the present day of this? Who is large
+enough to feel that we cannot always draw from one fount? We are not
+machines, to be continually run in one direction."
+
+"What do you think of our sabbath schools. Do they not need a new
+life, too?"
+
+"Unquestionably. I think they need an infusion of dramatic life;
+something that interests while it instructs. Dry catechisms are not
+suited to the children of our day. We want the living present, and
+not the dead past. If I was called to superintend a sabbath school,
+I would have a little play enacted by a portion of the children, and
+then another portion, until all were actors in their turn."
+
+"If you express your opinions, I fear you will wait a long time for
+a call?"
+
+"I do not crave the position; I am only anxious to see the effect of
+my theory in practice. Children need demonstration; need muscular
+action. But I am, perhaps, wearying you."
+
+"Go on. I am interested in all that relates to new phases of life."
+
+"I should astonish some divines of the conservative order, were I to
+publish my views of social and religious life. I would sooner give
+money to build theatres, than churches. Everywhere I would cultivate
+a love for the drama, which is the highest and most impressive form
+of representing truth. My being is stirred to greater depths by good
+acting than it can possibly be by mere preaching. I shall be happy
+to see the day when religion is acknowledged to be the simple living
+out of individual lives, always toned, of course, by pure morality.
+I hope to see acts of kindness looked upon as religion, instead of a
+mere personal attendance upon worship. But I have talked too long.
+Where is Dawn?"
+
+They walked on, and soon found her sitting on a moss-covered stone,
+twining a wreath of wild flowers. She looked like a queen, as she
+was for a time, of that beautiful dell.
+
+"Have flowers souls, papa?" she asked, as he approached her.
+
+"I hope they are immortal, at least in type. But why do you ask?"
+
+"Because these flowers I have gathered will fade and die, and if
+they have souls they will not love me for gathering them, will
+they?"
+
+"Perhaps all the sweetness of these flowers, when they die, passes
+into the soul of the one who gathers them."
+
+"O, how pretty! That makes me think about the little girl who played
+with me one day and got angry. You told me that she was better for
+the bad feeling I had; that I had taken some of her evil, because I
+could overcome it-it with good."
+
+"I am glad you remember so well what I tell you. Now as we cannot
+tell whether flowers have souls or not, we will believe that all
+their sweetness passes into ours."
+
+"But if I should kill a serpent?"
+
+"You must cover the evil with good."
+
+"But, papa, people come to our house all full of evil things, like
+serpents. Don't they have enough good to cover them, or why do I
+feel them so plain?"
+
+"I fear not; or, rather, their goodness has not been cultivated and
+made large enough to absorb the evil. We must go home now, or Aunt
+Susan will be waiting for us."
+
+The three walked home together, in harmony with nature and
+themselves. They found their dinner waiting, and the simple meal
+neatly prepared, was graced with a vase of beautiful flowers.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a few weeks the little neighborhood was duly aroused, and
+discussing the state of affairs at Mr. Wyman's. Each one considered
+herself called upon to pass judgment upon the daily proceedings.
+
+"It's too ridiculous, right in the face and eyes of honest people,
+to see this woman and Mr. Wyman carrying on as they do," said Miss
+Gay, a lady of forty years, whose notions of the mingling of the
+sexes were of the strictest character.
+
+"Why, how? Do tell us," chimed in her companion, a garrulous old
+lady.
+
+"Why, they say that this young woman is going about with Mr. Wyman
+all the time. He takes her to ride almost every day, and they have
+interminable walks and daily confabs together."
+
+"Well, I should think the child's lessons would come off slim, Miss
+Gay."
+
+"O, that's only a subterfuge. They'll be married 'fore one year has
+gone by."
+
+"I do not believe Hugh Wyman will ever marry again," said one who
+knew his character better than the others.
+
+"Then what can he want of that young woman? No good, depend on
+that," and Mrs. Green shook her head as though she had more in it
+than she wished at that time to display.
+
+While they chat and waste the hours, let us go and listen to the
+parties talked of, and judge for ourselves whether two earnest souls
+can not approach, enjoy each other, and yet be pure and blameless.
+
+"I can scarcely believe, Mr. Wyman, that so brief a period could
+work such a change in my being. Before I came here, I thought all
+the world cold and heartless. You have taught me that friendship,
+even between men and women, may exist, and that the only true
+relations are of soul and not of blood. I can never by words tell
+you how grateful I feel to you for all these teachings," and she
+looked thoughtfully out on the summer scene before her.
+
+"I am very glad that you are happy here, Miss Vernon, for when I
+first saw you I instinctively felt that you were just the companion
+for myself and daughter. I saw, too, the cloud which hung over you,
+and felt that my hand could lift it. You belong to Dawn and myself,
+and we shall keep you so long as you are happy."
+
+"But-"
+
+"But what? I know your fears, and what this busy little neighborhood
+will say. I care no more for all its ideas of life than for the
+wind, while I feel right here," said Mr. Wyman, placing his hand
+upon his heart. "The time has come for all to live individual lives.
+I would not for a moment have your name sullied, but should you go,
+would gossip cease? No; stay here, Miss Vernon, and show to this
+little portion of the world that man and woman can live together
+sociably and honorably. I love you as a sister; no more. My dear
+Alice is now my wife, the same as when on earth. I speak as I do,
+knowing that you will meet with many sneers and frowns if you stay,
+but the consciousness of right will sustain you."
+
+"How could you know what was in my mind? You have, indeed, expressed
+all my fears as regards this relation between us."
+
+"Will you go or stay?"
+
+"I shall stay."
+
+"May you never regret the decision."
+
+"Now may I ask you about this strange belief, that the departed are
+about us? Excuse me, if I seem curious, but when you spoke of your
+dear wife, my whole being quivered with a new and strange emotion. I
+only ask from deepest interest."
+
+"I believe you. I wish I could transmit to your mind the proofs of
+my belief. I have almost daily positive proof of my wife's presence,
+sometimes by my own powers, and then again from those of my child."
+
+"Then she, too, sees like yourself?"
+
+"She does. And every day my experiences are too real and tangible
+for me to deny, or even doubt that the loved, and so-called 'lost,'
+are with us still. To my mind, there is nothing unnatural about it.
+Every day my faith deepens, and not for all the glory of this life
+would I change my belief. Death has brought myself and Alice nearer
+together. But I can only state to you my faith in this, my
+experience cannot be imparted. Each must seek, and find, and be
+convinced alone by personal experience and observation."
+
+"I believe you, and your earnest words have sunk deep within my
+mind, yet in modern spiritualism I have little faith."
+
+"Mere phenomenal spiritism is of course only designed to arrest the
+attention; its other form appeals to the soul, and becomes a part of
+the daily lives of those who realize it."
+
+"But I have heard of so much that was contradictory, so much that
+cannot be reconciled."
+
+"Neither can we reconcile the usual manifestations of life. Our
+daily experiences teach us that seeming absurdities abound on every
+hand."
+
+"That is true. I sometimes think I shall never get the evidence
+which my nature requires to convince."
+
+"In God's own time and way it will come, and when you are best
+fitted to receive it."
+
+"But please go on, Mr. Wyman, and tell me more of your experience."
+
+"I would I could tell you how often when I am weary, my dear Alice
+comes and watches over me at night; how truly I feel her thoughts,
+which she cannot express in words; and how, when the poor and needy
+are suffering, she leads me to where they dwell amid scenes of want.
+When my pure child speaks thoughts beyond herself, and describes to
+me some vision which I at the same time behold, with the exact look
+and gesture of her mother, I say I believe in spirit communion. I
+can well afford to let the world laugh; I know what I see and feel.
+And well do I know how much there is mixed with this modern
+spiritism, which has no origin save in the minds of the persons who
+substitute their hopes and thoughts for impressions. On this I have
+much to say to you at some future period. It is well that it is so,
+else we should not discriminate. Life is so full of adulterations,
+that which the world calls 'evil' is so mingled with that it calls
+'good,' would it not be strange if this phase should come to us pure
+and unmixed?"
+
+"It would not take you long to make me a convert to your faith; yet
+I hope sometime to have my own experiences. If there was not so much
+that conflicts with our reason, I think every one would naturally
+accept the belief you so fondly cherish."
+
+"Without such conflicting experiences, we should be mere machines.
+We must grow in every direction, using every faculty for our
+guidance, yet ever remembering there are mightier realms than
+reason, and that the human soul must often go beyond that portal, to
+catch glimpses of the silent land."
+
+"Life would indeed be blessed to me, could I feel an assurance that
+my mother was near me to strengthen me in my hours of weakness, and
+that she was interested in my labors."
+
+"I know all our earnest longings are answered, and that sufficient
+proof will be given you. Say nothing of this conversation to Dawn. I
+have my reasons, and should not be surprised if, in a few days, she
+should give you a test of spirit presence."
+
+"Can Dawn see as clearly as yourself?"
+
+"She can, and far better. I do not force the gift upon her, or seek
+to overwork her powers. I want it to be natural and to unfold with
+all her other capacities. Never question her, let all come freely."
+
+"I will remember; and here she comes laden as usual with flowers."
+
+"O, Miss Vernon, O, papa, I have had such a good time!" she
+exclaimed out of breath and almost wild with excitement.
+
+"What was it all about, child?"
+
+"I was on the hill out here, getting flowers, when I seemed to hear
+music, all at once in the air. I think I went to sleep, but if it
+was a dream I know it means something, for I saw a tall, beautiful
+lady come to me, and on her forehead were the letters, M. V. Then
+she took a little box inlaid with gems, and drew from it a necklace
+of pearls, and then she went away, and as she turned-I saw these
+words come like a light-'Tell Florence.' Now, papa, what did it
+mean?"
+
+Mr. Wyman turned to Miss Vernon who was weeping. He waited until her
+emotion subsided and then said,--
+
+"Your mother, was it not?"
+
+"They were my mother's initials. Her name was Mabel Vernon, and mine
+Florence."
+
+"How strange. And the necklace, do you recognize that?"
+
+"My mother gave me-on her dying bed-a pearl necklace in such a box
+as described by Dawn."
+
+"And we did not know your name was Florence. We only knew you as
+Miss Vernon."
+
+"Can it-can this be true? Ah, something tells me I may believe. I am
+too full now, Mr. Wyman, to talk. I must go."
+
+"Call me Hugh, Florence, I am your brother--" and he led her gently
+to the house.
+
+She remained in her room all that evening. Deep and strong was the
+tide which was setting into her new life. "If 't is true, 't is the
+greatest truth mortal has found," she said again and again to
+herself, as the old upheaved, and the new flowed into her soul. Life
+was becoming almost too full; her brain grew fevered, but at last
+sweet sleep, that soul refiner, came, and after a night's repose she
+awoke, calm and at rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+
+
+
+After breakfast, Mr. Wyman informed Miss Vernon and Dawn that he
+should go away that day on business, and be absent perhaps two
+weeks.
+
+"I have a book which I would like you to take to Miss Evans for me
+to-day," he said, addressing Miss Vernon.
+
+"The lady who called here soon after I came?"
+
+"The same."
+
+"I like her much, and should be pleased to see her again."
+
+"I am glad you do. She is my ideal of a true woman, and one whom
+every young, earnest soul ought to know. You will go to-day?"
+
+"Certainly; I am anxious to see her in her own home."
+
+"She is queen of her domain, and entertains her friends in a most
+lady-like manner; but I must bid you both good-bye, and be off. Be
+happy, Miss Vernon, Florence, and let me find you full of good
+things to tell of yourself and Dawn, on my return. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye, papa," rang out on the sweet summer air till he was out
+of sight, then the child's lid trembled, the lips quivered, and she
+laid her head on the bosom of her friend and teacher, and gave vent
+to the grief which ever wrung her at parting with her kind parent.
+
+"I am glad you did not let your father see those tears. You are
+getting quite brave, Dawn."
+
+"I feel so bad when he goes. Shall I ever be strong like you, and
+look calm after these partings? Perhaps you don't love papa; but
+every body does that knows him-you do, don't you?"
+
+"Very much; but we will go to our lessons, now, dear."
+
+"Can I bring my book into the hall, to-day? I like to stay where I
+saw him last."
+
+"Certainly; and we will have a review to-day and see how well you
+remember your lessons. We shall have no interruptions this morning,
+and after dinner we will go together to see Miss Evans."
+
+An hour passed, and the lessons were but half through, when a ring
+at the door caused them both to start, and they left the hall.
+
+Aunt Susan answered the call, and ushered the visitors into the
+family sitting-room.
+
+"Some ladies have called to see you, Miss Vernon," she said,
+thrusting her head into the doorway of the room where teacher and
+pupil sat close together with clasped hands, as though some invading
+force was about to wrest their lives apart.
+
+"In a moment, Aunty, I will see them," and a strange shudder shook
+her frame.
+
+"Where shall I go while they stay?" asked Dawn.
+
+"Anywhere; only not far from home, as we intend to have an early
+dinner."
+
+"Then I will stay here, and look over papa's folio of drawings."
+
+Miss Vernon went to her room to see that her hair and dress were all
+right, and then slowly descended the stairs to the sitting-room. Her
+hand trembled violently as she turned the knob, and she almost
+resolved to go back to her room. "I am growing so sensitive of
+late," she said to herself, "but this will never do, I must go in,"
+and she opened the door.
+
+Three ladies hastily rose and bowed very formally, as she entered.
+
+The tallest and most stylish of the three blandly inquired for her
+health, and after a few commonplace remarks, announced the object of
+their visit.
+
+"We have come to you, Miss Vernon, to-day, as friends of our sex, to
+inform you of, as you may not fully comprehend, the character of the
+man whom you are serving."
+
+Miss Vernon coolly signified her attention.
+
+"We deemed it our duty to do so, being married women," broke in a
+little squeaky voice, belonging to the most demure-looking one of
+the party.
+
+"Yes, we all decided, after long deliberation," added the third,
+"that no young woman who cared for her reputation, would tarry a day
+longer under this roof. This visit of ours is an act of the purest
+kindness, and we trust you will receive it as such, and in a kind
+spirit."
+
+"Yes," resumed the first speaker, "it is no pleasant duty, and one
+we have long delayed performing, but we could not bear to see youth
+and innocence betrayed."
+
+Miss Vernon at first seemed stunned. She knew not what to say, so
+many emotions filled her. She tried to speak, but her tongue lost
+its power, and all was silent. She made one more effort, and voice
+and courage returned, enabling her to address her "friends."
+
+"Will you inform me, ladies, what grounds you have for your
+accusations against Mr. Wyman?"
+
+"I beg pardon, Miss, we who have known him longer than yourself, of
+course know both sides of his character; indeed he has no reputation
+in B--, as all know."
+
+She started involuntarily. What passed through her mind at that
+moment none can tell, but all can form some idea of the wild tremor
+of doubt which was gaining strength under their vile calumny and
+falsehood.
+
+They saw their vantage ground, and followed close with such
+invectives as women only know how to hurl against whomsoever they
+assail.
+
+"Strangers," she could not call them ladies, "I can only speak out
+of my own experience of this person who a few months ago was unknown
+to me. He has ever treated me with all delicacy and respect. I have
+ever found him to be a gentleman. I cannot, will not, believe your
+assertions," she said with emphasis, a sudden strength coming over
+her.
+
+"If you do not believe us, then seek one proof of his wrong dealing,
+which you can find any day, at a small cottage near the uplands, on
+the road to L--. 'Tis only a mile from here, Miss, and we would
+advise you to acquaint yourself with the fact. Take our good advice
+and leave this house. That is all we can say to you. Of course, if
+you remain here, you will not be admitted into respectable society."
+
+"I will not leave his house while he remains the friend and brother
+he is to me now."
+
+"No virtuous woman will permit you, then, to enter her house;
+remember this, Miss Vernon," and the tall lady assumed an attitude
+of offended dignity.
+
+"I see," she continued, "our visit has done but little save to
+arouse you. It may be at some future day, you will thank us for our
+advice to you this morning. We must go now. Good day, Miss."
+
+"Good morning," replied Miss Vernon, rising and accompanying them to
+the door, scarce able to repel the strong tide of grief, or bear up
+under the weight of sadness that was bearing down her soul.
+
+"My brief, happy days so soon, O, how soon, gone by, and over," she
+said, after she had closed the door; and she sank on her knees and
+prayed as only those have prayed before, in like trouble.
+
+She knew not how long she knelt there, but she was roused by Dawn's
+sweet voice, which was always music to her soul, saying, "Please,
+may I come, Miss Vernon?"
+
+She rose and held out her arms to receive the little one, who stood
+hesitatingly on the threshold of the library, then pressing the dear
+child to her heart, found a sweet sense of relief in doing so.
+
+"I know what makes you feel so, Miss Vernon."
+
+"What, Dawn, tell me all you feel," and she sank upon a seat and
+rested her face on her hand.
+
+"I was looking over the drawings, and feeling very happy, when the
+room grew dark and cold, so cold I was frightened. Then I heard
+something say, 'Fear not, Dawn,' and I laid my head down upon the
+couch, and saw you standing in a damp, cold valley, on either side
+of which were beautiful green mountains, whose tops overlooked all
+the towns around. They were so steep that no one could climb them.
+While you stood there, a great cloud came directly over your head.
+It was full of rain, and it burst and flooded the whole valley. I
+feared you would be drowned; but you rose with the water, instead of
+its going over you, and when the tide was as high as the mountain,
+you stepped to its highest point, on the beautiful green grass, and
+sat down. Slowly the waters went down and left you on the
+mountain-top, where you could never have gone without the flood.
+Then I looked up, and the room was all full of sunshine just as it
+was before. I felt cold, and I heard the women go, and then-"
+
+"Then what, Dawn?"
+
+"Then I came to you. The cloud is over you now, but the high green
+mountain is more lovely than the valley, and overlooks all the
+pleasant vales and hills around. Do you care if the clouds burst
+now, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"No, child, I will stand firm and sure while the rain descends. O,
+Dawn, so justly named, come and soothe my brow, for it aches so
+hard."
+
+The child passed her soft, white hands over the forehead of Miss
+Vernon, and the throbbing pain passed away under her magic touch.
+
+The bell rang for dinner long before they were ready for the
+summons, but they soon took their places at the table, yet with
+little appetite for food.
+
+"A poor compliment you pay my dinner," said Aunt Susan, as she came
+to remove the dishes, and prepare for dessert. "I suppose you are
+both lonely without Mr. Wyman. I, too, miss his pleasant face and
+smile to-day."
+
+How Miss Vernon wished she had not spoken his name just then.
+
+The form of dinner over, Miss Vernon and Dawn dressed themselves for
+their walk, knowing that they must start in good season, as it was a
+long way to the house, and they would need to rest a little before
+their return.
+
+"I almost question, Dawn, if I should go to Miss Evans while this
+cloud is over me," remarked Miss Vernon, feeling as though she was
+seeking counsel from one her superior in wisdom, rather than
+addressing a mere child.
+
+"Why, Miss Evans is just what you need to-day. She is as calm as the
+lovely lake on which we sailed last week."
+
+"Well, I need her to-day; but should I carry my state to her?"
+
+"Why, she is like a great stream that carries all lesser streams to
+the ocean of truth," said Dawn, in a voice not her own, and so deep
+and thrilling that it made her teacher start and gaze with new
+wonder upon the child.
+
+"Then we will go this very minute, Dawn; and through the pleasant
+fields, that we may avoid the dusty road."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Miss Evans sat quietly reading, when a gentle ring at the door,
+which seemed to reach her heart rather than her ears, aroused her
+from an intensely interesting chapter; but she laid the book aside,
+and promptly answered the call.
+
+Her face looked the welcome her heart gave them, as she asked Dawn
+and her teacher into her cool, airy room. It was one of those snug,
+homelike spots, made bright by touches of beauty. Here a vase of
+flowers, there a basket of work; books, pictures, every chair and
+footstool betokened the taste of the occupant, and the air of home
+sacredness that pervaded all, soon made Miss Vernon at ease.
+
+"We could n't help coming," said Dawn, as Miss Evans removed her hat
+and mantle, and her glowing features confirmed the assertion.
+
+"Just the kind of visitors I like, fresh and spontaneous. We shall
+have a nice time, I know, this lovely afternoon."
+
+"Can I walk in your garden, Miss Evans?"
+
+"Certainly. But are you not too tired, now?"
+
+"O, no," and Dawn was out of sight the next instant.
+
+"I have brought you a book, Miss Evans, which Mr. Wyman requested me
+to bring, myself."
+
+"O, yes," she said, glancing at the title, "the one he promised to
+loan me so long ago. Is he away from home?"
+
+"He left this morning."
+
+"You must miss him very much."
+
+"We do."
+
+Miss Evans saw, with a woman's intuition, that something was
+weighing on the mind of her visitor, and kindly sought to divert her
+thoughts. The conversation brightened a little, yet it was apparent
+that Miss Vernon's interest flagged, and that her mind grew
+abstracted.
+
+"I shall not relieve her, unless I probe the wound," said Miss Evans
+to herself, and she boldly ventured on grounds which her subtle
+penetration discovered to be the cause of her gloom.
+
+"You find my friend, Mr. Wyman, an agreeable companion, I hope, Miss
+Vernon?"
+
+"He has ever been so, and very kind and thoughtful."
+
+"He is a true gentleman, and a man of honor, as well of refinement
+and noble character."
+
+Miss Vernon breathed freer.
+
+"You have made him very happy," resumed Miss Evans, "by consenting
+to remain with him and his daughter. They are both much attached to
+you."
+
+A flush of pain she could not conceal passed over the face of the
+caller. "O, if I might but speak to you as I would," she said,
+almost fainting with emotion.
+
+"Do tell me in words what you have already so plainly told me in
+your looks. Tell me freely the cause of the shadow that hangs over
+you."
+
+In response to this appeal, Florence related the experience of the
+morning.
+
+"I am not at all surprised at this," said Miss Evans, after the
+statement had been made, "for well I know the dark surmisings that
+the dwellers in this little village have worked up into imaginary
+evils. Sages would no doubt assert that all rumors have some degree
+of truth, however slight, for a foundation. This may be true; at
+least I will not deny that it is so, but the instigators of the
+cruel slanders in this case have nothing but ignorance upon which to
+base them. Hugh Wyman is what some might call eccentric. The fact
+is, he is so far beyond the majority of his fellow men that he
+stands alone, and is the cause of great clamor among those who do
+not know him. He expresses his views upon social questions freely
+but wisely. His opinions respecting the social relations that should
+exist between men and women, and their right to selfhood, are not
+his alone, but are held by the best minds in the world; and his home
+is often visited by men and women of the largest culture and
+ability, both as thinkers and writers. I do not wonder for a moment
+that your equilibrium was disturbed by these shallow-brained women.
+And now before I advocate my friend's honesty and virtue farther, I
+will tell you, what no one save myself and he knows, of one of the
+women who called upon you this morning. It is your due, after what
+has occurred, and belongs to this moment. I believe in such moments
+it is right to raise the veil of the past. Listen:--
+
+"A few years ago, one of that number who came to you, sought by
+every subterfuge and art, to gain the affections of Hugh Wyman.
+Intellectually, spiritually, in every way his inferior, of course he
+could not for a moment desire her society. Yet she sought him at all
+times, and when, at last, he told her in words what he had all along
+so forcibly expressed by his acts, that he had not even respect for
+her, and bade her cease her maneuverings, she turned upon him in
+slander; and even on his wedding day asserted that his fair Alice
+was a woman of no repute--abandoned by her friends. Nor is this
+all;-one year after the marriage of Hugh, she gave birth to a child;
+it was laid at night at his door, and he was charged with being its
+father."
+
+"But was she married, then?"
+
+"No. She subsequently went to a small village in N--, and married."
+
+"Did the town people believe her story?"
+
+"A few-but proofs of his innocence long since established the
+falsity of the charge, except in the minds of those who seem to
+delight only in that which dispoils the character of another."
+
+"But his wife? did she too suffer with doubt?"
+
+"Never. Not for a moment was her faith in her husband clouded."
+
+"And this child must be the one they spoke of to deceive me."
+
+"It is. I will go with you some day to see him, and if your eyes can
+detect the slightest resemblance to Hugh Wyman, I shall think you
+are gifted with more than second sight. I do not wish to weary you,
+Miss Vernon, but my friend's character is too sacred to me to be
+thus assailed, and I not use all my powers to make known the truth,
+and prove him innocent."
+
+"I believe his views upon marriage are rather radical, are they not,
+Miss Evans?"
+
+"They are. I join him fully in all his ideas, for long have I seen
+that our system needs thorough reformation, and that while the
+marriage bond is holy, too many have desecrated it. I believe some
+of the most inharmonious offspring are brought into the world, under
+the sanction of marriage-children diseased, mentally and physically;
+and worse than orphans. I do not say this to countenance
+licentiousness. Indeed, I know that licentiousness is not all
+outside of wedlock. It is to purify and elevate the low, and not to
+give license to such, that earnest men and women are talking and
+writing to-day. I do not blame you, Miss Vernon, for wishing proof
+of Mr. Wyman's purity and honor. I like a mind that demands
+evidence. And now, tell me, have I scattered or broken the cloud
+that hung over you?"
+
+"You have. I shall trust Mr. Wyman till I have some personal proof
+that he is not all I feel him to be."
+
+"That is the true course to pursue, my friend. In that way alone you
+have your own life developed. If by word, look or deed he ever
+betrays your trust, I shall call my intuitions vain, and all my
+insight into human character mere idle conjecture."
+
+"But I must go now, Miss Evans. I thank you much for the light which
+you have given me, and your sympathy, all of which I so much
+needed."
+
+"Your position was indeed trying, but do you not feel that your
+character will be deeper and stronger for this disturbance?"
+
+"I feel as though I had lived through a long period."
+
+"I have one question to put to you, which you must answer from your
+soul's deep intuition, and not from your reason alone. Do you
+believe Hugh Wyman guilty of the crimes charged against him?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+There was no hesitation in the answer; their souls met on
+sympathetic ground, and those two women loved Hugh Wyman alike, with
+a pure sisterly affection.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+
+
+
+There are pauses in every life; seasons of thought after outward
+experiences, when the soul questions, balances, and adjusts its
+emotions; weighs each act, condemns and justifies self in one
+breath, then throws itself hopefully into the future to await the
+incoming tide, whether of joy or sorrow it knows not.
+
+In such a state Florence Vernon found herself a few days after her
+visit to Miss Evans. She thought when with her that no doubt could
+ever shadow her heart again; but fears had crept over her, even
+though she desired to be firm.
+
+"Shall I stay and trust his nature, or go away and take up my old
+life, and be again desolate and lonely? Which?" She kept asking this
+again and again to herself. "I have been so happy here; but, if I
+go, it must be before he returns. No! I will not. I will stay and
+brave the talk, and-"
+
+"Miss Vernon, please come down, papa has come!
+
+"O, why did he come so soon? How I dread to meet him," were the
+words that Florence found springing to her lips; but not hearing his
+voice, she thought that Dawn must have been only in jest.
+
+She listened again. Yes, Mr. Wyman was talking to Dawn in the hall.
+She sat very still, and soon heard them both go into the garden;
+then all was still. Again alone, she tried to analyze her emotions,
+and see whether her deepest feeling was that of peace and rest, the
+same she felt when she first entered the home of Mr. Wyman. It was
+there, as it had been, but so agitated that the effort to ascertain
+its presence gave back no deep trust to her questioning heart. The
+bell rang for tea. She would gladly have stayed away, but could fame
+no excuse, and after bathing her eyes, which were red and swollen,
+she went slowly down stairs.
+
+"I suppose you are surprised, Florence, among the rest, at my
+unexpected presence. I did not myself expect to be at home so soon,
+but meeting one of the firm with whom my business was connected, I
+was but too glad to adjust it and return at once. I have felt very
+weary, too, since the first day I left home, as though some cloud
+was hanging over my home. My first thought was of Dawn, but her
+rosy, happy face soon put to flight the apprehensions I had for her;
+yet you, Florence, are not looking well; are you ill?"
+
+"I am quite well, thank you."
+
+He looked deeper than her words, and saw within a tumult of
+emotions. He did not notice her farther, but talked with Dawn during
+the remainder of the meal, and when they were through went alone to
+walk.
+
+"He shuns me," she said, as she went into her room and sat down, sad
+and dejected, "what but wrong can make him appear so? But I will not
+leave it thus. I will know from him to-night whether these reports
+are true, and then if true, leave here forever. Happiness, like that
+I have experienced the past few months is too great to last."
+
+He sat alone in the library; she rapped softly at his door.
+
+"Come in," he said kindly, and rose to meet her as she entered.
+
+She motioned him back to his seat. "Stay, do not rise," was all she
+could say, and fell at his feet.
+
+He lifted her gently, as a mother might have raised a weary child,
+and placed her beside him. Then, taking her hand, cold with
+excitement, in his own, said,--
+
+"I knew, Florence, by my depression, that your grief called me home.
+Some slander has reached your ears. Is it not so?"
+
+"It is. I have trusted and doubted, until I scarce know my own
+mind."
+
+"Do you feel most at rest when you trust me?"
+
+"I think-yes, I know I do. Forgive me," she continued, "if these
+shadows had not fallen so suddenly on my path, I never should for a
+moment have lost my trust in you. I have been shaken, convulsed, and
+scarce know my best thoughts."
+
+"You have, indeed. I know not who have thus disturbed you, but may
+they never suffer as we both have, and more especially yourself. I
+say I know not, and yet my suspicions may not be entirely without
+foundation. And now remember, Florence, the moment you feel that I
+am not what your ideal of a friend and brother should be, that
+moment we had better part."
+
+She started, and grew pale.
+
+"I do not allude to the present, or to the scandal which has
+unnerved and disturbed your state; nor can I expect you who are
+learning to trust impressions rather than experiences, to feel
+otherwise than you have. It was natural. I only wonder that you did
+not go at once. Your remaining has shown me your worth, and a trait
+of character which I admire. Now that the ordeal is passed, I shall
+feel that you are my friend, even though slander, vile and dark, may
+be hurled against me, as it is possible, for I have a battle to
+fight for you, my friend, and all womankind. The rights of woman,
+which have been ignored, or thought but lightly of, I shall strongly
+advocate, as opportunity occurs. I shall be misunderstood, over and
+underrated in the contest, but for that I care not. I only am too
+impatient to see the day when your sex shall not marry for mere
+shelter, and when labor of all kinds shall be open for their heads
+and hands, with remuneration commensurate with their efforts. I am
+anxiously looking for the time when their right to vote shall be
+admitted them, not grudgingly, but freely and willingly given; for
+is not woman God's highest work, and his best gift to man? Now, if
+the shadows come again, in shape of scandal, think you, you can
+trust me?"
+
+"I can. I do, and can never doubt again. Forgive the past. I was
+weak-"
+
+"There is nothing to forgive," said Mr. Wyman, as he leaned over and
+kissed her forehead.
+
+The seal of brotherhood was set, and Hugh and Florence knew from
+that hour the bond which bound them, and that it was pure and
+spotless.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Deane sat rocking, and casting impatient glances at the little
+clock upon the mantle. The book which she had an hour previous been
+deeply interested in, lay closed upon her lap, while the nervous
+glancing of her eye towards the door, told that she was anxiously
+awaiting the arrival of some one. The clock struck ten, and rising
+from her seat, she went to the window, and drawing the curtain
+aside, looked out on the soft summer night. It was one of those
+lovely evenings towards the close of the season, when the slightly
+chilled air reminds one of cosy firesides, and close companionship
+with those dearest to the heart. But her thoughts were not of a
+peaceful cast. She was alone, and jealous of him who had left her
+so. A moment later and the sound of footsteps was heard upon the
+piazza; a sound which in earlier years she had heard with thrills of
+pleasure. But to-night they only loosed the tension of long-pent
+passion, and selfish thoughts of neglect. She sank into a chair, and
+sat with the air of one deeply wronged, as her husband entered the
+room.
+
+"What, up and waiting for me?" he said, going towards her, his face
+glowing with mental exhilaration.
+
+She turned coldly from him, and took up her book. He drew it gently
+from her, saying,--
+
+"Listen, Mabel, to me. I want to talk with you awhile. You can read
+when I am away."
+
+"Yes, sir, I find ample opportunities for that," and she cast on him
+a look of keen rebuke.
+
+"Don't, Mabel; listen to me."
+
+"I am all attention; why do you not proceed?"
+
+"Do you think I can talk while you are in such a frame of mind?"
+
+"Why, what would you have me do? I am waiting for your words of
+wisdom, or, maybe, a lecture on the foibles of the sex in general,
+and myself in particular; proceed, it's quite a relief, I assure
+you, to hear a human voice after these lonely evenings, which seem
+interminable."
+
+"Why, Mabel, what do you mean? I have not spent an evening away from
+you for nearly a year before this. My absence this evening has been
+purely accidental, although I have passed it very agreeably."
+
+"And may I ask where you find such delightful entertainment, that
+kept you away till this late hour, for it is nearly midnight?"
+
+"Yes. I have spent the evening with Miss Evans."
+
+"That detestable strong-minded-"
+
+"Mabel! I will not hear her spoken of in this manner."
+
+"O, no indeed. All the men in L--are crazy after her society,--so
+refined, so progressive, so intelligent. I am sick of it all. I
+suppose you think we poor wives will submit to all this. No, no; I
+shall not, for one. You will spend your evenings at home with me.
+Howard Deane, you have no right to leave me for the society of any
+woman, as you have to-night."
+
+Having thus expended her breath and wrath, she sank back into her
+hair and gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears. To her
+limited sight, she was an injured woman. How different would she
+have felt could she have kindly listened to the words which he was
+longing to speak to her.
+
+"O, Mabel, if you would only listen to me. To-night I have heard
+such glorious thoughts that my whole being longed to share them with
+you. Thoughts that would make any man or woman live a nobler and
+better life. O, Mabel, be my helpmate. Do not turn from one who
+loves you."
+
+"A strange way to manifest your love for me, spending your hours
+with other women,--"
+
+"Stop, Mabel. I will, at least, have myself heard, and be free to
+hear the thoughts of other women, as well as those of men. I begin
+to believe that the words of Hugh Wyman are too true, 'marriage, in
+nine cases out of ten, is a bondage-a yoke of tyranny, keeping two
+souls fretting and wearing each other's lives away.'"
+
+He stopped, fearful that he had gone too far, and looked earnestly
+on the cold features of his wife. Forgive him, reader, he could not
+help comparing her then with Miss Evans, the latter so calm,
+earnest, and deep in her love for humanity and progressive life.
+
+He stepped close to her side, and taking her hand as tenderly as a
+lover might, said,--
+
+"Mabel, forgive me; I was excited, and said too much. I love you, as
+you well know, as I love no other woman, but I must have the
+innocent freedom of enjoying a friend's society, even though that
+friend be a woman.
+
+"O, certainly, Mr. Deane. I would not for a moment debar you from
+social pleasures. I see I am not congenial, and do not attract you.
+Perhaps Miss Evans is your soul-affinity; if so, I beg you not to
+let me stand in your way. I can go to my father's, any day."
+
+"Mabel!" It was all he could utter, and went out of the room.
+
+Alone, and left to her own reflections, she became more calm. A tear
+of real penitence for her hasty words, stole down her cheek. "I will
+go and tell Howard I am sorry for my unkind remarks," she said, as
+she brushed it from her face, and she rose to do so. At that moment
+a short, quick ring of the doorbell shook away the resolve, and she
+trembled with fear, unable to answer the summons.
+
+How thankful she felt to hear her husband's firm, manly step in the
+hall, and then his voice, low and rich as ever, welcoming her own
+parents. Why were they here? and what could have happened? were the
+questions which came to her mind, as her mother rushed into the
+room, followed by her father, with a carpet-bag and sundry packages.
+
+"We have given you a surprise this time, I guess, Mabel," he said,
+kissing her as tenderly as he used to when she sat upon his knee,
+and listened to almost endless stories of his own making.
+
+"But why is it that you are so late?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"The cars were delayed three hours by an accident, so instead of
+arriving in good time, we have come in rather out of order, but not
+unwelcome, Mabel, I know."
+
+He did not see her face, or he might have feared that the welcome
+was not as warm as usual. She answered quickly:
+
+"Why, yes, father, you and mother are welcome at any time of day or
+night," and yet she wished she was alone with Howard that moment.
+
+"I told father," said her mother, looking at the clock, "that it was
+so late we had better go to a hotel, but he would come, saying,
+Howard would not mind getting up to give the old folks a welcome."
+
+"We should have been very sorry to have had you done so. O, here
+comes Howard," and the husband of Mabel entered, looking very pale.
+
+"Late hours don't agree with you, my son. What has kept you up so
+long?"
+
+"Some winged messenger, I suspect, knowing you were coming; but you
+must be weary," and he offered the new-comers refreshments from the
+side board. Mabel, however, had flown to the dining-room and
+prepared them something more substantial in the way of cold meats,
+and a cup of tea, which she made in an incredibly short space of
+time.
+
+It was a relief when she had shown them to their room. She went
+below and sat alone, hoping Howard would come to her. He had gone
+into his study, where he sometimes passed a greater part of the
+night in writing, for he was a lawyer by profession, being a man of
+more than average abilities, his services were sought for many miles
+around. Mabel waited, but he came not, and being unable longer to
+bear delay, she sought him in his retreat.
+
+"Mabel, you ought to be in bed; its now half past one. You will
+scarce be able to entertain your father and mother, I fear, if you
+do not go now," and he resumed his writing.
+
+"So cold! Well, I can live without his love," she said to herself,
+and turned to leave the room. He glanced at her lithe form, and all
+the lover-like feelings of early years came over him. He longed to
+fold her once more to his heart, and rose to follow her.
+
+"Good night, sir," came from her lips in icy tones, and he returned
+to his labors, chilled, heart-sick and weary, where we will leave
+him and turn back one chapter to the cause of all this
+misconception, and see if we find in it aught but words of truth,
+and principles which should be understood by all.
+
+Like too many women, Mrs. Deane had striven to keep her husband
+wholly to herself. She could not realize that one who is determined
+in her own way and time to get the whole, may not get even a part.
+She wanted him entirely for herself, ignorant of the fact, or if
+knowing, rebellious against it, that his being would flow to herself
+after a temporary receding, far richer in love. Alas, how many women
+are dwarfing noble men, and cheating themselves out of the highest
+enjoyments of life.
+
+Of Miss Evans she knew nothing, save by report. Like the many, she
+allowed her prejudices to control her, and avoided all opportunities
+of making the acquaintance of a worthy woman, one who was fast
+becoming life and light to minds of a high order. The thoughts which
+had thrilled the heart and soul of her husband we will record for
+the benefit of those who may be struggling for light.
+
+Howard Deane walked to the village post office that evening with no
+other thought than of receiving his papers and returning home. While
+there, he met Hugh Wyman, who requested him, as it was on his way,
+to take a magazine to Miss Evans. He did not hesitate to grant the
+request of his friend. Reaching her home he found her alone, and
+common courtesies led them into conversation. This at first touched
+only upon daily events, but soon it led into deeper channels, and
+their individual thoughts were brought out upon religious subjects,
+each receiving suggestions from the standpoint of the other.
+
+"I am impatient, I know," said Miss Evans, as the subject warmed and
+brightened under the glow of words, "to see the day when my long
+cherished ideas will be wrought into actual life. Will it not be
+grand when religion shall no longer be an abstract, soulless
+science, a musty theology, but a living, vital truth, lived and
+acted, not merely professed and preached; when the human family
+shall be united in one bond, and man love to do his brother good;
+when he who is strong, shall care for him who is weak; when daily
+deeds of kindness shall be accepted as true worship; when the golden
+rule shall be the only creed of mankind, and woman shall throw upon
+her erring sisters the blessed veil of charity. The world is full of
+need to-day. It never so much needed the labor of every earnest man
+and woman as now. All can work for its advancement; some speak, some
+write, others act, and thus unitedly aid in ushering in the
+millenium of humanity. Religion is to me only a daily life of
+goodness. The church has little but form. We want vital christianity
+flowing from heart to heart; and prayers, not at stated times, but
+when souls mount heavenward, whether in words or deeds, to be
+recognized as true worship. When our churches shall be adorned by
+art; when the theatre, now so little understood, is employed as a
+lever of moral power, equal if not greater than the church, for
+reaching the heart, and enriching the intellect; when these two
+forces approach each other, then shall we have a real church and
+true worship. Art in every form must be acknowledged as the great
+mediator between God and man, and when this is done we shall have a
+completeness in our worship, which is little dreamed of now. To my
+mind, the drama appears as the great instructor of the coming time--
+greater than the church, more potent, hence more effectual, and
+will, I think, at some day occupy its place. I have talked long, but
+the fullness of the theme must be my excuse."
+
+"I am but too glad to hear expressions of such thoughts from any
+one. I have been for a long time reaching for something more
+satisfactory than I have received. The forms of worship have long
+been dull and void of life to me."
+
+"Too long have our minds been lumbered with doctrines, instead of
+principles," said Miss Evans, her face glowing with earnest thought,
+"but the signs of the times are now glorious. Men will no longer
+feed on husks and dry bones. The call is every day for light, more
+light, and theories are fast giving place to human experiences. A
+strong current of individual life, too, is setting in, which
+inspires every speaker and writer with high and noble thoughts, and
+they are forced to give bread and not stones to the multitude. We
+shall, I hope, Mr. Deane, live to see the coming of the new day, for
+surely we have little but darkness now, and yet all the light we
+could use, I suppose, else it would have come before."
+
+"I trust we shall, and if men and women are true to the light they
+have, the day will soon be here. But, really, Miss Evans," he said,
+looking at his watch, "'t is almost ten o'clock; how rapidly the
+moments have flown."
+
+"I lose all idea of time when I feel the beating and pulsing of a
+human soul," responded Miss Evans. "I hope you will come again and
+bring your wife; I only know her by features; I really wish to know
+her through her thoughts."
+
+"I will, I thank you," and he left, full to overflowing, impatient
+to impart to his wife the thoughts of an earnest soul. We have met
+him in his home, and know the result,--the sharp reverse side of most
+of life's best experiences.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Deane found the hours drag heavily while her parents remained.
+She was not like her former self, and they could not but notice the
+change.
+
+It was the first time in their married life that she wished them at
+home. One hour alone with her husband would have set all right; but
+there were none, for business seemed to press in from all quarters,
+and every moment of his time, far into the night, was occupied in
+writing.
+
+They saw nothing of each other save in the presence of their
+parents, for Mr. Deane only snatched a few hours' sleep at early
+dawn, and awoke just in time to prepare for breakfast. They were
+estranged, and circumstances to embitter the sad state of affairs
+seemed to daily multiply.
+
+The fourth evening after the arrival, there was a slight pause in
+the pressure of his business, but feeling no inclination to join the
+family, knowing that Mabel and himself would be in feelings miles
+apart, he called again upon Miss Evans.
+
+To his relief he found her alone, for he longed for another
+communion with a mind so comprehensive, and a soul so pure as her
+own. She noticed the look of sadness on his face, and was glad her
+own heart was light and her soul strong in trust, that she might
+administer to him.
+
+Had he come last night, she said to herself, how little could I have
+done for him, for my own soul was dark with grief, my lips dumb. His
+face bore a more buoyant look as her words of hope and thoughtful
+sayings appealed to his good judgment, and before long it glowed
+with joy like her own. He forgot the cloud that had arisen over
+himself and Mabel; forgot her words that so wounded his soul; and
+only her best and true self was mirrored on his heart, as he
+listened to the vital truths which flowed from the lips of the noble
+woman in whose presence he sat.
+
+"Our conversation the other night," he said, "awakened such new
+emotions, or rather aroused feelings which were dormant, that I
+could not resist the strong impulse I felt to call on you again and
+renew our conversation."
+
+"I am very glad you have come, for it does my soul good to see
+others interested in these newly-developed views, and recognizing
+the great needs of humanity, and the imperative demands of our
+natures."
+
+"I have felt," remarked Mr. Deane, "for a long time that the church,
+the subject of our last conversation, needs more life; that it must
+open its doors to all rays of light, and not longer admit only a
+few, and that those doors must be broad enough and high enough, that
+whatever is needed for the advancement of mankind may enter therein,
+come from whence it may, and called by whatever name it may be. In a
+word, the church must go on in advance of the people, or at least
+with them, else it will be left behind and looked upon as a worn out
+and useless institution."
+
+"I am glad to hear you express your thoughts thus, and hope you will
+give them as freely at all times, for too many who entertain these
+views do not speak them, standing in fear of what their friends or
+the church may say or do. Of such there are tens of thousands. Give
+them utterance. Every honest man and woman should, and thus aid in
+hastening on the day of true life and perfect liberty. While I value
+associative effort, I would not for a moment lose sight of
+individual thinking and acting. We do not have enough of it. The
+church has much to adopt to bring it into a healthy condition.
+To-day it ignores many valuable truths which retired individuals
+hold, while it feeds its hearers on husks. Finding better food for
+their souls outside, they go, and cannot return, because the truths
+they hold would not be accepted."
+
+"We have made rapid advances in art and science, Miss Evans, but the
+church has lagged behind, until at length we find that more
+christianity is found outside than inside its walls."
+
+"True. The best men and women I have ever known, have never sat at
+the table of the Lord, so called, have never broken the bread and
+drank the wine, yet their souls have tasted life-everlasting when
+they have given in His name food to the hungry and clothing to the
+naked. Each soul is a temple and each heart a shrine. The only thing
+the church can do to-day is, to reach forth and take its life from
+the world. All the accessions of art must be unfolded, if she would
+keep alive. Fortify it with these things, and we shall not see, as
+we do now, in every town and city even, the whole burden of its
+support resting on one or two individuals. If it has life enough it
+will stand; if it refuse light, such persons only retard its
+progress, although strictly conscientious in their position. I think
+one of its greatest errors is in keeping one pastor too long. How
+can the people be fed, and draw life from one fount alone?"
+
+"True," he said, "and is not that view applicable to our social and
+domestic as well as to our religious state? Can we draw life always
+from one person?"
+
+"No; nor was it ever intended that men and women should so exhaust
+each other. The marriage law is too arbitrary; it allows no scope
+for individual action, and yet the subject is so delicate, so
+intricate, that none but the keenest and nicest balanced minds dare
+attempt to criticise, much less improve it. The misconstructions of
+a person's motives are so great that many who see its errors,
+tremble and fear to speak of them. But if we are to bring any good
+to the covenant, so sacred in its offices, we must point out its
+defects and seek to remedy them, and I sometimes think it will be my
+mission to help it to higher states. Although such a task would be
+far from enviable, I will willingly give my thoughts to those who
+are struggling, at the risk of being misunderstood nine times in
+ten, as I probably shall be."
+
+"Then please give me your best thoughts, Miss Evans, for I need all
+the light I can get, not only for myself, but for others."
+
+"I am but a scholar, like yourself, Mr. Deane, and I sometimes think
+that all I may hope to do will be but to lift the burden an instant
+from the pilgrim's shoulder, that deeper breath may be taken for the
+long and often dreary journey."
+
+A sharp ring of the door-bell interrupted further conversation, and
+Mr. Deane, bowing to the intruder, as such she seemed at that moment
+to be, bade Miss Evans good evening, and departed.
+
+The caller was a gossiping woman, who kept many domestic fires alive
+with her fuel of scandalous reports.
+
+"Dear me, Miss Evans," she said, as soon as comfortably seated, "was
+n't that Mr. Deane? Yes, I thought so; but my eye-sight 'aint over
+good, and then he looked so sad-like; maybe he 'aint well," and she
+looked inquiringly to Miss Evans, who replied,--
+
+"I think he is in his usual health; a little worn, perhaps, with
+business. How is your family, Mrs. Turner?"
+
+"O, tol'rable, thank ye. But Mr. Deane did n't say anything, did he,
+about his folks?
+
+"His folks? What do you mean, Mrs. Turner?"
+
+"Law me, I might as well tell as not, now I've said what I have. Why
+you see Miss Moses who nusses Mrs. Baker, was up ter Mrs. Brown's
+last night, and Mrs. Deane's hired gal was there, and she told Mrs.
+Brown's man that Mr. Deane and his wife had some pretty hard words
+together, and that her folks-her father and mother-was 'goin ter
+take her home."
+
+"Mrs. Turner, I have no interest in this gossip; we will change the
+subject if you please."
+
+"Lor, don't be 'fended; I only-I mean I meant no harm."
+
+"You may not; but this idle habit of retailing the sayings of
+others, is worse than folly. It's a great wrong to yourself and the
+individuals spoken of."
+
+"Well, I did n't think to have such a lectur'," said the woman,
+affecting a feeling of good nature, "I say as I said afore, I meant
+no harm. I like Mr. and Mrs. Deane very much, and thought it was too
+bad for such things to be said."
+
+"Is marm here?" inquired a coarse voice at the door, and a red,
+chubby face was thrust in the narrow opening.
+
+"Why, Josiah Turner, I told you ter go ter bed an hour ago. Well, I
+must go, Miss Evans. I 'spose my boy won't go without me," and
+taking her son by the hand, she departed.
+
+"A storm upon their domestic horizon, I fear, is coming, if not
+already there," said Miss Evans, setting down and resting her lead
+upon her hands. "I wish he had not come. Something may be charged to
+me-but why should I fear. I have said simply what I felt was right.
+I must expect to encounter many storms in this voyage whose haven of
+peace is-where? None knoweth."
+
+She fastened her door, and after lifting her heart in prayer for
+guidance, retired.
+
+Mr. Deane found his wife alone when he returned, and one could have
+seen by his manner how glad he was to find her so.
+
+"It seems a month, Mabel, since I have seen you alone."
+
+She only remarked that she feared her parents felt his absence from
+home.
+
+"I do think, Howard," she continued, "that you could give us a
+little of your time. It is due to my parents. It must seem to them
+that you willingly absent yourself, and it is hard for me to
+convince them to the contrary."
+
+"I am sorry that any such impression should have worked its way into
+their minds. They ought to know that it is quite a sacrifice for me
+to devote myself so closely to business. I hope, Mabel, you are
+wrongly impressed as regards them, and it may be that your own state
+has more to do with it than theirs. This is the first evening I have
+had to myself since they have been here."
+
+"And why was this not spent at home?"
+
+"Because I cannot assume to be what I am not, and you know I am not
+at rest; that our harmony is disturbed. Could I have seen you alone,
+I should have been at home before this."
+
+"You have sought society, I suppose, more congenial?"
+
+"Mabel, be careful. You may so unnerve me that I may say much that I
+shall be sorry for."
+
+"Howard?"
+
+"Well, Mabel."
+
+"I think I shall return with father and mother. They will go home
+day after to-morrow."
+
+He did not raise his eyes, nor appear in the least anxious to detain
+her, but merely said:
+
+"Where are they this evening?"
+
+"At Mrs. Norton's. They went to tea. I felt too ill to accompany
+them."
+
+"Are you very ill, Mabel?"
+
+"I feel far from well, and yet it does not seem to be from physical
+indisposition. It is something deeper."
+
+"True, my poor wife, we have become estranged; and what has caused
+it?"
+
+She looked thoughtfully at him a moment, but no answer came from her
+lips.
+
+"I think we had better part awhile. It will do us both good."
+
+She started, scarce expecting such a remark from him.
+
+"Then my presence has, indeed, become irksome to you?" Her tone and
+manner implied more than she cared to display.
+
+"You know better than that, Mabel; but I-we both are sadly out of
+harmony; perhaps have exhausted each other. Let us part, and each
+find ourselves. We shall be brighter and happier when we come
+together, Mabel; shall we not?" and he laid his hand tenderly on her
+head.
+
+O, why cannot two at least see things in their true light? Why was
+it that she remained so blind to the real state of affairs? Either
+ignorance or wilfulness kept her from the light, and coldly bidding
+him good night, she left the room.
+
+The next day was indeed gloomy. Mabel's parents had become
+acquainted, not with the facts, but with a distorted view of the
+case, and in their eyes she was a greatly abused woman. It was no
+longer any use for her husband to exert himself for their happiness,
+the poison of prejudice had entered their minds, and tinctured every
+thought.
+
+It was a painful parting. Misconception on one side, and deep
+suffering with pride, upon the other. No lighting of the eyes, no
+pressure of the hand, no warm good-bye, to keep his heart alive
+while she was away.
+
+He stood, after the cars had left, deeply pondering the strange
+affair, until the crowd jostled him, and brought him back to the
+external world, with its toil, its sounds of mirth, and its varied
+forms of life.
+
+What a break in his usual peaceful life; what a void he found in his
+soul when he entered the silent home. There was no lingering
+atmosphere of love about the rooms; everything was put away out of
+sight. The order was painful, and he left to seek companionship if
+not sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+
+
+
+"What is it like, Dawn?"
+
+"Like a great Soul that has absorbed a million lives into its own,
+and cannot rest, it is so full of joy and sadness," and she fixed
+her gaze more intently on the foam-crested waves.
+
+It was the first time she had seen the ocean, and her father's keen
+enjoyment watching her enraptured, wondering gaze, afforded Miss
+Vernon another source of pleasure, aside from the wide expanse of
+beauty, which stretched from shore to horizon.
+
+The three, according to Mr. Wyman's promise, had come to enjoy the
+pleasures and beauties of the seaside for a few weeks, as well as to
+see the different phases of human character which were daily
+thronging there.
+
+It was intensely interesting to Miss Vernon to watch the child's
+eager interest in this glorious display of nature, and her strange
+insight into the character of the people with whom they were in
+daily contact.
+
+There was one faint, gentle girl, about twenty years of age, who
+walked every evening alone, and whom Miss Vernon watched with great
+interest.
+
+"I like her, too," said Dawn, coming close to her teacher one
+evening, as she walked up and down on the beach.
+
+"Who? and how do you know I like her."
+
+"Why, the lady there, walking in front of us. I feel you like her."
+
+"I am glad you do, Dawn. And now tell me why you love her."
+
+"I love her because she is white."
+
+"You mean that she is pure. I think she is."
+
+"Yes. I mean that and something else."
+
+"What?"
+
+"In one of my lessons, you told me, that some objects were white,
+because they absorbed none of the rays, but reflected all."
+
+"You must explain your singular application-or in plain words, tell
+me how she reflects all, and takes none."
+
+"Why, because she don't take the life from people, but gives to
+them."
+
+"You know just what I mean-she throws it back to themselves purified
+by her light." And the child's face was not her own, another's shone
+through it.
+
+"Very good, Dawn, I hope we shall sometime know this pure young
+lady, and receive a brightness from her," said Miss Vernon, talking
+more to herself than the strange child who was dancing at that
+moment in time to the waves.
+
+"According to your scientific symbol, I suppose we shall see some
+black people here before we go," she said laughingly to the child.
+
+"Yes, there are plenty of those everywhere. They take all the light,
+and give none out. But see, Miss Vernon, the lady is sitting on a
+rock and weeping, may I go to her?"
+
+"Would it not be an intrusion?"
+
+"Yes, sometimes, but not now. May I go? Papa would let me, I think."
+
+"You must ask him. I had rather not give you such a liberty."
+
+"Then I will," and she flew at the top of her speed to the bank
+where he was sitting.
+
+"May I go and see that lady out on the rock, papa?"
+
+"Why? Do you know her?"
+
+No, but I must go," and as she spoke Dawn's eyes had that strange
+look which betokened an inner vision.
+
+"Yes, daughter, go," was his answer, and she bounded from his side,
+and was close to the weeping stranger, in an instant.
+
+Her father watched her with the deepest interest, and almost wished
+himself within hearing.
+
+She did not approach the stranger quietly, but with one bound sprang
+and threw her arms around her neck, saying in a voice deeper and
+stronger than her own:
+
+"Pearl, I am here. Weep no more!"
+
+The young girl thrilled, but not with terror, for to her such things
+were of frequent occurrence. Yet the proof to her now of the
+presence of the unseen was of such a positive nature, more tangible
+than she had felt for months, that all her accumulated doubts gave
+way, and the pure waters of faith flowed over her soul.
+
+Here, among strangers, where none knew her name, or her grief, had
+the voice of her loved one spoken. Why should she doubt? Why should
+thousands, who have every day a similar experience?
+
+She rose from her position, and taking the hand of the child, which
+thrilled strangely to her touch, walked towards the house.
+
+"Do you love the sea?" she asked of the little stranger.
+
+"O, ever so much. I mean to ask papa to live here forever," and she
+looked enthusiastically towards the receding waves.
+
+"Do you live here?" asked Dawn.
+
+"No; my home is far away. I come here to rest."
+
+"Was that what made you weep? Was you weary?"
+
+"Yes, dear. My soul is very weary at times."
+
+"Is the sea weary when it moans?" and she looked wonderingly over
+the wide expanse of changing waves.
+
+"I think it is; but I must leave you now; I see your friends are
+looking for you."
+
+But Dawn would not let her pass on. She held her hand tighter, and
+said:
+
+"This is my papa, and this is my teacher."
+
+"I hope my child has not annoyed you, Miss," said Mr. Wyman, as he
+gazed on the face of the beautiful stranger before them.
+
+"Far from it, sir. She has comforted me. Children, under ordinary
+circumstances, are ever welcome, but when they bring proof-"
+
+She stopped, fearful that she might not be understood.
+
+"I comprehend it, Miss. I saw another life than her own in her eyes,
+else I should not have permitted her to have gone to you."
+
+"I thank you both," said the gentle girl, and bowing gracefully, she
+went towards the house.
+
+"Is she not white, Miss Vernon?" asked Dawn, exultingly, when the
+stranger was out of hearing.
+
+Yes, she is beautiful and pure."
+
+"I hope she was comforted, for her face has a look of sorrow, deeper
+than we often see on one so young," remarked Mr. Wyman, who had been
+enlightened by Miss Vernon on Dawn's strange application of
+soul-science.
+
+"Yes, she was, papa. Some one in the air made me speak and call her
+name. It's 'Pearl'; is n't it pretty? O, see those clouds, papa,"
+she cried, with thrilling ecstasy; "I hope they will look just like
+that when I die."
+
+"You are weary now, darling; we must go in," said her father,
+watching with jealous eyes the snow-white and crimson clouds which
+lay on the horizon, just above the foaming waves.
+
+"There are some people here from L--," said Miss Vernon, as she and
+Mr. Wyman sat together on the piazza the next morning, watching the
+changing sea.
+
+"Ah, who are they; any of our friends?"
+
+"I have never seen them at your house. Two ladies,--a Mrs. Foster and
+sister. Do you know them?"
+
+"I know that there are such people in L--. When did they arrive? I
+have not seen them."
+
+"Last evening; but you do not look particularly pleased. Will they
+disturb you?"
+
+"I do not mean they shall, although they are busybodies, and know
+every one's affairs better than their own."
+
+"So I judged by their conversation last evening, which I could not
+but overhear, as they talked so loud, their room being next to mine,
+and their door open."
+
+"Of whom were they speaking?"
+
+"Of a Mr. and Mrs. Deane. I think I have heard you allude to them."
+
+"I have; nice good people too. As usual, I suppose they were
+charging them with all sorts of foibles and misdemeanors."
+
+"I heard one of them assert that Mr. and Mrs. Deane had parted, and
+that she had gone to live with her parents."
+
+"It cannot be! Howard Deane is too just and honorable for anything
+of that nature; but if they have, there are good reasons for it. I
+think I will write him this very morning, and urge him to come and
+bring his wife to this beautiful spot for a few days. Will you lend
+me your folio, Florence? Mine is up two flights of stairs, and I
+would really like to be waited on this morning."
+
+She flew to her room, and returned and placed it before him, and
+then went in search of Dawn.
+
+Selecting a delicate sheet from its orderly arranged contents he
+commenced,--
+
+"My Dear Friend Howard.
+
+"Come and spend a few days in this loveliest of--"
+
+At this point a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and another
+placed over his eyes.
+
+"I am here;" said a well-known voice, "so throw aside pen and paper.
+We will commence in a better way."
+
+"Why? when? where did you come from, and how came you to select this
+place?"
+
+"I came this morning; arrived ten minutes ago from L--. Did not
+'select' this place; the place drew me here. Now I have answered all
+your interrogatories, may I ask you how long you have been here, and
+why you did not let me know you were coming?"
+
+"Two days only. I should have told you, but did not suppose you
+could leave for a moment, knowing the pressure of your business. But
+how is your wife? She is here of course?"
+
+His averted face did not reveal the look of pain which passed over
+it, as he replied:
+
+"She is not well, and went home with her mother."
+
+"So you was lonely and betook yourself to this scene of life to pass
+the hours away. You could not have chosen a better place. I hope the
+period of your stay here is not limited to a few days."
+
+"Instead of that it is indefinite."
+
+The tone of his voice was too sad to be mistaken, and Mr. Wyman
+began to think that there might be some truth in the rumor which
+Florence had heard.
+
+He glanced at Mr. Deane's face, and read all he had failed to see
+when he first met him.
+
+"I hope nothing has occurred to mar your pleasure while here; at
+least nothing but what the waves will wash away?"
+
+"The sea is a good place for the soul-weary, as well as for the
+light of heart. I cannot, however, leave my burden here. I am,
+indeed, very sad, Hugh. Are you much engaged? If not, we will take a
+walk together," he said, in tones which plainly implied a need of a
+companion like Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I have nothing to do, now you have arrived and saved me the
+laborious effort of writing to you."
+
+"Then you wished me here?"
+
+"I did. My thoughts went out to you this morning. I felt that you
+needed a change."
+
+"I do indeed;" and they walked together for awhile, then sat beneath
+the shade of a tree, whose long outstretched branches seemed to wave
+benedictions on their heads.
+
+"I need change, but human sympathy most. Mabel has gone from me. It
+is not a corporal separation only, but one of soul and heart."
+
+"Mabel gone! Is it, indeed, true? But the separation cannot last;
+she will surely return to your love and protection. Howard, I am
+glad you are h; ere. Some unseen power must have brought you to this
+place, where you can unburden your grief, and take better and
+clearer views of the case."
+
+"Then you think she will come again to me?"
+
+"Certainly; and you will both be stronger for the temporary
+separation."
+
+"I could bear it better were I not so sensitive to the opinion of
+the world."
+
+"You must rise above that. There is no growth to him who, seeking
+the new, fears to lose his grasp on the old. These backward glances
+retard the pilgrim on his way. Do what you feel to be right, and
+care for no man's words or opinions."
+
+"I wish I had your strength, Hugh."
+
+"I think you were sent here to me to be strengthened. God's hand is
+in the cloud as well as the sunshine, and I know He will work good
+from the seeming evil that encompasses you."
+
+"Your words cause me at least to hope."
+
+"This separation will work good for both of you."
+
+"I felt myself, when I found my love doubted and my truthfulness
+questioned, that it would be best for us."
+
+"Then you favored it?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"I am glad it was so. You will each have an opportunity to know
+yourselves, and how much you are to each other. When together, words
+take the place of thoughts, while absence ever kindles the flame of
+holy love, and by its light we see our own short-comings, and our
+companion's virtues. Were I you, I should look on this as one of the
+greatest opportunities of my life to test my heart's true feelings
+towards one whose affection had grown cold, or rather whose
+understanding had become clouded; for I doubt not her heart is as
+warm as when you led her to the altar. Like yonder receding wave,
+her love will return to you again, while to her restless soul you
+must be as firm as this rocky coast."
+
+"Woman's love," he continued, "is stronger, mightier than man's. It
+is no argument against their devotion that they are changeable. So
+is this ocean. Each hour a different hue comes upon its surface, but
+the depth is there. Thus is woman's soul full of varied emotions;
+the surface play is sometimes dark, at others reflecting the blue of
+the heavens above. Yes, they are deeper, higher than ourselves, and
+every day's experience attests to the fact of their superior
+delicacy and nicer perceptions. Their keen insight into daily
+matters, their quick sense of everything pertaining to religious and
+social life, are to me proofs of their fine qualities."
+
+"But their inconsistency at times wars with your assertions."
+
+"No; it is sterner stuff that reasons most; they are nicer in their
+perceptions, and feel instinctively their way into questions over
+which we work and solve alone by long reasoning."
+
+"I believe it is so."
+
+"Then you have advanced one step. We cannot appreciate woman too
+highly. That many do foolish things is no proof that many are not
+wise and good, bearing crosses day after day which would make you
+and I ready to lie down and die-they ever do great things, either
+good or bad, and men, I hope, will some day place her image next to
+his maker's, and look upon it as to him the holiest and highest on
+earth-the best gift of God."
+
+"Why, Hugh, you are wild upon this subject."
+
+"I am awake, and hope I shall never slumber."
+
+"Your words have given me rest, and stirred my best emotions. I will
+write to Mabel to-night. But yesterday and I felt that all women
+were as fickle as these waters. I am changed, and your remarks have
+caused me to think differently.
+
+"I have not changed your mind, I have only brought some of your
+better feelings to the surface."
+
+"And what is that but change?"
+
+"It may be, that it is. Do you not see that something mightier than
+yourself brought you here, where your morbid feelings will pass
+away,--though I do not wonder that you felt as you did, neither can I
+blame you. The human soul has many sides, and turns slowly to the
+light."
+
+"If I had your penetration, I could bear the discords of life."
+
+"We must learn not only to bear them, but to gather wisdom from
+their teachings. If we cannot grow under to-day's trial, we surely
+cannot under to-morrow's."
+
+"I begin to feel that we shall both be better for this
+estrangement."
+
+"You will, and come together, on a higher plane. Married people live
+in such close relations that each becomes absorbed by the other, and
+then having nothing fresh to give, what was once attraction becomes
+repulsion. I see these things so plainly myself that the criticism,
+and may be, censure of a multitude, jealous of personal freedom,
+affects me no more than the passing breeze. I know that if I stand
+upon a mount and behold a beautiful scene beyond, that it is there,
+although the people below may declare with positiveness that it is
+not. A man knows nothing of the value of his wife who sees not other
+women and learns their thoughts."
+
+"True. I have felt for a long time that I needed a fresh mind with
+which to hold converse, and my seeking one, although accidental, has
+brought about this state of things."
+
+"And that person?"
+
+"Was Miss Evans."
+
+"I remember; and the evening, I asked you to call and leave the
+magazine. Little did I think of such a result, which I should
+regret, perhaps, did I not fully believe that all things are ordered
+and arranged for our best good. Long and prayerfully I have studied
+this question, so vital and so closely allied to our best interests.
+I could not gleam even a ray of truth did I not live above the crowd
+and fearlessly pursue my own way. I see no escape from our thraldom,
+but through soul expanse, and this is produced only through soul
+liberty. I loved my Alice most when I was learning her through
+others; I am still learning and loving her each day, through my
+child and our friend Miss Vernon. With all our laws, we have and
+ever have had haunts of vice. Will the emancipation of soul increase
+their number? I think not. If men and women can be brought together
+on loftier planes we shall not have these excresences. The sexes
+need to be purely blended; they will approach each other, and it is
+for society to say how. Block up harmless social avenues and we
+shall have broad roads to destruction. I know husbands and wives who
+are consuming, instead of refreshing each other's lives. Yes,
+Howard, this is your great opportunity to take your position and
+draw your wife up to it. Life will be a new thing to you, and all of
+us who can accept these truths. Our present forms and ceremonies
+hold us apart, and there is scarcely a ripple of spontaneity upon
+life's surface. The highest hours, and those most productive of
+good, are when two souls converse and reflect each other's innermost
+states."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+
+
+
+It was not by words that they knew each other, but when their eyes
+met each felt that the other had passed some ordeal which made their
+souls akin.
+
+The stranger to whom Miss Vernon had been so drawn, met her on the
+beach the next morning, and asked her to walk with her.
+
+"I would like to tell you," she said, "of my strange experience last
+night; perhaps these things are not new to you," and she went on in
+a confiding tone at Miss Vernon's visible look of deep interest;--
+
+"I was weeping, as you may have noticed, when your strange and
+lovely pupil came to me,--weeping for the loss of one to whom I was
+betrothed. No mortal save myself knew the name which he gave me on
+the day of our engagement. It was 'Pearl.' My own name is Edith
+Weston. Judge of my emotion and surprise, when that child-a total
+stranger-came and spake my name in his exact tones. I have had other
+tests of spirit presences as clear and as positive, but none that
+ever thrilled me like this. Do you wonder that I already love that
+child with a strange, deep yearning?"
+
+"I do not. I have myself had proof through her that our dear
+departed linger around, and are cognizant of our sorrows as well as
+our joys."
+
+"Perhaps you too have loved."
+
+"Yes; but not like yourself. My mother's love is the only love I
+have known."
+
+"And you are an orphan like myself?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"That is what drew us together. And may I know your name?"
+
+"Florence Vernon. And I was attracted to you the first time I saw
+you."
+
+"I cannot tell you how glad I am to experience these proofs of human
+ties. It is a pleasure to me to think that wherever we go we shall
+meet some one who loves us. I am a dependent character, as you no
+doubt have perceived. I need the assurance and support of stronger
+minds even when I see my own way clear. Some there are who can see
+and go forth. I need to be led."
+
+"I hope you are fortunate enough to have some stronger mind about
+you. We are not all alike, and the vine nature must have something
+upon which it may cling and find support, or otherwise it will trail
+in the dust."
+
+"I am not thus fortunate. I have no one on whom to lean, or to whom
+I can look for guidance. Shall you remain long here?" she asked,
+fearing she had spoken too freely of herself.
+
+"We shall stay until we have received all that this atmosphere and
+these scenes can supply us with. It will then be our duty to go."
+
+"I like that. I must go away very soon to join my aunt who is
+obliged to remain among the mountains, as the sea air does not agree
+with her. But look, Miss Vernon, here comes Mr. Wyman and another
+gentleman!" and she seemed greatly disappointed at the interruption.
+
+"Miss Weston, Mr. Deane," said Florence, introducing them, and the
+next instant she watched with earnest gaze the look of admiration
+which he gave the timid girl. It was not a bold or intrusive look,
+but such an one as a man might have bestowed were he suddenly
+ushered into the presence of his highest conception of female worth
+and loveliness.
+
+Every line of his features betokened the keenest admiration, while
+her glance was far over the sea. Hugh saw the look, too, and was
+glad.
+
+Miss Vernon trembled, she knew not why. She wished that he had not
+come to the sea-shore, and that the beautiful stranger was all her
+own.
+
+The four walked together on the beach, until the heat of the day,
+and then Miss Weston withdrew.
+
+"The finest face I ever saw," said Mr. Deane, watching her figure
+till she was out of sight, "and as lovely in soul as in form and
+features, I perceive." Then turning to Miss Vernon, he said:
+
+"I see you harmonize. I am really glad it is so, for you can help
+each other very much."
+
+Mr. Deane dropped the conversation, and assumed an air of
+abstraction, his gaze fixed on the blue waves-his thoughts none knew
+where.
+
+Hugh and Florence walked to the house and seated themselves in the
+shade, within view of the sea. Then he told her in his clear, brief
+way, of what had transpired between Mr. Deane and his wife, with the
+remark that it was far better she should be informed of the true
+state of affairs, and thus be guarded against the evil of false
+reports.
+
+"I saw your look of concern when he met Miss Weston-"
+
+She looked wonderingly in his face.
+
+"You feared for him, and her then. That was natural. I see beyond,
+and that no harm will come from any attachment that may arise. I
+hope to see them often together."
+
+"Mr. Wyman, if I did not know you, I should sometimes fear your
+doctrines."
+
+"I have no doctrines."
+
+"Well, theories then."
+
+"No theories either. I follow nature, and leave her to perfect all
+things. Sometimes you think I am not sufficiently active; that I sit
+an idle looker on.
+
+"What! do you know my every thought-everything that passes through
+my mind?" she asked, a a little agitated.
+
+"Nearly all, or rather that which goes with your states of
+progression."
+
+She was vexed a little, but as the lesser ever turns to the greater,
+the earth to the sun for light,--so she, despite difference of
+temperament and mental expansion, was inclined to rest on his
+judgment.
+
+"This pure girl will give him a deeper faith in woman, unconsciously
+to herself, and he will become a better man; therefore fear not when
+you see them together, that he will lose his love for his wife. Yes,
+she will do him good, as you, Florence, are every day benefiting
+me."
+
+"Do I? Do I make you better?" she asked in a quick, nervous way; and
+her soul flooded her soft, brown eyes.
+
+"You do, Florence, and make me stronger every day; while your
+deepening womanhood is my daily enjoyment. You give me an
+opportunity to know myself, and that there are many holy relations
+between men and women beside the conjugal."
+
+Mrs. Foster lost no time in informing the people of L--of the
+movements of Mr. Deane. She well knew there were persons who would
+circulate the report, and that it would finally reach his wife, even
+though she was several miles away. The report was, that Mr. Deane
+had brought a young lady to the sea-shore, and was seen walking with
+her every day and evening, and that they both were greatly enamoured
+with each other.
+
+Strange to say, Mrs. Deane, weary and sad, left her parents and
+returned to her home just before her husband's letter reached its
+destination, and just in time to hear the narration of his strange
+conduct.
+
+Howard gone, no one knew where, save from the vague and scandalous
+report of a few busy tongues; no letter telling where he was, and
+her soul sank, and all its good resolves faded away. When she left
+her parents that morning, she fully resolved to meet him with all
+the love of her heart, for she had found that love beneath the
+rubbish of doubt and jealousy that had for a time concealed it. It
+was not strange, therefore, that all the fond trust died out when
+she realized that he had gone, and the bitter waters returned
+stronger and deeper over her hope.
+
+Shall we ever reach a world where we shall not have to plod through
+so much doubt and misgiving, and where our real feelings will be
+better understood?
+
+"He will surely come back soon," she said again and again to
+herself, while the veil of uncertainty hung black before her
+troubled vision. Every day she listened for his footsteps, till
+heart-sick and weary she returned to her parents, and told them all
+her grief and all her fears.
+
+An hour later they handed her his letter, received an hour after her
+departure, and which her father had carried every day in his pocket
+and forgotten to re-mail to her.
+
+While every one in L--was rehearsing the great wrong which, in
+their estimation, Mr. Deane had done his wife, she was eagerly
+absorbing every word of his warm-hearted letter, which he wrote on
+the day of his conversation with Mr. Wyman. Could she have received
+it before she returned again to her old home, how different would
+she and her parents have felt towards him. It was only for them she
+cared now. In vain she argued and tried to reinstate him in their
+good graces; but words failed, and she felt that time and
+circumstance alone were able to reconcile them.
+
+She longed to go to him, but he had not asked her, and only said at
+the close:
+
+"I shall return when I feel that we are ready to love each other as
+in the past. Not that I do not love you, Mabel, but I want all the
+richness of your affection, unclouded by distrust. We have been much
+to each other; we shall yet be more. When I clasp you to my heart
+again, all your fears will vanish. Be content to bear this
+separation awhile, for 'tis working good for us both."
+
+She read it over a score of times, felt the truthfulness of his
+words, but could not realize how it was possible for the separation
+to benefit them. To her the days seemed almost without end. To him
+they were fraught with pleasure, saddened they might be a little
+with a thought of the events so lately experienced, but gladdened by
+the sunshine of new scenes, inspirited with new and holy emotions.
+It was well for her weak faith that Mrs. Deane did not see him that
+very evening walking with Miss Weston upon the sea-shore, engaged in
+close conversation. She would have questioned how it was possible
+that under such conditions his love for herself was growing more
+intense; not thinking, in her shallow philosophy, that the contrast
+of two lives exhibits more fully the beauties of each, and that it
+was by this rule she was growing in his affections.
+
+"We must wait awhile for our friends, Miss Weston; I see they are in
+the rear," and he spread his shawl upon a rock, motioning her to be
+seated, close by the foam-white waves.
+
+Mr. Wyman and Florence soon came along. They had forgotten the
+presence of every one. Nothing engaged their attention but the
+lovely scene before them, while the moon's light silvered the
+rippling surface of the waters. Their communion was not of words as
+they all sat together that lovely summer eve. Soul met soul, and was
+hushed and awed in the presence of so much that was entrancing, and
+when they separated each was better for the deep enjoyment they had
+mutually experienced.
+
+"I may seem strange," remarked Miss Weston to her new friend, Miss
+Vernon, the next morning, as they sat looking at the sea, so changed
+in its aspect from that of the evening before, "that I should in the
+company of comparative strangers, feel so little reserve. I know my
+aunt would chide me severely, but I have not felt so happy for many
+years. It may be that the influence of the ocean is so hallowed and
+peaceful that our souls live their truer lives, but I have never
+before opened my heart so fully to strangers. I wonder if I have
+overstepped any of the lines of propriety?"
+
+"I might have thought so once, but I see and feel differently now. I
+think the soul knows its kin, and that it is not a matter of years
+but of states which causes it to unfold."
+
+"I am glad you feel so. I seemed so strange to myself, ever
+conservative, now so open and free. I do not feel towards any of the
+others here as I do towards you and your friends. I regret that I
+have not a few days more to enjoy you all," she said quite sadly,
+"as my aunt has written for me to come to her the last of this
+week."
+
+Miss Vernon could not help thinking how much more this fair being
+had to impart to her aunt, for this season of rest and enjoyment. "I
+wonder if the time will ever come," she often asked herself, "when
+we can go when and where we gravitate, and not be forced
+mechanically."
+
+"I wish people could follow their natural attractions once in a
+while, at least," said Miss Edith, and she fixed her fair blue eyes
+on the sea.
+
+Florence started; for it seemed as though she had read her thoughts.
+
+"I suppose these limitations and restrictions are for our good, else
+they would not be," replied Miss Vernon.
+
+"And the desire to shake them off is natural, if not right; is it
+not?"
+
+"Natural, no doubt, and pleasant, if we could have the desire
+granted; but duty is greater than desire, and circumstances may at
+times impel us to the performance of the one rather than favor us
+with the gratification of the other. What I mean is, that it is our
+duty sometimes to take a part in scenes in which our hearts cannot
+fully sympathize."
+
+"And yet you say you are attracted heart and mind to Mr. Wyman and
+his daughter. Is it not possible that, notwithstanding this, your
+duty calls you elsewhere,--that some other soul may be in need of
+your presence?"
+
+"You have questioned me very close, Miss Weston, but I will answer
+you promptly: I know of no one who needs me, else I should certainly
+go. Remember this,--in following our attractions we should never lose
+sight of our duties. They should go hand in hand."
+
+"Very true. I feel that my aunt needs me, and I will go at once;
+this very day. I have lost a part of my restless self, and gained
+the repose I so much needed, since I have been here; and I am
+indebted to you and your friends for the exchange. Now I will go
+where duty calls."
+
+"You have decided right, and I have no doubt you will be amply
+remunerated for the seeming sacrifice you are making of the few days
+of happiness you would have had in longer remaining here, had not
+the summons come for you to leave."
+
+"I do not doubt it; and yet Miss Vernon, I need your atmosphere. How
+I wish our lives could mingle for awhile."
+
+"If there ever comes a time when no earthly tie binds you, when duty
+will permit you to follow this attraction, come and live with us,
+and remain as long as you wish."
+
+"With you?" exclaimed the astonished girl. "Can I? Is Mr. Wyman
+willing?"
+
+"He has authorized me to invite you."
+
+"But would it be right? Will it certainly be agreeable to him?"
+
+"Most assuredly. We all love you, and as for Mr. Wyman, he never
+invites those to his home in whom he has no interest. So come. I
+know you will."
+
+"Thank him, for me," warmly responded Miss Weston, "and I trust the
+time will arrive when I can more practically demonstrate how much I
+thank you all for your kindness."
+
+The morning was spent by Miss Weston in packing her trunk, and
+making ready for her departure, much to the surprise of Mr. Wyman,
+and to the disappointment of Mr. Deane, who had hoped for a longer
+enjoyment of hours of communion with one so rich in goodness and
+innocence of heart.
+
+In her atmosphere all his hardness seemed to pass away. She was balm
+to his troubled soul; light to his darkened vision. She would go
+that day, and life, busy life, close over the fresh, happy hours,
+and perchance never again before his vision would come that fair
+young face.
+
+He asked permission to ride with her to the station, and see to her
+baggage and tickets. It was cheerfully granted, and in a moment all
+was over. The train came, stopped but a second, then moved on, and
+was soon hid from sight by a sharp curve. Then his past life came
+over this little break, this brief respite, and he felt that he,
+too, was ready to go and kindle anew the waning flame upon his
+domestic hearth.
+
+Dawn, to the surprise of her father, was greatly delighted when she
+found Miss Weston was going.
+
+"She is wanted there; some one in the air told me," she said, and
+clapped her hands in glee.
+
+Her departure made quite a break in the little party, and when Mr.
+Deane made ready to go the next day, Florence and Mr. Wyman both
+felt that their own stay was about over.
+
+Judge of their surprise two days after, to receive a note from Miss
+Weston, saying that her aunt had been seized with paralysis of the
+brain the day she arrived, and would not recover.
+
+Every test of this nature strengthened Mr. Wyman in the belief in
+his daughter's vision, and he felt that there could be no safer
+light placed in his path for him to follow; a light which no more
+interferes with man's individuality or reasoning powers than the
+falling of the rays of the sun upon the earth.
+
+The cry of the multitude is, that mediumship and impressibility
+detract from individual life, lessens the whole tone of manhood, and
+transforms the subject to a mere machine. Such conclusions are far
+from correct. Our whole being is enriched, and made stronger and
+fuller by true impressibility. Are we in any degree depleted if we
+for a time become messengers to bear from friend to friend, words of
+love, cheer and encouragement? Are we mere machines, because we obey
+the promptings of the unseen and go where sorrow sits with bowed
+head, or want and misery wait for relief? If so, we are in good
+service, and have the consciousness of knowing, that, being thus the
+instruments of God's will, we cannot be otherwise than dear to him.
+
+All matter is mediumistic. Life is tributary, one phase to another,
+and soul to soul speaks suggestively.
+
+The ocean has its fullness from tributary streams which flow to its
+bed.
+
+Lives alone are great that are willing to be fed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Summer's soft foliage changed to gold and red, and the distant
+hill-tops rested their brown summits against blue and sapphire
+skies. A soft mist lay over the scene, almost entrancing, to the
+soul, while the senses seemed wrapped in that dream-cloud which
+borders the waking and sleeping worlds.
+
+Seven times had the cyprus turned to a golden flame, beside the
+grave of fair Alice.
+
+Seven times had the pines nodded over the snow-white bed, under
+which lay her sacred dust.
+
+Seven years had gone by with their lights and shadows, since he laid
+her form beneath the green sod-and wept as only those have wept,
+whose light has gone out from their dwelling.
+
+Rich and full had these years been in their strange experiences,
+while firm as a rock had grown his faith in the unseen whose love
+and guardianship is round us as the atmosphere is about the earth.
+It was a fact to him and not sentiment alone, that, though his Alice
+had passed on to a higher existence, her life was more clearly than
+ever blended with his own. Like warp and woof, their souls seemed
+woven, and he would sooner have doubted his material existence, than
+question her daily presence.
+
+The days grew richer in glory, till one by one, the dry leaves
+withered and fell to the ground, as even our brightest hopes must
+sometimes fade and fall. The sky was darker and more lowery. The air
+lost its balmy softness, and was harsh and chilly, till no sign of
+foliage was seen,--nought but the leafless branches stretching their
+bare arms towards the sky. The meadows were brown and cheerless. The
+silvery brooks trilled out no merry song. Life grew hushed and still
+without, while more joyous became the tones of happy hearts within
+pleasant homes. Fires blazed on the hearth-stones, and charity went
+abroad, to administer to those whom Christ has said, "Ye have always
+with you." Cities were gay with life, and people went to and fro
+from homes of plenty, with quick, earnest steps, as though life was
+a continuous chain of golden links.
+
+The thoughtful walked amid all these lively scenes, and wondered if
+the gay plumage covered only happy breasts.
+
+The gay passed on, and thought only of joy and their own pleasures,
+dreaming not that saddened lives had an existence near at hand.
+
+Afar from all this life and gaiety, stood a low, brown cottage in a
+barren spot, upon the brow of a hill. No trees sheltered it, giving
+that air of protection which ever sends delight to the beholder. No
+indication of taste or culture met the sight; naught but a bare
+existence, and every-day toil to sustain it, impressed the
+passer-by.
+
+One day when the wind blew loud and bleak, and the snow fell fast, a
+young girl looked from that cottage window, upon the scene before
+her, with that abstraction which one feels when all hope has
+withered, and every fresh impulse of a young heart has been chilled.
+
+She scarcely realized that the afternoon was fast wearing away,
+until the entrance of one, who, in a sharp, shrill voice, thus
+addressed her: "Well, Margaret Thorne, I hope you have looked out of
+that ere winder long 'nough for one day. I've been inter this room
+fifty times at least, and you hav n't stirred an inch. Now go and
+get supper, milk the cows, and feed the pigs; and mind, don't forget
+to fodder that young heifer in the new stall-and look here, you lazy
+thing, this stocking won't grow any unless it's in your hands, so
+when supper's over, mind you go to work on 't."
+
+Margaret went quickly to her duties, glad to escape from the sound
+of that voice, and be alone with her own thoughts.
+
+This was but a portion of her daily life of drudgery. The old house
+was no home to her, now that her dear mother was laid in the little
+church-yard. She could just remember her. It was years before, when,
+a little child, she used to hear a sweet voice singing her to sleep
+every night. The remembrance of that, and of the bright smile which
+greeted her each morning, was all that made her life endurable. She
+had no present-no future. It was this bright recollection on which
+she was pensively meditating that stormy afternoon.
+
+Margaret's mother, Mary Lee, had married when very young, a man
+greatly her inferior. She was one of those gentle, timid beings, who
+can not endure, and brave their way through a cold world, much less
+a daily contact with a nature so crude and repulsive as that of her
+husband's. She longed to live for her child's sake, but the rough
+waves of life beat rudely against her bark-it parted its hold, the
+cold sea swept over it, and earth, so far as human sight went, knew
+her no more.
+
+One balmy spring day, when the blue skies seemed wedded to the
+emerald hills, they laid her form away, and little Margaret had lost
+a mother's earthly protection.
+
+In less than a year after that sweet face went out of the home,
+another came to take her place; a woman in form and feature, but in
+nature a tyrant, harsh and cruel.
+
+For little Margaret she had no love, nought but bitter words; while
+her father, growing more silent and morose each day, and finding his
+home a scene of contest, absented himself, and passed most of his
+leisure hours with more congenial companions in the village.
+
+Margaret grew to womanhood with but a limited education; indeed, a
+very meagre one, such only as she could obtain from an irregular
+attendance at the village school, in summer when the farm work was
+lightest, and in winter, a day now and then when the bleak weather
+and the rough, almost impassable roads allowed her to reach the
+place which was to her far more pleasant than any other on earth.
+
+It was her hands which done the heaviest and hardest work of the
+family. No word of cheer or praise ever passed her mother's lips.
+All this, and it was no wonder her life was crushed out, that her
+step had no lightness, and her eye none of the vivacity of youth.
+The out-door work, such as caring for the cattle, was, at last added
+to her other burdens; yet all this she would have done willingly,
+could her soul have received something which she felt she so much
+needed-the light and blessing of love. She was deeply impressed with
+this when she entered other homes on errands, and she longed for the
+warmth of affection she saw manifested in every look and word of
+their happy inmates. Yet her poor, crushed nature dared not rise and
+assert its rights. She had been oppressed so long, that the mind had
+lost all native elasticity, and one whose sympathies were alive
+would have looked on her as a blighted bud-a poor uncared for
+flower, by life's road-side.
+
+It was quite dark when she finished her milking, and went to give
+the young heifer her hay. She loved this animal more than any living
+thing beside the old house dog, and as she patted her soft hide, the
+creature turned on her eyes which seemed full of love, as if to show
+to her that there is some light in the darkest hour, something
+compensatory in the lowliest form of labor. Margaret lingered beside
+the animal, and thought how much better she loved her than she did
+her present mother. "I love you, Bessie," she said, as the creature
+stretched forth her head to scent the warm milk in the pail. "I 've
+a good mind to, Bessie; you want some, don't you?" and without
+stopping to think of the consequences, she turned some of the
+contents of the pail into Bessie's trough.
+
+"Margaret Thorne! I wonder if you don't know when it's dark. It's
+high time your work was done!" screamed her mother at the top of her
+voice. She seized her pails and ran to the house, making all
+possible haste to strain and set the milk away. But Mrs. Thorne took
+it from her hands, saying, "Go and 'tend to the supper. I'll do this
+myself."
+
+"There ain't as much as there ought to be inter two quarts," said
+her mother, returning and looking the girl squarely in the eye.
+"What does this mean? I'd like to know."
+
+Margaret was awe-struck. She dared not tell her that she had given
+some to Bessie, and yet she could not tell an untruth. One struggle,
+and she answered: "I gave some to Bessie," letting fall a dish in
+her fright. It broke into atoms.
+
+"Careless jade you! Break my dishes and steal my milk; giving it
+without my leave to a dumb beast. There, take that," and she gave
+her a sharp blow on the face.
+
+It was not the blow that made the poor girl's blood tinge her
+cheeks, but the sense of degradation; the low life she was living,
+in daily contact with one so overbearing, coarse, and rude.
+
+She did not weep, but one might have known by those suppressed sobs,
+that the heart's love was being sapped, all its feelings outraged.
+
+At that moment her father came in, and finding supper delayed,
+commenced scolding in a loud voice.
+
+"I tell ye what, woman, I won't work and provide, to be treated in
+this ere way. D' ye hear?" and he came close to Margaret and looked
+into her face.
+
+"Yes, sir. I was late to-night."
+
+"Yer allus late, somehow. Why don't yer stir round and be lively
+like other gals, and be more cheery like?"
+
+His poor, rough nature was beginning to feel the need of a better
+life.
+
+"Let her work as I have, and she'll be thankful to have a roof over
+her head, let alone the things I make her," broke in Mrs. Thorne.
+"When I was a gal, I had to work for my bread and butter." Having
+thus relieved her mind, she flew busily about, and the supper was
+soon ready, to which they sat down, but not as to a homelike repast.
+Such a thing was not known in that house.
+
+The evening, as usual, passed in a dull routine of drudgery, and
+Margaret was, as she had been hundreds of times before, glad to
+reach its close and retire to her room.
+
+Thus wore the winter slowly away, and the days so full of labor,
+unrelieved by pleasure of any kind, were fast undermining the health
+and spirits of the sad girl.
+
+When spring came, her step was slower and her cheek paler, but there
+was no eye of love to mark those changes, and her labors were not
+lessened. At length her strength gave way, and a slow fever coursed
+through her veins as the result of over-taxation. The languor it
+produced was almost insupportable, and she longed for the green
+woods, and the pure air, and a sight of running waters.
+
+Mrs. Thorne saw that something must be done, and finally consented
+that Margaret might take a little recreation in the manner she had
+proposed, accompanying her consent with the remark that she thought
+it a very idle way of spending one's time.
+
+Margaret's constant companion in her rambles was the faithful dog
+Trot, who highly enjoyed this new phase of life, and with him at her
+side she had nothing to fear.
+
+The change brought new life to her wasted system, and as she conned
+over the beauties around, watched the sparkle of the running brooks,
+and listened to the songs of the free birds, she wished that her
+life was as free and beautiful.
+
+One day while trimming a wreath of oak leaves, she thought she heard
+footsteps, and the low growl of Trot, before she had time to turn
+her head, confirmed her impression that some one was approaching.
+
+She turned, and encountered the gaze of a stranger, who said in a
+deep, pleasant voice:
+
+"I have lost my way, I believe. Is this Wilton Grove, Miss?"
+
+"It is," she answered, not daring to raise her eyes.
+
+"Thank you. I was not quite sure, yet I thought I followed the
+direction," said the stranger, and gracefully bowing, departed.
+
+In all her life so bright and manly a face had never crossed her
+path. And that voice-it seemed to answer to something down deep in
+her soul. It kindled a fire which was almost extinct, and that fire
+was hope. Perhaps she would some day see people just like him, live
+with them, and be young and happy.
+
+Old Trot seemed to share her new-found pleasure, and looked
+knowingly into her face, as much as to say, "There are some folks in
+the world worth looking at."
+
+She went home that night to dream of other forms and faces than
+those she had been so long accustomed to, and slept more sound than
+she had for many months.
+
+Weeks passed away, and the bloom came back to Margaret's cheek, a
+new life was in her eye, for the voice of love had spoken to her
+heart, and the blood leaped till the color of her face vied with
+that of the roses.
+
+The young man whom she met that day in the grove, often found his
+way to that spot, not by mistake but by inclination, attracted by
+the fair face of Margaret. Again and again he came, till his glowing
+words kindled the flame of hope to love, and it became a source of
+greatest pleasure to him to watch her dreamy eyes glow with
+brightness under his repeated vows of constancy.
+
+Clarence Bowen was the only son of a city merchant of great wealth,
+acquired by his own indefatigable industry. His son had inherited
+none of his father's zeal for business, and after repeated efforts
+to make him what nature had never intended he should be, he sent him
+to study law at the college in D--, a thriving town a few miles from
+Margaret's home. It was while there, and in an hour when weary with
+study, he wandered away to the spot where he accidentally met her.
+His nature being not of the highest order, he did not hesitate to
+poison her mind with flattering words, until at length he won her
+heart, not as a pearl of great price, a treasure for himself, but as
+a bauble, which he might cast aside when its charm had departed.
+
+Sad indeed was the day to her in which he told her she could never
+be his wife. Pity her, ye who in happy homes have kind friends to
+guide your hearts into peace, and refresh your souls with a true and
+perfect love. Have charity, and raise not hand nor voice against one
+who, had her life been cast in as pleasant places as yours, would
+not have trusted so fondly in a broken reed, or listened so
+confidingly to the siren voice of the tempter. She had pined for a
+warm heart and a faithful love. She had trusted and been betrayed.
+You owe her your pity, not your condemnation.
+
+"Did you say you were not going to marry me, Clarence?" and asking
+this, she cast her eyes to the ground, and sobbed like a child.
+
+"No, girl; you ought to have known I could not. I have no money but
+that which my father supplies me with to pay my board and expenses.
+I have nothing to support--"
+
+She looked so pale he dared not say more.
+
+"Go on," she at length said, pressing her hand closer to her heart,
+lest its strong beating might too plainly betray her feelings.
+
+"And even could I support you, my father would disown me were I to
+take such a step."
+
+"Then you never loved me, Clarence. You only sought your own
+pleasure and--and my--my ruin?"
+
+She broke down. Life had nothing now for her but shame and sorrow.
+Alas, the world has no pity for its children.
+
+Hard indeed must have been his heart, had it not relented then. He
+went and placed his hand upon her head, saying,
+
+"I would marry you, Margaret, if I had money enough," and just that
+moment he meant it.
+
+She looked up through her tears to him, and seeing the expression
+which accompanied his words, mistook it for real sorrow at parting
+from her, and answered in a hopeful, bright voice,--
+
+"I can work ever so hard, and we might be married privately if you
+chose, as no one knows us, and go away. You don't know how hard I
+can work, Clarence."
+
+"And then, sometime we might become rich," she continued, without
+looking at his face, "and I would study, too, and improve myself.
+Then we could return to your parents and be forgiven. They surely
+could not blame us for loving each other. You will not forsake me,
+will you, Clarence?"
+
+He bowed his head. She thought he wept, and she continued her words
+of cheer till he could bear it no longer.
+
+She laid her bursting head upon his bosom saying, "I will go away
+from here to-day, Clarence, and be no burden to you, till you can
+support us both."
+
+He nerved himself for the desperate emergency, and shook her off as
+though she was poison, saying, in cold, measured words, not to be
+this time misunderstood,--
+
+"No, it cannot be; don't deceive yourself; you can never be my
+wife," and then he left her.
+
+Angels pity her. Heaven have mercy on her who sank prostrate with
+grief that bright day on the green lap of earth. One heart-piercing
+cry went up for help and mercy from above, and hope and love went
+out of that heart, perhaps forever.
+
+Faster and faster flew the betrayer, as though he would elude a
+pursuer from whom he could not escape. But he could not close his
+ears to that pleading voice, nor his eyes to that agonized look.
+Aye, erring mortal, that sound will pierce your soul till some
+reparation, some pure, unselfish deed, washes the sin away.
+
+"Why, Clarence, you look as pale as a ghost; what on earth has
+happened to you!" exclaimed his college chums, as he walked
+breathless and weary into the house.
+
+"I am sick," he answered, and went by himself to evade further
+questions, which he knew would rend his soul with anguish. He early
+repaired to his room, but found no rest, and finding himself unable
+to attend to his studies the next day, obtained leave of absence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+How long Margaret laid there, she never knew, but when she came to
+consciousness she found herself in her own room, and her father
+bending over her, with a look she had never seen on his face
+before,--one of deep anxiety for her.
+
+"All this ere comes from letting her go out in the air every day,"
+were the first words which broke the silence, and conveyed to her
+senses that any one beside her father was in the room.
+
+All the recollection of her misery came over her then. She had
+forgotten all, save that her father looked with eyes of love upon
+her. The shrill voice broke the heavenly spell, and Magdalen knelt
+again in prayer at the Saviour's feet.
+
+She closed her eyes as though she would shut out the sorrow from her
+soul, while a look of deep pain settled on her features which her
+father mistook for physical suffering. There was something in her
+pale face then, that reminded him of her dear, dead mother. It
+touched the long buried love which had lain in his uncultured nature
+many years, and he drew his sleeve roughly across his eyes to wipe
+away the tears which would come, despite the searching glance of his
+wife, who looked upon any demonstration of that kind as so much loss
+to herself.
+
+He thought Margaret would surely die. It must be some terrible
+disease that caused her to look so white, and made her breathing so
+low and still, and he resolved to go for a physician.
+
+His decision met with little favor from Mrs. Thorne, who fretted
+continually about the extra work and expense of a sick person,
+interspersing her growls with the remark which seemed stereotyped
+for the occasion:
+
+"A nice job I've got on my hands for the summer."
+
+"Come, I 'll have no more grumbling to-night. How long the poor girl
+laid in the woods nobody knows. May-be she fainted and fell, and
+them ere faintin' spells is dreadful dangerous, and I'm going for
+the doctor, if it takes the farm to pay for 't."
+
+When Caleb Thorne spoke like that, his wife well knew that words of
+her own were of little avail, and she wisely concluded to keep
+silent.
+
+Margaret might have remained as she had fallen, faint and uncared
+for in the woods, for a long time, had not the faithful dog, who
+instinctively knew that something was wrong, ran furiously to the
+house, and by strange motions and piteous pleading moans attracted
+the attention of Mr. Thorne from his work. Trot would not act as he
+did without cause. Caleb knew that, so he left his work and followed
+the dog, who ran speedily towards the woods, momentarily looking
+back to be sure that his master was close at hand, until he reached
+the spot where Margaret laid.
+
+He thought her lifeless, and raising her from the ground, bore her
+home, while a heavier burden at his heart kept his eyes blinded, his
+steps slow, and his walk uneven.
+
+When the physician arrived, he saw, at a glance, that some great
+trouble rested, like a dense cloud, on the girl's mind. Her restless
+manner and desire to remain silent, showed plainly that some great
+anguish was working its sorrow within, and silently he prayed to
+heaven, that the young heart might find that relief which no art or
+skill of his could impart. He could only allay the fever into which
+her blood was thrown, and as he went out, left his orders, saying,
+he would call again on the morrow.
+
+"She's as well able to work as I am, this blessed minit,"
+impetuously exclaimed Mrs. Thorne, who could ill brook the state of
+affairs.
+
+"If looks tell anything, her pale face aint no match for yourn in
+health, Huldah," remarked Caleb, as he glanced somewhat
+reproachingly at the full, red features of his wife.
+
+"A white face aint allus a sign of sickness; here I might be next to
+death, and my face be getting redder and redder at every pain,--but
+then who cares for me? No one, as I knows on."
+
+She turned and found she might have left her last words unspoken,
+for Caleb had gone to milk the cows, and she was alone.
+
+It was no sudden thought. Every hour since the day they found her in
+the woods insensible, she had busily matured her plans. Those
+words,--"You can never be my wife," made life to her of no moment,
+save to find a spot of obscurity in which to conceal her shame, and
+spare her old father the grief she knew it must bring him.
+
+She must leave her home, none but strangers must know of her sorrow;
+and when health returned and she went about her daily toils, a short
+time prior to the crisis of her grief, she deeply thought upon where
+she might turn her weary steps. She had heard of a factory in N--,
+a town twenty miles distant, where girls earned a great deal of
+money. She would go there and work until-O, the pain, the anguish of
+her heart, as the terrible truth came close and closer every day
+upon her. And then she would go. Where? No mother's love to help
+her, no right granted her to bring another life into being. How
+keenly upbraiding came to her at that moment the great truth, a
+truth which cannot be too deeply impressed upon every human mind,
+that no child should be ushered into this world without due
+preparation on the part of its parents for its mental, moral and
+physical well-being. Let pity drop a tear, for sad indeed was her
+lot.
+
+One day she gathered what little clothing she possessed, and made up
+a small parcel preparatory to her departure, and as her only time of
+escape would be in the night, she carefully concealed it, and went
+about her work in her usual, silent manner.
+
+One moonlight night when all was still, she took her little bundle
+and went softly down stairs. Noiselessly she trod across the kitchen
+floor, pulled the bolt, lifted the latch, and stood outside. For an
+instant she paused. A rush of feelings came over her, a feeling of
+regret, for it was hard even for her to break away from familiar
+scenes, and leave the roof that had sheltered her; but it would not
+do to linger long, for Trot might bark and arouse her father. Then
+she could not bear the thought that she should never see the
+faithful old dog again; and almost decided to go to him, but the
+thought had scarcely entered her mind ere her old companion was at
+her side. His keen sense of hearing had caught the sound of her
+movements, though to her they had seemed noiseless, and he had come
+from his kennel and stood at her side, looking up in her face as
+though he knew all her plans.
+
+Her courage almost forsook her as he stood there, wagging his tail
+and eyeing her so closely. She feared that he would follow her, and
+thought she must go back to her room and make a new start; but now
+she was out of the house, and, perhaps she could not escape another
+time without disturbing her parents. This thought nerved her to
+carry out her resolve, and she walked rapidly away. One look at the
+old house, as her step was on the hill which would soon hide it from
+her view. One more look at old Trot, then she waved her hand for him
+to go back, and swiftly walked as though borne by some unseen power.
+The grey light of morning touched the eastern hills just as she lost
+sight of her native village.
+
+New scenes were before her, and from them she gathered fresh
+inspiration. The houses scattered along the roadside, from which
+persons were just coming forth to labor, gave her new feelings and
+enlivened her way, until at length something like fear that she
+might be recognized and sent back came upon her; but her fears were
+groundless, and she passed on and soon came to a deep, wooded road,
+closely hedged on either side by tall trees, whose spreading
+branches seemed to her like protecting arms. There she could walk
+slower, and breathe more free, and for the first time for many days
+her mind relaxed its tension.
+
+She was plodding along, musing upon the past and trying to discern
+some outline of her future, when the sound of steps following her
+caused the blood to leap to her face. Looking around she beheld
+Trot, and ordered him back; but words were of no avail; he had
+scented her footsteps thus far, and seemed determined to follow her
+to her journey's end.
+
+"Poor fellow," she said, patting his head, "I would not send you
+back if I had a home for you," and she tried again to induce him to
+return, but he only gave a sigh, or sort of moan, as though
+imploring her to keep him with her.
+
+She could no more bid him depart. Was he not her only friend, and
+did he not love her as none other did? So she patted him again and
+said,--
+
+"Perhaps God will provide for us both. Come on, dear, old brave
+fellow," and then the faithful animal's eyes lit up with almost
+human gratitude, and he ran on joyfully before her.
+
+The tall trees waved their branches in the morning breeze, and their
+music touched her soul, and attuned it to sweeter harmony than it
+had known for years. The flame of hope began to kindle anew. There
+might be some one, after all, who would pity her, who would not
+wholly condemn her; while the music of the tall pines seemed like
+angel voices, saying: "Yes, love her, pity her, and all on whom the
+blight of sorrow falls."
+
+She loved the music of the singing trees, and was grieved when the
+road turned off towards a hill, and she was obliged to part with the
+protection and seclusion which they afforded her. But taking fresh
+courage from the guide-board, which indicated her approach to N--,
+she travelled bravely on. She had provided herself with provisions
+for a single day only, and had scarcely dared to take even that from
+the plenty of her father's home. Reaching a sheltered spot by the
+roadside, and feeling faint and weary, she sat down and shared her
+food with her dog.
+
+Ten miles of her journey had been passed, and more rapidly than she
+could hope to continue, and she found that on a renewal of it, she
+must proceed more leisurely.
+
+A sad, but interesting picture they made. She, with her young, fair
+face, touched by lines of grief; the once dreamy eyes, so soft, now
+full of nervous fire, and wild with restless fear. Her bonnet was
+thrown back from her shoulders, and the golden sun of morning
+touched her wavy hair, till it glowed and seemed like a halo of
+light about her pale brow.
+
+When their little repast was over, she rested her head upon her
+hands, and from her soul went forth a prayer for guidance and
+protection,--more deep and earnest than words can portray.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Morning broke in all its splendor over the little village she had
+left behind.
+
+Dewy flowers, touched by the rising day, glittered in their beds of
+green, while mists, etherial as air, hung over the verdant meadows.
+Long lines of hills whose tops rested against the blue sky, mirrored
+their heads in the waters which flowed at their feet.
+
+Beauty was on every hand. In whatever direction the eye turned, it
+beheld the smile of God, and all nature seemed a psalm of
+thanksgiving.
+
+Caleb Thorne arose, and shaking off dull sleep, called Margaret to
+her morning duties, while his wife bustled about the house in her
+usual manner.
+
+Neither looked on the lovely scene before them. If their eyes
+chanced to turn in its direction, their souls took no cognizance of
+all the wealth of beauty which was before them.
+
+"What on earth keeps that gal up stairs so long," said Mrs. Thorne,
+"I'll call her and bring her down I guess,--Mar-ga-ret-Mar-ga-ret
+Thorne; it's most six o'clock-get up."
+
+No sound; no footstep. She waited a full half hour, then Caleb
+returned from the barn, having milked the cows, a labor which he had
+performed since Margaret's illness.
+
+"That gal ain't up yet," said his wife, as he came and placed the
+pails on the table.
+
+His breath came fast, for he feared she might be ill, or dead,
+perhaps.
+
+"Go and see what the matter is," he said to his wife. But as she was
+somewhat afraid to enter a room where all was so silent, she
+hesitated. At length she mounted the stairs very slowly, calling
+Margaret's name at each step. When she had reached the landing, she
+found the door wide open, but no Margaret was there, and the bed was
+undisturbed. Pale and trembling, she went down stairs.
+
+"She's-she's gone!" were the words with which she met her husband's
+inquiring gaze. "Yes, gone; run away, I s'pose, in the night."
+
+Mr. Thorne sank into the nearest seat, almost paralyzed with emotion
+and apprehension.
+
+"Gone?" he repeated; it was a long time before he could take in her
+meaning. It came at last; not as some truths do with a flash, but it
+dropped like lead into his soul, down-down-to depths he knew not of.
+And she had gone, just when he was waking to realize a fraction of
+her worth; just as he was learning to look with a single spark of
+love on her young, fair face, growing every day so much like her
+dear, dead mother's.
+
+He leaned his face upon his hands and wept. The fount of feeling
+long dried was touched, and his heart felt a tenderness it had never
+known before, for his child.
+
+Through the dark atmosphere about his soul a ray of light broke in.
+Down through long years it crept, and seemed to carry him back to
+the time when his Mary was a bride.
+
+There comes a moment to every soul, when its treasures are truly
+appreciated; when hearts God has given to love and bless us are
+rightly valued. Well is it for us if that moment comes while they
+are with us in the earthly form.
+
+It seemed but yesterday when she was a bride, white in soul, as well
+as attire. How vividly the scene now stood before him, and he felt,
+as he then did, the beating of her young, trusting heart, which she
+gave into his keeping.
+
+Down through all these years flowed the light of recollection, and
+brought to mind the morning when a tiny babe was placed beside its
+mother for him to love and cherish. Grief shook his soul to its
+foundations. Through his rough nature crept a tenderness he had not
+known for years, for those two treasures-one beneath the sod; the
+other,--where?
+
+"I s'pose you did n't look to see if the door was onbolted, did
+you?" remarked his wife, wondering what made him so long silent.
+
+"Come to think 'ont, 't was," he answered, like one awaking from a
+dream.
+
+"Then, the ungrateful thing's gone; and I am glad, if she could n't
+be more thankful to us for her home."
+
+"Yes,--Margaret's gone." His voice sounded far off, as though his
+soul was off in search of her.
+
+"Margaret Thorne has run away!" went from mouth to mouth, and harsh
+comments, bitter words, flashed through the village a few days, and
+then all was still again.
+
+Wild and fearful emotions rushed through the mind of Margaret, when,
+after a long, weary walk, she reached the town of N--, with old Trot
+at her side.
+
+It was a small white house, apart from others, and far from the
+road, at which she applied for board, drawn thither by its quiet,
+home-like appearance, and a strange feeling within her mind which
+she had not fully learned to trust.
+
+She felt that her weary feet could go no farther, as she walked up
+the path, bordered by flowers, and knocked timidly at the door.
+
+It was opened by a woman of about forty years, whose pleasant face
+smiled upon her, as she invited her to enter.
+
+Margaret took courage from the kind manner in which she was met, and
+at once made known her desire to obtain a boarding place, designing
+to work in the factory near at hand.
+
+"I have no room at present for any one," she answered, "but if you
+are to work in the factory there are boarding houses built by the
+corporation, at which you can obtain accommodations. The first step,
+however, will be to call upon the overseer, and if you like I will
+go with you after you have rested."
+
+Margaret was too grateful to reply in a satisfactory manner, but her
+face looked what her tongue could not speak.
+
+Mrs. Armstrong glanced at the young girl, and thought how unfitted
+she seemed for such a place of labor. With her large experience, for
+many had wandered there before, burdened with heavy struggles, she
+quickly saw that grief, or want, perhaps both, had driven her from
+home, or shelter, whichever it might be.
+
+She shrank as she thought of the rough influences to which she would
+be subjected, and though she knew she could not avert the fate of
+this wanderer, or any of those who came to her for love and
+sympathy, yet she inwardly resolved to befriend her, and do all that
+she could to aid one so young and innocent, through a cold world.
+
+"I'll get you a cup of tea, and something to eat," she said, and
+hurried out of the room before Margaret could reply.
+
+This was not the first one to whom her bounty had been given; not
+the first lonely stranger who had supped at her table.
+
+Old Trot sat on the door-step during this time, his eyes riveted on
+the house, and his ears poised to catch every sound within.
+
+When all was ready, Mrs. Armstrong called Margaret to partake of a
+good substantial meal, which her busy hands had so speedily
+prepared, and knowing that the young girl might feel diffident,
+seated her alone at the table, while she busied herself about the
+room.
+
+How Margaret longed to share her meal with Trot. What was her
+surprise to see Mrs. Armstrong gather some scraps of meat and bones,
+and carry them to the hungry animal.
+
+No wonder the girl thought her an angel; she rose from the table,
+her eyes too dim to see her newly-found friend, and her heart too
+full to thank her for all her kindness.
+
+In a short time Mrs. Armstrong was in readiness to accompany her to
+the factory, and the two left the house, the former making the walk
+pleasant by her familiar conversation and the sympathy she
+manifested for the wanderer. Trot followed them, and, as if
+conscious that his young mistress had found a friend, occasionally
+ran on before, looking up in their faces, and leaping as if wild
+with joy.
+
+After a short walk through the most retired part of the village,
+they reached the factory building and entered.
+
+The noise was so great that Margaret thought she should be stunned,
+and put her hands upon her ears, to keep out the sound. She had
+never been in a factory before, and the thought of having to bear
+all that confusion, every day, sent a feeling to her heart somewhat
+akin to terror; but she must labor, and where else could she go?
+
+The curious gaze of the girls, as they entered the weaving room, was
+most trying to her sensitive nature, and Margaret's face crimsoned,
+as she followed Mrs. Armstrong to the farthest part of the room,
+where Mr. Field, the overseer, was conversing with one of the
+operators.
+
+He was a black-eyed, sharp-featured person, and there was something
+in his look which caused her to shudder, as Mrs. Armstrong made
+known her errand.
+
+"Have you ever worked in a factory?" he asked, in a quick, impatient
+manner.
+
+"No sir."
+
+"A new hand, then," he said, with a little more suavity.
+
+"We need another hand in the carding-room, so you may go there. I
+will show you the room."
+
+He led the way, Margaret following, yet keeping close to her new
+friend.
+
+The noise of the room was almost as great as that of the other, but
+it was sunnier, and the windows were adorned with some beautiful
+plants. The girls seemed more modest and less inclined to stare at
+visitors. Mr. Field was about to leave, when he suddenly turned to
+Margaret and inquired when she intended to commence.
+
+"To-morrow, sir, if you are ready for me?"
+
+"All right. Be on hand at the ringing of the bell."
+
+"I had almost forgotten an important part of my errand," said Mrs.
+Armstrong, "and that is, a boarding place for this young lady."
+
+"Ah, she wishes to board in the Corporation. Well, there is a place
+at Mrs. Crawford's. I think she has a spare room. Her house is on
+Elm Street, third block."
+
+It was a relief to feel the fresh air again, and to be away from the
+noise and confusion of the factory. As soon as they had reached the
+street, Margaret inquired of Mrs. Armstrong, the way to Mrs.
+Crawford's.
+
+"O! I shall go with you," said that kind lady, to the great relief
+of the young and timid girl, already worn and weary with fatigue and
+excitement.
+
+"Thank you," in low, but sweet tones, came from her lips, and the
+two wended their way along, with Trot close behind.
+
+They passed pleasant private dwellings, and then turned into a long
+and narrow street, with blocks of houses on either side. Margaret
+had supposed by the name, that the street must be very pretty, with
+rows of trees on each side. She was just learning that there are
+many misnomers in life, and that this was one.
+
+The house in the third block was reached, and Mrs. Armstrong rapped
+with her parasol on the door. A red faced, but good-natured
+appearing woman answered the call.
+
+"We have called to see if you have a spare room for a young lady who
+wishes board," said Mrs. Armstrong.
+
+"We 've got a spare bed for a factory girl, if that's what you
+want," she replied, grinning, and eyeing Margaret from head to foot.
+
+"But have you no room she can have by herself?"
+
+"Bless your stars, no my lady. We don't take them kind o' boarders.
+There's plenty of places where genteel folks are taken, if they like
+to be starved out and out," and her face glowed with such genuine
+good nature, that her questioner felt that whatever else one might
+have to endure, they would at least have a sunny face to cheer them.
+
+"This young woman can sleep with other folks, can't she?" inquired
+the good-natured woman, and her smile, not of sarcasm, but true
+goodness, though rough, saved Margaret's tears.
+
+"If you have no other, she must," said Mrs. Armstrong,
+disappointedly, for she saw from the first, a native dignity and
+delicacy in Margaret which would shrink from the contact with
+others, and intended to have paid the extra price demanded for a
+room herself, if one could have been obtained.
+
+At that moment, old Trot came in through the open door, and looked
+around, as though he did not like the appearance of things.
+
+"That dog can't come," said the woman, losing for the first time her
+pleasant smile. "May-be he's your's though, madam?" she said
+apologetically.
+
+"No, he's mine, and I must have him with me," broke in Margaret,
+"and I cannot-"
+
+She stopped short, frightened at her own earnest words and manner.
+
+"I think he will be better off with me," said Mrs. Armstrong; "I
+will keep him for you."
+
+"I would n't care myself about the cur," said Mrs. Crawford,
+following them to the door, "but my boarders are so agin anything in
+the shape of a dog."
+
+"Certainly; she could scarcely expect you to take him; and besides,
+I want him to watch my chickens and garden. I took a fancy to him
+the moment I first saw him."
+
+Having thus made all satisfactory in regard to the dog, as far as
+Mrs. Crawford was concerned, they bade her good-day, and reached
+home just before dark.
+
+"You are too kind," said Margaret to Mrs. Armstrong, who told her
+that she must remain all night with her, and then she could say no
+more, but broke down completely.
+
+The kind woman took her at once to a neat little bed-room, and
+permitted Trot to lie on a mat close to the door of his mistress.
+
+Weary and worn, she gladly went to bed. Sleep came at last, and the
+tired, intense state of her mind was lost in slumber. She dreamt
+that she was at her home again, and that she was going to marry
+Clarence. They were walking to the village church together, over the
+soft green meadows. The air was balmy and full of sweetness; the
+sunshine lay in golden bars at her feet, and her whole soul glowed
+with happiness, life, and love. The bells--her marriage bells--pealed
+out joyously on the air, while she turned to Clarence, saying, "I
+had a terrible dream; I thought you had deserted me." Another
+peal,--merry and full-then the meadows that were so warm and sunny,
+grew cold and wet; and a cloud came between her and the golden sun.
+The bell rolled forth another peal-it sounded like a knell-and she
+awoke.
+
+The factory bell was ringing, calling the operatives to labor.
+
+A sweet voice broke on her utter desolation just at that moment,
+saying:
+
+"That is the first bell; you will have just time enough to dress and
+take your breakfast."
+
+Mechanically she arose, dressed, and forcing back her hot tears,
+went below, to sit again at the table of one who ever remembered
+these words: "As ye have opportunity."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+
+
+
+There comes to every one at times the inquiring thought, of what use
+is life? What will be the result of all this seemingly useless toil,
+these states of unrest, these earnest efforts of the soul
+unappreciated, these best endeavors misunderstood? Such questions
+flood the reason at times, and we are ready to lay down our life
+weapons, scarce caring how the busy scene goes on.
+
+Then, through the parted clouds, the rays of truth illumine the mind
+again, and we take up the life-song once more, not as we laid it
+down, but with a richer melody, a fuller and sweeter strain. The
+soul feels new pinioned, and spreads its wings for loftier flights,
+rising, height after height, up and on to the fields of the
+infinite.
+
+This questioning state is sure to come to the most earnest,
+truthful, and thoughtful worker. All along the pathway of life these
+weary, yet hopeful pilgrims, sit waiting for "light, more light."
+
+In such a mood sat Miss Evans, at the close of one summer day, as
+the sun was going slowly to his fold of gold and crimson clouds. A
+sort of mental twilight had gathered over her, dimming the sharp
+lines of thought which gave her words at all times such force. All
+her best and most earnest endeavors seemed as nought. Words which
+she had spoken, warm with life, vital with her own enthusiasm, had
+become metamorphosed, till their real meaning was lost to her.
+
+"Alas! we must remain a riddle to ourselves forever," she said, and
+her deep brown eyes, always warm with affection, now seemed cold, as
+she turned her thoughts inward to sound herself more thoroughly, and
+if possible detect any other than a desire for advancement.
+
+How long she might have searched we cannot say, for just as her
+thoughts were most abstracted, Hugh came and sat down by her side,
+before she knew that any one had entered.
+
+"Why, Hugh!" was her exclamation of surprise.
+
+"You are not at home, I see."
+
+He brought her back with those words.
+
+"Really, I was away; but how glad I am to see you," and her glowing
+features endorsed the truth of her assertion.
+
+"How far had you wandered?" he asked, his face full of glowing
+sympathy; "far enough to gather a new impetus for the soul?"
+
+"I fear not. I was questioning my motives, and looking for my
+shortcomings."
+
+"I fear I should have been absent much longer on such an errand," he
+said, and then dropping their badinage they resumed their true
+earnest relation to each other.
+
+"Tell me, Hugh, you who have so often illumined my dark states, if
+all this contest is of any avail; if it is any use to put forth our
+words and have their meaning misinterpreted?"
+
+"I question," she continued, "if we should project our thought until
+mankind is impelled by the actual need of something new, to seek
+it."
+
+"Our thoughts and soul exchanges are not like the merchant's wares,
+to be held up for a bid. The soul is too grand and spontaneous a
+creation to be measured. Yes, we must often speak our deepest
+thoughts, even though they are cast away as nought, and trampled
+upon. There would be little richness or worth without this free
+offering, this giving of self for truth's sake, even though we know
+that we and our words may be spurned. You are cloudy to-day, my
+friend; you have been too long alone, and are consumed by your own
+thoughts."
+
+"I am mentally exhausted, Hugh. I needed you to-day, for my soul has
+lost all vision. I know by my own experience, that we must speak
+when we are full, no matter who misapprehends or turns upon us. It
+is this fear that keeps too many from great and noble utterances. We
+forget that truth can clear itself, and that principles are not
+dependent upon persons. You have given me myself, as you ever do,
+when the mist of doubt hangs over me."
+
+"Yes, we must give when there is no approving smile, no look of
+recognition; give when our giving makes us beggars, alone and
+friendless in the chill air of neglect."
+
+"This is but your own life. I have but put it into words for you
+to-night."
+
+"O, Hugh, you are ever on the mount, looking with calm, steady gaze
+over the dark mists. Your head rests in eternal sunshine, like the
+towering hill whose top is mantled with the golden light, even
+though its base is covered with fog. Shall we ever see the day when
+these inner, pivotal truths will be accepted?"
+
+"We shall behold it in the lives of thousands. It matters not when,
+or where. Our part is to labor, to plant the seed, though it may not
+be our hands that garner the harvest."
+
+"True. I was selfish and looking for grain."
+
+"Not 'selfish.' The human soul seeks recognition, and finds it often
+a difficult task to wait for the presence of that human face which
+says in every line and feature, 'I know you; I feel your salient
+thoughts and motives.' A long time it takes us to learn to do
+without the approving smile of man, and go on our way with none but
+God and angels to sanction our efforts. I, too, have hours of
+darkness. All souls are at times tossed on heaving waters, that they
+may rise higher than their weary feet can climb."
+
+"You have done me good to-day; but do not go," she said, seeing him
+rise to leave.
+
+"I must; but first tell me if I can have your aid in a material
+matter, which I had nearly forgotten?"
+
+"I am at your service."
+
+"Well, then, I am going to have a party, which I suppose is the last
+thing you would have imagined of me."
+
+"I should have thought of any thing else; but what has put such an
+idea into your head?"
+
+"Some fairy, perhaps. I expect to get some life out of it, and the
+satisfaction of seeing my guests enjoying themselves. I shall bring
+together a strange medley,--counterparts, affinities, opposites, and
+every form of temperament which our little village affords, besides
+drawing on places largely remote from here. I must go now. Will you
+come and help us to-morrow?"
+
+"I will. My love to Dawn and Miss Vernon."
+
+"Thank you," and he passed out, leaving her bright and full of hope.
+She felt the transfusion of his strong life into her own, and
+neither herself nor her friend was the same as yesterday.
+
+The day for the party was fair and balmy. Dawn and Miss Vernon rode
+to the green-house and purchased flowers for the occasion, and the
+home seemed like a fairy bower, so artistically and elegantly had
+they arranged the fresh and fragrant blossoms.
+
+Miss Evans glided from room to room, placing a vase here, and a
+statuette there, as her feeling suggested, and what was her fancy
+was Hugh's, for their tastes were one, and their lives ran parallel
+in natural, innocent ways, never able to translate their feelings to
+another, but giving and enjoying each other more and more at every
+meeting.
+
+Poor Mrs. Norton thought how pleasant it would be to her, to see a
+room full of beautiful things, pleasant faces, and elegant clothes:
+it would be such a contrast to her own dull life, which would be
+still more lonely but for the frequent visits of Mr. Wyman's family,
+and the substantial evidence often given by them that they did not
+forget the poor and needy. She arrayed herself neatly in her black
+alpacca, the gift of a friend; and when she looked in her little
+glass which hung above the table, just were it did thirty years ago,
+when her good husband was alive, a rush of better thoughts and
+feelings came over her. She lived over again the happy days of her
+married life, and almost thought she was making ready to walk by her
+husband's side to the little church on the hill. Then the scene
+changed, years rolled away, and it seemed but yesterday when she
+leaned over the coffin, and looked on the still, pale face that
+would never light her home again. Thoughts grew into words, and she
+said,--
+
+"How little to keep me here. I have far more to recover by death
+than to lose; and somehow it seems as though it would not be long
+ere I go."
+
+She was not sad; far from it. The thought was pleasant to her, and
+folding her white handkerchief over her breast, she surveyed herself
+once more, and then putting on her shawl and bonnet, was soon on her
+way to Mr. Wyman's, thinking again and again how much good it would
+do her to see so many people together.
+
+Mrs. Clarke wondered if Mrs. Simonds would be dressed in great
+style, for she had a wish not to be outdone in that direction, and
+yet possessed a sufficient degree of good sense to feel that
+overdress would be out of place at such a gathering; so she arrayed
+herself in a blue silk, not over-trimmed, and put pearls in her dark
+hair to match her jewels.
+
+And thus, from different sections, arose a kind of magnetic life, as
+each individual's thoughts went out and centered there.
+
+Dawn was dressed in white, with scarlet sash, and coral ornaments.
+She seemed like a ray of light flashing through darkness. Her soft,
+brown hair hung in wavy curls over her shoulders, and the
+involuntary exclamation was, "How beautiful," as the pure light and
+brightness of her inner being shone through and over the external.
+
+At dusk, the carriages began to appear, winding up the long avenue,
+which led to the house. Then came a few persons on foot, and in an
+hour all the bustle and stir attendant upon a crowd was heard in the
+hall, on the stairs, and in every room. The house was all aglow with
+life, and lines of care and sorrow were swept away by radiant
+smiles.
+
+Masks were drawn over aching hearts; jealousies, envyings, and all
+strifes were put at bay, and the better natures of all were called
+forth, and responded, each to each. Palm grasped palm, that had not
+in the ordinary relations of life thrilled with contact for many
+years. Hearts that had grown cold and callous under slights, and
+chilling indifferences, were warmed anew in the social atmosphere
+which filled the whole house; and then the sound of music swept
+through the rooms, lifting all out of their narrowness into higher
+and better states.
+
+Mr. Wyman had a word of cheer and love for all, and delicately
+brought such temperaments together as could best enjoy
+companionship, and for the time kept himself aloof from those he
+loved best, that others might partake of their genial natures.
+
+"Can you tell me who that tall, graceful lady is?" asked Miss
+Vernon, before Mr. Wyman was aware that she was at his side.
+
+"A Mrs. Hammond," he replied, without looking at her.
+
+"She is very elegant," continued Miss Vernon.
+
+"She is, externally."
+
+"What, not lovely in mind? Can it be that such an exterior covers
+unloveliness?"
+
+"I fear it does. I have known her many years, and although she is a
+woman of decorous manners, and some polish, she has none of the
+elements of a true lady, to me."
+
+"Why, Mr. Wyman, see how thoughtful she seems of those around her,"
+said Florence, her eyes still fixed upon the engaging stranger.
+
+"Yes, I see all that, and all the externalism of her life. It is all
+acting. Within, that woman is cold and heartless. She is sharp
+enough, and quick in her instincts, but give me hearts in
+conjunction with heads."
+
+"Why, then, did you invite her?" she accompanied this inquiry with a
+most searching glance.
+
+"For the same reason I invited all. I want them to mingle, for the
+time to lose their sense of individual importance, their feelings of
+selfishness, or in a few words, to throw off the old and take on the
+new."
+
+"Are you enjoying yourself, Florence?"
+
+"Yes, very much. I like to see so many people together, and absorb
+the spirit of the occasion."
+
+"I am glad you do. Come this way." He led her to a remote part of
+the room, where stood a tall, dark-eyed stranger.
+
+"Miss Vernon, Mr. Temple" and he watched their eyes as they met, and
+knew he had linked two souls for at least one evening's enjoyment.
+
+A bustling woman, who could not conceive of any christianity outside
+of church-going, came and stood beside Miss Evans, and commenced a
+conversation by saying,--
+
+"There seems to be plenty of people in our village, though we don't
+see many of them at church."
+
+This was put forth as a preface, designed to exhibit the character
+of a forthcoming volume, but Miss Evans adroitly changed the subject
+to one of general interest.
+
+Just at this point, a stir was made, a rustling of silks was heard,
+and the way opened for a young prodigy in music, considered by his
+parents to be the wonder of the nineteenth century; one of those
+abstracted individuals who seem to live apart from the multitude,
+speaking to no one, save in monosyllables, and walking about, with
+an air of superiority, constantly nurtured by his doating parents'
+admiration,--at home a tyrant, abroad a monkey on exhibition.
+
+After a flourish of sounds, and several manipulations, each
+accompanied with a painful distortion of countenance, he commenced a
+long and tedious sonata,--tedious, because ill-timed. On a suitable
+occasion it would have been grand and acceptable. Of course the
+music was wasted on the air, because it had only a mental rendering.
+
+The anxious parents looked around for the expected applause. It did
+not come. Only a few murmured, "How very difficult," while a sense
+of relief was so manifest, that none could have failed to realize
+that such elaborate performances should be reserved for a far
+different occasion. But we are slow in learning the fitness of
+things, and that everything has its proper time and place.
+
+The next performer was a sprightly girl of seventeen, who played
+several airs, and sung some sweet and simple songs, charming all
+with their light and graceful beauty.
+
+Mr. Wyman then led his friend and guest, Mr. Temple, to the
+instrument. He touched it with a master hand. One forgot everything
+save melodious tones; forgot even that there was a medium, through
+which those tones were conveyed to the senses. The performer lost
+self, lost all save the author's idea, until, at length, the
+ecstatic sounds came soft and clear as light from a star. There was
+no intervention of self; his whole being was subordinate to the
+great creation--the soul of the theme. Eyes grew moist as the music
+floated on the air in one full, continuous strain. Hearts beat with
+new pulsations; hopes soared anew; sorrows grew less; life seemed
+electric, full of love; sharp lines, and irregularities of mind were
+touched, softened, and toned to harmony under the swelling notes,
+now soft, sweet, and dulcet; now broad, high, and upsoaring. No
+words broke the heavenly spell when the performer left the
+instrument, but each thrilled heart became a temple, in which only
+love and beauty dwelt.
+
+There, in that holy atmosphere, a soul burst its fetters and went
+home. Old Mrs. Norton, who came with such glorious anticipations,
+sank back upon the pillow upon which she was resting, while
+listening to the soul-ravishing sounds, and died.
+
+No feeling of awe came over the people assembled; but all felt as
+though they, too, had entered within the confines of the silent
+land.
+
+Gently they raised her form as one would a child who had fallen
+asleep.
+
+There, in the presence of the still, pale face, they parted, with
+better, truer natures than when they met.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+The months wore away, and Margaret applied herself closely to her
+labor, and became a favorite with her companions. Gladly would she
+have changed places with most of them, but they knew not the secret
+sorrow which was wearing her bloom away. Her sighs grew more
+frequent, as the time rapidly approached when she must leave them.
+
+Again and again she resolved to go to Mrs. Armstrong, and tell her
+all her grief, but the remembrance of her kindness made her cheek
+turn scarlet when the thought suggested itself. No, she could not
+reveal it to one whom she loved so well. She must go far away, and
+hide her shame from the eyes of all who had befriended her, and she
+had made many friends, yet would have lingered a few weeks longer,
+had she not one evening just at dark espied an old gentleman from
+her village, an acquaintance of her father's. She could not bear the
+thought that she must be carried back, to scenes so closely allied
+to her sufferings, and bear the scorn of those who knew her. She
+could not endure that, and fearing that the person whom she had seen
+might some time meet and recognize her, she hastened the
+preparations for a change. Again she collected her clothing, now
+more valuable, packed it and awaited some indication of the
+direction in which she should move.
+
+She must once more see the face of that good woman, who had been so
+faithful and kind to her; and after many efforts to call upon her,
+finally gained courage and did so.
+
+A strange thrill came over Mrs. Armstrong, as she heard the gate
+close, and a well-known step on the gravel walk. Margaret patted her
+old friend Trot as she approached the house, and somewhat surprised
+Mrs. Armstrong with her presence when she entered.
+
+"I am glad to see you," said Mrs. Armstrong, with her usual kind
+look of welcome, but with a deep tremor in her voice. "Come and sit
+by me, Margaret, and let me see if your hard labor is wearing you
+out. I have thought for some weeks that you looked pale."
+
+Margaret trembled in every limb, as she took the seat her friend
+offered her, for a searching glance accompanied her friend's words.
+Just then a strange thought flashed through Mrs. Armstrong's mind-a
+thought she could not put aside, and she tried in every way to win
+the poor girl's confidence, and perhaps might have succeeded had
+there not been heard the sound of footsteps outside. Trot's loud
+bark made them both start and turn their faces to the window.
+Margaret gave one glance,--and she needed not a second to assure her
+that the caller was none other than the old gentleman she had seen
+on the street. In a moment there was a knock at the door. While Mrs.
+Armstrong answered the call, Margaret made one bound from the
+sitting room to the kitchen, and from thence into the open air, and
+flew as fast as her feet could carry her, towards her boarding
+house.
+
+As she turned from the principal street, a woman accosted her, and
+inquired the way to the Belmont House. Glad of anything that would
+even for a moment take her thoughts from herself, she offered to
+show her the way.
+
+The darkness was so great, she had no fear of being recognized, as
+she walked in silence with the stranger. One thought filled her
+whole being, and the problem with her was, how she could escape from
+N--, and where should she find shelter?
+
+"Perhaps you can tell me," said the lady, in a clear, silvery voice,
+"of some young girl, or two, or three even, whom I can get to return
+with me to B--."
+
+"I am here," she continued, "in search of help; good American help.
+I am so worn with foreign servants that I can endure them no
+longer."
+
+Margaret's heart gave one bound. Here was her opportunity, and she
+only needed the courage to offer her services.
+
+"Perhaps you would go?" said the stranger, who looked for the first
+time on Margaret's face, as they stopped in the light that shone
+brilliantly in front of the Belmont House. "Or, maybe you do not
+work for a living. Excuse me, if I have made a blunder."
+
+"I do," answered Margaret, "and would like to go with you if I can
+earn good wages."
+
+"I will see that you are well remunerated, provided you suit me. I
+shall go to-morrow, in the noon train. If I do not succeed in
+getting any others beside yourself, will you meet me at the
+station?"
+
+Margaret replied in the affirmative, and retraced her steps,
+pondering upon how she should secrete herself during the intervening
+period.
+
+She walked rapidly back to her home, and thought how fortunate it
+was that her room-mates were absent that night, and good Mrs.
+Crawford would never suspect that the quiet girl up stairs was
+planning how she could escape with her clothing. The darkness of the
+evening favored her, and the noise within prevented any that might
+be without, from being noticed.
+
+She enclosed the balance due for her board, in an envelope, sealed,
+and directed it to Mrs. Crawford, and laid it on the little table at
+which she had stood so many mornings, weary in body and sick in
+soul.
+
+She hoped she would not encounter any one on the stairs, and to her
+relief she did not. For an instant she paused, as she heard the
+footsteps of the good housewife walking from the pantry to the
+dining-room, intent on her useful life, uncouth, illiterate, but
+kind and well-meaning. A tear stole over her cheek as she listened
+for the last time to that firm step, which never seemed to flag in
+its daily rounds, and one which often, when the day's work was over,
+went lightly to the bedside of the sick. But no time must be lost;
+the door was opened and closed, and she was once again out in the
+world, a wanderer. She knew not what her next step was to be.
+Standing there in the silence and darkness of the night, she clasped
+her hands, and with earnest prayer, implored Divine guidance.
+
+Down through the earthly shadows, through clouds of oppression,
+swept a mother's pure, undying love. Love for her wronged child, and
+pity for her state; for angel's missions are not in halls of light,
+amid scenes of mirth, but far away in desolate homes, with the
+oppressed and the forsaken, bringing hope to the despairing, comfort
+to the lonely, joy to the sad, and rest to weary hearts.
+
+A thought darted through her mind, and she rose firm and collected,
+as though a human hand had been outstretched for her aid. Who shall
+question that it was a mother that spoke to her at that moment?
+
+She arose, and as noiselessly as possible wended her way to a small
+and obscure dwelling, inhabited by a strange old woman, known to all
+the villagers, as possessing a wondrous power of vision, by which
+she professed to foretell the future, and decide questions of love
+and business.
+
+Margaret had often heard the girls in the factory speak of her, and
+knew that they frequently consulted her; but she had always shrank
+from the thought of going to her dwelling, though often importuned
+by them to do so. Now, how gladly her feet turned that way, as to
+her only refuge, for she well knew if she was searched for, no one
+would think of going there to find her.
+
+She reached the place at last, and with beating heart and dizzy
+brain, raised her hand and rapped very softly at the door. Then the
+thought flashed over her, that some one might be there who knew her,
+and hope fled for an instant.
+
+The rap, low as it was, soon brought the old woman, who opened the
+door and said in a voice tremulous but sweet, "Come in, my dear. I
+saw last night that a stranger was to visit me at this hour; yes,
+it's the same face," then motioned for her to pass in.
+
+Margaret's first thought was that some evil was intended, and she
+trembled and grew pale.
+
+"No fears, my child," said the woman, as though she had read her
+very thought, "angels are around you, guarding your life. I do only
+my part of the work, which is to keep you to-night."
+
+And this was the strange woman of whom she had heard so munch. Her
+fears vanished, she took the proffered seat, and without a shadow of
+distrust, drank the glass of cordial which was passed to her.
+
+A feeling of rest came over her,--a rest deeper than sleep imparts.
+She leaned back in the chair, pillowed her head against the cushion,
+and felt more peaceful than she had for many months.
+
+A strange curiosity pervaded her being, as she watched the woman
+moving about the room, to know of her former life-the life of her
+maidenhood,--and learn if others beside herself had loved and been
+betrayed.
+
+"I shall have no visitors to-night," said the woman, seating herself
+opposite to Margaret.
+
+"Do you often afford a shelter to strangers, as you have to me
+to-night?"
+
+"Yes, child; many a sorrow-laden traveller, worn with life, seeks my
+lowly cot."
+
+"Sorrow-laden and worn with life," said Margaret, repeating the
+words to herself; "she must have known my past experience;" and she
+wished she would go on, for somehow her words comforted her.
+
+"Yes, there are more sinned against than sinning," she continued. "I
+knew that you was coming, or rather some one, for last night in my
+dreams I saw a form, and now I know it was your own, floating on a
+dark stream. There was no boat in sight, no human being on shore, to
+save you. The cold waters chilled you, till you grew helpless, and
+the waves bore you swiftly to the ocean. I cried for help, and was
+awakened by my effort. That stream represents your past, and here
+you are now in my dwelling. Some one has wronged you, girl?"
+
+She did not see the tinge on the pale cheek of Margaret, but
+continued, "Yes, wronged; but I see clouds and darkness before you,
+and then happiness, but not the joys of earth. Something higher,
+holier, my child."
+
+A light seemed to have gathered over the face of the speaker, and
+her words, although strange and new to Margaret, seemed full of
+truth and meaning.
+
+"Shall I find rest on earth?" she inquired.
+
+"No, not here; above," the old woman lifted her eyes toward heaven,
+then said:
+
+"You are stepping into sorrow now; going with one who will degrade
+you. Do not follow her. Though her outer garments are of purple and
+fine linen, her spiritual robe is black and unseemly."
+
+"Where? O, tell me, then, where to go," exclaimed Margaret, her
+whole face pale with terror.
+
+"Go nowhere at present. I see nothing now; all is dark before me.
+Stay beneath my roof, till light breaks. I see that you will need a
+mother's care ere long."
+
+Here the poor girl's long pent up tears flowed in torrents; tears
+such as angels pity. It was a long time ere she grew calm; and when
+peace came, it was like that of a statue, she was cold and silent.
+No future stretched before her, nothing but a present, sad and
+hopeless, in which circumstances had placed her.
+
+"Shall I tell you the story of my girl-life," said the strange,
+weird woman, putting a fresh supply of wood upon the fire, which had
+fallen into embers.
+
+Margaret's interest manifested itself in her face, as she answered,
+"I would like to know if others have suffered like myself?"
+
+"It will help you bear your own burden better, and perhaps show you
+that none escape the fire. I will proceed with my narrative."
+
+"Many years ago, so many that it seems as though ages must have
+intervened, I loved a young and elegant man, who returned my
+affection with all the devotion which an earnest, exacting nature
+like mine could desire. I was the only child of wealthy parents, who
+spared no pains or expense on my education. With them I visited
+Europe, and while there, met this person, who seemed to be all that
+mortal could aspire to; refined, educated, and the possessor of a
+fortune. The alliance was the consummation of my fond parents'
+wishes. I will pass over the weeks of bliss which followed our
+engagement, and speak of scenes fraught with the most intense
+excitement to myself and others. We were at Berlin when my
+engagement was sanctioned by my parents. A few weeks subsequent,
+there arrived at the hotel at which we were stopping, a family of
+most engaging manners. We were at once attracted to them, and in a
+few days words of kindly greeting were exchanged, and finding them
+very genial, a warm friendship soon existed between us. The family
+consisted of parents, three sons, and two daughters. Laura, the
+eldest, was the one to whom I was particularly drawn. She was tall,
+graceful, and had about her an air of elegance, which showed
+unmistakably, her early associations. But to the point: I had been
+walking with my lover one evening, in the summer moonlight, and had
+retired to my room, strangely fatigued. I had never before parted
+from Milan, my betrothed, with such a lassitude as then pervaded my
+entire being. I had always felt buoyant and strong.-That night, as I
+laid on my bed, seeking in vain the rest which sleep might give me,
+I seemed suddenly to float out in the air, to rise above my body,
+and yet I distinctly felt its pulsations. The next moment, the sound
+of voices attracted me, and though I was in my room, and the persons
+in conversation in a distant apartment, yet I could hear every word
+which was uttered. What was my horror to see, for my sight was open
+as strangely clear as my hearing, the beautiful Laura sitting beside
+Milan, his arm encircling her waist. I tried to speak, but no sound
+came from my lips. I shook with fear and wonder. I had surely died,
+I thought, just then, and this is the vision and hearing of the soul
+released from flesh. 'O, Milan, hear me, hear me,' I cried in
+anguish. But no sound of my own lips floated on the air. Nothing was
+heard but their words, which I was obliged to hear. And O, how my
+heart was turned to stone, and my brain to fire, as these words came
+to my ears:
+
+"'Love her! Why, dearest Laura, whom I have adored so long, and whom
+chance has again brought into my path,--how can you question my
+affection for you,' and then I saw that he knelt at her feet!
+
+"'I think I heard but yesterday, that you were engaged,' continued
+the fair and brilliant girl, at whose feet he still remained.
+
+"'O, angel of my heart, will no words convince you that I love you
+beyond, above all women? I have in times past exhausted the language
+of love in speaking to your heart, Laura, are you heartless? I can
+plead no more.'
+
+"'I saw the tears glitter on her face as purely white as marble,
+then her lips parted and these words fell on my ear,--
+
+"'O, Milan, I would that I could divine my feeling towards you. My
+heart is full of love for you, but my reason falters, and something
+within me tells, I must not accept you. I feel thrills of horror at
+times, even when my affection turns toward you. I cannot fathom the
+strange mystery.' She bowed her face in her hands and wept. I saw
+him rise from his kneeling posture, and walk away to hide his
+emotions. I felt the fearful contest going on within himself, and
+then all grew dark. I heard no sound again, though I listened
+intently. I seemed back again in my form-sleep at last came to my
+weary senses. In dreams, then, I was walking again with him, by a
+beautiful lake, over which a storm had just passed, leaving a lovely
+rainbow arching its bosom. I felt the pressure of his hand, as he
+held mine, and saw his eyes beam tenderly into mine own.
+
+"'The storm is over,' he said, 'see how the waves are tipped with
+golden rays.'
+
+"Cheered by these words, I looked on the scene-the calmed lake, the
+bow of promise,--with a feeling of rapturous delight thrilling my
+whole being. Gazing thus earnestly, my attention was drawn to a
+curious ripple on the lake's surface. Then I beheld a female form
+rising from the waters, upon whose broad, white brow were these
+words:-Loved and Deserted. Startled by this, I turned to look upon
+Milan, but I saw him not. He had fled, and I was alone. All was
+lonely and still as death.
+
+"Tremblingly I pursued my way back. The sun was sinking behind the
+hills, and darkness would overtake me before I could reach home. I
+quickened my speed, when suddenly I stumbled over something in my
+path. A light from the heavens, a flash of summer lightning revealed
+a grave, from which the form of a fair, sweet girl arose, and said,
+'Beware! He, too, loved me, and for his love I pined and died.' The
+form vanished and the air seemed full of sounds of admonition, while
+around me appeared hosts of beings of another world. My senses
+reeled. I called for help, and must have cried aloud, for just then
+I heard my mother's voice from the adjoining room,--'What is it,
+Sibyl?' and when I awoke she was at my side.
+
+"'Bring a light,' I cried, as I placed my hand on my forehead, which
+was cold and damp with perspiration. Mother went to her room, and
+returned with a candle and came to my bed side.
+
+"I can remember her look of horror, as though it was but
+yesterday-and her voice when she sobbed, rather than spoke these
+words:-'My child, O, my poor child, what has happened?' Then she
+fainted.
+
+"I learned on the morrow, that my beautiful hair had turned white;
+not one thread of my deep brown tresses was left, and my features
+too, were shrunken. That night's vision had done the work of years
+of suffering, and Sibyl Warner, the belle, the heiress, was no
+longer an object of love.
+
+"A physician was summoned the next morning, who pronounced me
+suffering under mental hallucination, for I had told my mother all
+my strange dream or vision. I had no way to prove that my lover was
+treacherous, and I alone must suffer. But Laura. What was my duty
+towards her? was my dominant thought, even while I sat writing, a
+day or two after, a note to Milan, releasing him from his
+engagement. Vainly my mother entreated me to see him just once more.
+I was inexorable, and there being nothing now to bind us to Europe,
+we made all possible haste to return to our native land.
+
+"Laura came to bid me good-bye. I tried to speak my fears to her,
+but my tongue seemed paralyzed. I kissed her warmly, and the tears
+flowed over her pale, lovely face. We parted. I knew she would be
+his bride ere long. I hoped she would be happy; but the revelation
+of that night led me to fear that such might not be the case.
+
+"The first week of our voyage home was very pleasant, but soon
+after, a gale arose, and then a fearful storm set in. After being
+tossed by wind and wave five days, our ship went down. O, that
+morning so vividly present to my memory now. My parents were both
+lost. I was saved with a few of the passengers, and most of the
+ship's crew,--a vessel bound to my own native port, took us on board.
+But what was life to me then, alone, and unloved as I must ever
+after be.'
+
+"It was not the Sibyl Warner who stepped on shore the day of our
+arrival who had left it years before; not the young girl of
+seventeen, but a woman, with love, trust, hope, all departed-a wreck
+of her former self, and yet within, a strange light glittering. As
+one sees, hung over dangerous, impassable ways at night, or half
+sunken rocks, a light telling of danger, so I had thrown over my
+entire being a blaze of fire, which, while it guided others, seemed
+to be consuming myself. I possessed what is now called 'second
+sight,' and could see the motives of persons, and their most secret
+thoughts and designs. Life became burdensome because I could not
+balance the power with any joy, until I learned that I must live for
+others and not for myself, alone.
+
+"My father's estate was settled at last, and I had means enough to
+live in luxury and ease the rest of my days; but a strange inward
+prompting continually urged me to give up my former mode of living.
+I disposed of my property, exchanging it for ready money, and one
+day found myself penniless, through the treachery of one who
+professed to be my friend. I had not been allowed to learn his
+motives, and fraudulent designs, because, as I subsequently saw, my
+experience must be gained through toil and want, but when others
+were in danger of losing their material goods, I could readily
+discern their perils, and warn them.
+
+"Since then, I have travelled years and years, following this light;
+when I did not, I have failed in my mission. I am not understood.
+This little village, to which seven years ago I found my way, has
+not a soul in it that knows me as anything but a 'Witch'-a diviner
+of events. I have sat in halls of splendor, and revealed strange
+things to men and women. I have visited the sick and
+down-trodden-and everywhere this power has gone with me, carrying
+comfort and light. I think my earthly mission is almost over. I seem
+to see a light, like the glimmer of a lamp which shines for a
+traveller to guide him home."
+
+She paused. The story was told. Margaret sat silent, too much
+occupied with her own deep thoughts, to look on the woman's face.
+
+It was past midnight. The fire was out, on the hearth. A strange
+stillness pervaded the room. It grew oppressive. Margaret rose and
+went towards the old woman, who seemed to have dropped asleep. She
+took the withered hand in her own. It dropped lifeless. She was
+dead; the two whose lives had become as one by suffering, were
+parted. Sibyl had gone to that world where the erring are forgiven.
+Margaret was left to struggle on with an adverse fate, and thereby
+ripen for the kingdom.
+
+The morning flooded through the narrow windows of the humble cot,
+and lit up the pale, dead features with a strange light. Margaret
+must leave. Though heeding the woman's words of warning, and
+resolving to avoid the stranger she had met, she saw but one course
+before her, and that was, to go to the city and seek refuge in some
+hospital, during her approaching need. She struggled with her
+feelings a long time at leaving the dead alone, and so irreverently,
+but circumstances were pressing her on; she could not do otherwise,
+and stepping out from the shelter, where her soul had been so deeply
+thrilled, she walked rapidly to the station, and sat with her veil
+closely drawn, awaiting the hour for the departure of the train. It
+came at last, though the time seemed very long to her, the more so,
+as she was in constant fear of being recognized, but fortunately no
+one saw her whom she knew.
+
+She trembled all over, as she took her seat in the car, and saw an
+elegantly dressed woman enter and look about as though in search of
+some one; for under the "purple and fine linen" was the stranger,
+the willing destroyer of hundreds of young, innocent lives. To her
+relief, however, the woman passed on to another car, and Margaret
+felt as though all danger was over. It gave her a respite from her
+fears, that was all, for she did not know that the woman's keen eye
+recognized, and was quietly laying her plans to ensnare her.
+
+One weary form was through with its earthly toil; one bark was
+moored to celestial shores, beyond this rough clime, this imperfect
+world, in which all are judged by externals. She was no longer old
+and wrinkled,--"But a fair maiden in her father's mansion."
+
+The town buried her and sold the few articles of furniture to defray
+expenses. Thus ended the life of one who was once the belle of a
+great city, the child of luxury and tender care, and her body was
+laid in the town lot among the graves of the poor. All supposed she
+died alone, at night, and a few words of real pity fell from some
+lips as all that remained of her on earth was borne through the
+streets.
+
+Before the winter snows fell, Mrs. Armstrong planted a white rose
+beside her grave, remarking to her husband, that it was hard for one
+to die alone unloved, and a stranger to all about her. "She may have
+been once lovely and beloved," she said, as she pressed the sod
+close about the tree. "I should not like to die away from my
+kindred, with none to care for my last resting place." This done,
+the kind woman walked home happier for the deed of goodness she had
+performed, while unseen hands dropped their heavenly benedictions on
+her head.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a small parlor in the city of Berlin, where, fifty years ago,
+young Sibyl's heart had thrilled to words of love, sat a party of
+young men, over their wine, while mirth and song flowed freely.
+
+Light-hearted, and free from care, they had met to pass the evening
+hours, with songs and wondrous tales.
+
+"Come my good fellows," said the eldest, who appeared to be the
+leader of the group, "we must relate our stories, as the hours are
+waning. Krepsel, we will hear from you first, to-night."
+
+"Shall the tale be sad or gay?" said Krepsel, looking around the
+group.
+
+"Either," exclaimed the voices in chorus. He took a glass of wine
+and then commenced.
+
+"Many years ago a young man was studying in a Military Academy in
+this city, who, a few weeks after his entrance, had a strange dream,
+or vision, which changed all the future which he had mapped out for
+himself. He had a great love of art, and was often found with his
+pencil and paper, apart from others, instead of mingling in their
+recreations. For several nights, he dreamed that a lovely female
+approached his bed-side, and bent over him with a look of
+affectional interest.
+
+"The vision so vividly impressed him that he employed his first
+leisure moment in sketching the lovely face. At every touch and
+line, his admiration grew more intense, until at length he could
+scarcely keep the fair image from being ever prominent in his mind.
+It haunted his day dreams, till he could scarcely conceal his
+impatience to relate the strange vision to his mother and sister.
+The fair one stood each night at his side, until the first day of
+his vacation season arrived, and he left to pass its days at home.
+When within a few miles of his destination, he saw the same face
+before his waking vision. This time her features were sad, but not
+less lovely. Indeed the air of melancholy gave the features a deeper
+charm, and more strongly than ever he desired to reach his home, and
+find, if possible, a solution of the strange apparition.
+
+"At last the hills of his native town rose to his view; then the old
+pines which sheltered his home. Soon he felt the warm tears on his
+cheek, and the soft arms of his mother and sister around his neck.
+
+"'Where is Reinhold?' he asked, after he had released himself from
+their embrace.
+
+"He is away to-day; gone to a fair, but will be back by supper time,
+and bring his fair affianced.
+
+"'Reinhold engaged!' exclaimed Conrad, in tones so strange that
+Marie, his sister, turned pale. But his quick return to himself
+assured her that he was not angry, as she supposed, only surprised;
+and taking his proffered arm they walked together in the
+garden-talking of old scenes and pleasures, till even the fair face
+of his vision was forgotten, and he rested his eyes in tender,
+brotherly love, on the fair girl at his side.
+
+"They were in close conversation, so earnest, they did not hear the
+approaching footsteps, when the well-known voice of his brother
+called:
+
+"'Welcome, Conrad; welcome home,' and the next instant a pair of
+stout arms were around him.
+
+"'I believe he is stronger than you, Con., with all your military
+drills,' said Marie, laughing to see her brother trying to extricate
+himself.
+
+"'I am so glad you have come,' said Reinhold, 'I want you to see
+your new sister,' then he called her from where she stood apart from
+them, behind a clump of trees. Conrad's back was towards her when
+she approached, and he turned, at his brother's words.
+
+"'Miss Rosa,--Conrad, my brother,' and for the first time he looked
+on the face that had so long haunted his dreams.
+
+"'My God!' he said, 'It is the same,' and fell prostrate on the
+ground.
+
+"The poor girl flew to the house, laid her head on the shoulder of
+Reinhold's mother, and wept bitterly. She, too, had seen his face in
+her dreams, and supposed it an ideal which she should never meet.
+She had seen it before she met Reinhold, and thought as she looked
+on him, that he approximated somewhat to it, nearer then she even
+hoped to see, and had grown day by day to love him, not as one ought
+a lover, but tenderly like a brother.
+
+"The deepest anxiety seized the good parents, and Marie, to fathom
+the cause of Conrad's strange state. They carried him to the house,
+where he lay insensible for hours, but once only his lips parted,
+and then he breathed the name of 'Rosa,' in accents so tender, that
+his brother, who stood bending over him, in agony of grief at his
+state, flew from the room.
+
+"In half an hour Conrad started as though shot, and rose from the
+bed with blood-filled eyes, and wildest terror on his features. He
+placed his hand upon his heart, and then sinking on his knees,
+cried, imploringly, 'God forgive me; I have killed my brother!'
+
+"'Go and call Reinhold, Marie,' said the affrighted father, 'and
+prove to the poor boy that his brother is alive and well. O, what
+has come over our happy home.'
+
+"Marie flew from room to room; no Reinhold was to be found. Then to
+the garden, calling his name at each step. A wild fear seized her
+young heart; her brain grew giddy; yet on she went, calling again
+and again his name. As though impelled by an unseen force, she flew
+till she reached the edge of a wood, where herself and brothers had
+played together. She went on. Something lay on the ground; an
+object, she could not at first discover what. A cold chill run
+through her frame. The blood seemed to stagnate in every vein, for
+there, under an old oak, lay the lifeless body of Reinhold.
+
+"She fainted, and fell. The cool air blew on her temples and
+restored her to consciousness. She passed her hand over her
+forehead, as though trying to recall some terrible dream,--and then
+it all burst upon her mind, more fearful and appalling in its
+rebound.
+
+"'My mother, my father,' were the only words that broke from her
+lips, and she went back, slowly, for the fright and agony had almost
+paralyzed her brain and limbs.
+
+"'You were gone a long time,' said her anxious parents, who did not
+see her face when she entered; 'where is Reinhold?'
+
+"She had no words. The deathly face, the beating heart, and the
+trembling limbs, told all. She led them to the spot, and the mystery
+appeared still deeper.
+
+"Seven days Conrad lay in a raging fever. At their close, reason
+returned, and they learned from him the vision which had so haunted
+him, and wondered over the strange phase of life, in which action
+had been involuntary, but dual.
+
+"They buried Reinhold under the tree where he had shot himself, and
+kept it covered with flowers, watered by tears.
+
+"Poor Rosa returned to her home with her good parents, and pined
+slowly away. Conrad held his brother's memory sacred, and never
+breathed words of love to his affianced. 'She will be his in
+Heaven,' he said, as he walked with his sister one day to his grave;
+and when the Summer flowers faded they made another beside it, for
+Rosa went to join Reinhold, and to guard, with tender love, Conrad
+and Marie."
+
+Krepsel rose from the chair. The hours were waning.
+
+"We can have but one more," said the leader, "and from whom shall it
+be?"
+
+"From Berthhold," cried several voices.
+
+"I have seen his eyes full of strange, weird tales to-night," said
+one.
+
+"I know by his far-off look he has something interesting to say,"
+said another.
+
+"Berthhold, take the chair," said the leader.
+
+He rose, walked like one in a dream, took the seat, gazed a few
+moments around, and then commenced:
+
+"My story will be told in a few words. It is not of tradition, but
+experience."
+
+All eyes turned to the youth, whose face glowed with a strange
+light, as he commenced.
+
+"While sitting here to-night, listening to the story just narrated,
+my eyes have seen something I never saw before, and I pray I may not
+again see, at least until my nerves are stronger."
+
+"What was it? What was it like?" they all cried together, while
+Berthhold looked around the room, as though expecting the vision to
+be repeated.
+
+They were called to order by their leader, and he went on,--
+
+"A soft, misty light filled the room, and rested at last just before
+me. I strained my eyes to assure myself that I was not dreaming, and
+looked upon all your faces to assure myself that I was of the earth,
+and not a spirit. Then my eyes seemed to be fastened upon the light.
+In vain I tried to remove them; I could not; and only hoped none of
+you would notice me.
+
+"Soon a face, radiant and fair, burst from the mist; one almost too
+lovely to gaze upon. I was spellbound as I gazed, then the vision of
+the face faded. I seemed to float away, far over the sea, and there
+came before my sight a low, humble cot, whose walls offered no
+resistance to my vision. They seemed like glass as I looked through
+them, and saw sitting in a chair an old woman, wrinkled and faded,
+her hair white as snow, but on her face a peace which gathers on
+those who sleep the last sleep.
+
+"I also felt conscious of another presence, but could not see any
+one. Then all was dark again. I saw neither mist nor cot, but
+something spoke to me. A voice whispered in my ear, 'Tell Milan I
+forgive him.' That is the name of my mother's father."
+
+"How strange," said the listeners, who had followed him closely to
+the end.
+
+"Does your grandfather still live?" inquired one.
+
+"He was alive this morning, and is now, for aught I know."
+
+The party were about to separate, when a messenger entered in great
+haste, and called for Berthold, stating that his (Berthold's)
+grandfather was very ill, and greatly desired his presence.
+
+He was not long in answering the summons, leaving those who had
+listened to his story wondering over it, which wonder was not a
+little increased by this sudden call.
+
+It was thought that the old gentleman was dying, but when Berthold
+went and sat by his side he brightened up, and motioned for the
+others to leave the room.
+
+"I have been very ill," he said, grasping the hand of his grandson,
+"and have had a terrible dream. For fear I may some day depart
+suddenly, I wish to tell you of a portion of my early life, that you
+may avoid the sin, and escape the suffering which I have endured."
+
+He then related the wrong of his early years, in deluding a young
+and pure girl, while loving another.
+
+"Have you a picture of the one you allude to," asked Berthold.
+
+His grandfather started as though a voice from the other world had
+spoken to him.
+
+"Why, how do you know that? No one but myself knows that I carry her
+miniature about me."
+
+"May I see it?" asked his grandson, not a little alarmed at the
+excited manner of the sick man.
+
+"Yes,--that is if no one knows it,--not even Laura. Mind, Berthold,
+your grandmother knows nothing of this,--not a word."
+
+Berthold's word was sacred, and the old man drew from his pocket an
+oval case of blue velvet, ornamented with pearls.
+
+"Here, look, and be quick; I fear some one may come; and if, if I
+should die, Berthold, take this and keep it forever."
+
+"I will," said the faithful boy, as he unclasped the case.
+
+Was he dreaming? There, before him, was the same; yes, the very same
+fair face he saw in the mist. He could not take his eyes from the
+picture, so strange was the spell.
+
+"I have seen this face to-night, grandfather," said Berthold, going
+close to him, and laying his hand upon his brow.
+
+"Seen what! seen her? Sibyl! O, God, she must have died."
+
+He sank back exhausted on his pillow.
+
+"Did it-did she speak?" he gasped, as he revived.
+
+"Yes. She said, 'Tell Milan I forgive him!'"
+
+"Berthold, Laura, quick! O come,--my breath is go-. I--am--dy--."
+
+He, too, was gone; gone before his wife could be summoned; gone to
+meet one he had so greatly wronged, perhaps to learn of her
+beautiful truths, which her sad life experience had taught her; and
+perchance to woo her soul, this time with truth and love.
+
+Berthold kept the miniature, and when, after a few months, the club
+met again, confirmed the truth of the story he had startled them
+with that night. He could never account for the lowly cot, and the
+old wrinkled woman, but he remembered his grandfather's dying words,
+and never wooed where he knew he could not give his heart and soul;
+nor was his vision ever again unfolded, but one of heaven's
+choicest, purest women was given him to love, and in her high and
+spiritual life, his soul grew to sense that which by sight he could
+not obtain.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Three years had swept by, with their lights and shadows, bringing no
+change to the house of Mr. Wyman, save the daily unfolding of Dawn's
+character, and the deepening happiness of all.
+
+Mr. Wyman had promised Dawn that when she was eighteen he would take
+her to Europe.
+
+Miss Vernon passed her time very happily, dividing it between
+teaching, study, and labor, and found herself improving daily, both
+spiritually and physically; indeed, such a change had come over her
+whole nature, that she could scarce believe herself the same being
+that entered Mr. Wyman's home, three years previous. Life opened
+daily to her such rich opportunities for usefulness and growth, that
+no day seemed long enough to execute her plans.
+
+Mr. Temple, whom the reader will remember as one of the guests of
+the party, came often to Mr. Wyman's, and soon found himself greatly
+interested in Miss Vernon.
+
+It was a new experience to her to contrast him with Hugh, and to
+learn to analyze the new feeling which suffused her being,--that
+deep, undercurrent which lies beneath all surface emotions and
+interests, namely, Love.
+
+How broad, deep and rich her being grew. How near and dear to her
+now seemed Hugh, her friend and brother. How sharply were the lines
+of their true relation defined,--a relation as pure as untrodden
+snow. Her heart overflowed with thankfulness to the giver of all
+good, who had brought her feet into such pleasant paths of peace.
+
+In the same spot where ten years ago Mr. Wyman and fair Alice were
+seated, sat Herbert Temple and Florence. The night was as fair and
+cloudless, while the rustle of the trees alone broke the stillness.
+Pale moonbeams rested at their feet, while words of love flowed
+between them.
+
+"I think I found my way to your heart the first evening I saw you,
+for I felt my being thrill as though I had another life pulsing with
+my own; am I right?"
+
+She raised her eyes to his, and answered in words which he ever
+treasured,--
+
+"It was so, Herbert. I felt as though I was stepping from my own
+confines; as though some strong hand had taken mine, and infused new
+life into my being. It was when you played, Herbert, that I was
+absorbed in your soul."
+
+"It was you, Florence, who helped me to play. I felt and was
+inspired by your interest, your appreciation, for no one can do such
+things alone. I never play as I did that night, when alone. Now,
+that I shall have you always to help, shall we not be happy?"
+
+"O, Herbert, will these days last? Will love bind us the same in
+years to come?"
+
+"No, not the same; but deeper, holier, if we do not exhaust
+ourselves by free ownership."
+
+"You talk like Hugh," she said, resting her hand on his arm, and
+looking out on the soft, still scene before them.
+
+"I would I could talk like him. While I admit no oracles, I confess
+I admire his views, and his life which is a perfect transcript of
+his theories."
+
+"He is a noble man, Herbert, and has done much towards my
+development. I thought I loved him all I could, but since you have
+come to my life, I feel nearer than ever to him."
+
+"Such is the law, and beautiful it is, that true love expands our
+being, while the opposite contracts it. Hugh's views at first seemed
+wild, and rather disorderly, but close contact with the man, and
+opportunities of knowing him, in public and private, have made me
+acquainted with his worth. Love him always, Florence, and when I
+take you to my home never fear that I shall not understand you need
+to see him at times alone, for he will need you. You have been
+friends, and friends need each other. I am not taking you from him
+in soul and heart; I will but help you to give yourself to him, with
+your being made richer by my love."
+
+Florence had no words with which to thank him. She only nestled
+closer to the heart which loved her so well.
+
+"How lovely this night is," she said, breaking the long silence
+which followed; "the stillness is so sacred, I would not for worlds
+disturb it with a sound, even of the sweetest music."
+
+"Your words give me much comfort, Florence, for long have I wanted
+some one who could sympathize with me on that subject. To most
+persons, sound alone is considered music; to me, a night like this
+should not be jarred save by soft vibrations of ‘olian strings. And
+the same of beautiful scenery. I cannot bear to hear one burst forth
+in song, for the landscape is to me, in itself, a Te Deum, a perfect
+song of praise."
+
+"I am made happy by your words, Herbert, for there are moments when
+music seems to me to be so sadly out of place, that I feel almost
+like crushing the instrument and performer together. And now may I
+ask you, why the music of some performers gives me pain instead of
+pleasure? I know, but I want your answer. We will take Miss York,
+for instance; she is full of hearty, earnest life, robust and
+strong. I know she plays in time and tune, and sings correctly, but
+I feel all out of tune, and completely disharmonized when she
+performs in my presence."
+
+"I fully comprehend your feelings. I have had the same myself, and
+my interpretation of it is that I cannot accept the music through
+her organism; or, rather, her atmosphere being between the subject
+and the auditor, the latter feels only time and sound, not music,
+not the idea the composer designed to convey. Is not that it?"
+
+"Exactly. After all, there are very few who are organized
+sufficiently delicate to translate music."
+
+"True, Florence; how many seek the glorious art, not for its
+uplifting power, but as a means of display. Let us love it for the
+good it does for mankind, and use it, not for the end, but as a
+means, of enjoyment."
+
+"I play but seldom, Herbert, dearly as I love it."
+
+"I am not sorry to hear that. I think that greater good is obtained
+by not being too much in its immediate sphere. Of course greater
+mechanical skill is acquired by constant practice, but I know by my
+own experience that when the soul has reached a certain height of
+culture, the physical nature becomes subordinate to the spiritual,
+and is controlled by it, because the two natures are then replete
+with harmony, and the fullness of the one finds expression through
+the other,--the hand moves in complete obedience to the spirit.
+Dearly as I love music, I cannot hear or execute it too often. On
+this I am pleased to see we agree. The air is growing chilly; we
+will go in and sing one song before we part. What shall it be?"
+
+"The Evening Song to the Virgin," she answered.
+
+Seating himself at the instrument, he played the prelude soft and
+low, then their voices mingled in that graceful, gliding song, as
+only voices can mingle that are united in the harmony of love.
+
+It filled the whole air with sweetness, and Hugh's senses revelled
+in the holy spell, as he sat alone on the piazza, thinking of the
+past, his lovely Alice, and the beautiful child which was left to
+bless his years.
+
+No other song followed; none could. Florence listened to the
+retreating footsteps of her lover, and then sat in the moonlight to
+think of her joys.
+
+Howard Deane was weary. Life had not gone pleasantly with him, since
+we introduced him to the reader. His business, so lucrative and once
+full of interest, demanding his closest attention, now seemed of no
+account. Existence had become to him a round of duties mechanically
+performed. The very air was leaden, and void of life. He needed a
+revivifying influence, something to invigorate him. His energies
+languished, and there seemed no one to extend to him a helping hand,
+as his wife was at deadly variance with those who could have given
+him what he was so much in want of.
+
+The fire had gone out on his domestic altar, for no trusting wife
+sat there. She was dark and heavy in soul. They had become strangers
+to each other, not by roaming, but by a too close relationship.
+
+Mrs. Deane had returned only bodily to her home; her heart and mind
+were on a sea of doubt, at the mercy of every wind and wave. No
+ripple of love broke their long silence, as they sat together in
+their home. They each felt lonely, and would have been far less so
+apart. Mr. Deane at length broke the spell, by saying,--
+
+"I am going to the mountains next week, Mabel; would you like to
+go?"
+
+"I am going home. Mother has sent for me. I may as well be there as
+here; no one will miss me."
+
+She had better have left the words unsaid, and saw it herself in the
+dark, contracted brow of her husband, who replied,--
+
+"I shall go alone. It is best I should. You can remain with your
+parents the remainder of the season, for I shall not be back for
+months," then abruptly left the room.
+
+The words were as decisive as his manner. She felt she had gone too
+far, and would have given worlds to retract. But it was too late; he
+was now out of hearing.
+
+What had come over their lives? They were treading a road thick with
+dust, which rose at every step, soiling their once white garments.
+Surely they needed a baptism to make them pure.
+
+The cloud which overhung their sky held the heavenly water which
+would make them clean.
+
+It came in the form of sickness. Their eldest boy laid ill and near
+unto death. Hope and fear alternated in their hearts as they stood
+beside the little one, and saw a raging fever course through his
+veins, and day by day the full form wasted away. Thus the baptismal
+waters flowed over their souls, and they wept together. Joy beamed
+from their faces when the dread crisis was past, and they were told
+he would live. Through sorrow they were reunited. They had wandered,
+but were returning with life and love in their hearts, and crowns of
+forgiveness in their hands. Thus do we ever become strong through
+our sufferings, and seeming evils work our good, for they are parts
+of the great unity of life.
+
+Mrs. Deane lessened her prejudices, and learned to know and love
+those whom her husband had found worthy, and among them, Miss Evans.
+With her she passed many pleasant hours, and that noble woman made
+known to her, many paths of rest and peace which she had previously
+through her ignorance and jealousy, persistently shunned.
+
+The years sped on; some were gathered to their homes above; some
+found new relations and strong ties to bind them here, until, at
+length, Dawn's eighteenth birth-day came, bright and sunny over the
+eastern hills. On the morrow, with her father, she was to leave for
+the city where they were to embark for England. The morning was
+passed in receiving the calls of friends, and later Mr. and Mrs.
+Temple and Miss Evans came to dine with them. The evening was spent
+by Dawn alone with her father.
+
+The next day, Florence, now a happy wife and mother, came to see
+them off. It had seemed to her for a month previous that all her
+partings with them had been final adieus, and now the moment was at
+hand which was really to separate them-for how long she knew not. It
+was not strange that a vein of sadness ran through the pleasure of
+the hour. But each strove to conceal aught that would mar the joy
+with which Dawn anticipated her journey, and the gladness which
+Florence would experience on their return was by her made to do
+service at this their time of departure.
+
+Hugh took the hand of Florence in his own, and held it so closely
+that his very soul seemed to vibrate its every nerve. Then his lips
+touched her brow; fond good-byes were exchanged, the quick closing
+of the carriage door was heard, and they were gone.
+
+Statue-like stood Florence for several moments, then going to the
+room she had for so many years occupied, she permitted her tears to
+flow, tears which she had kept back so nobly for their sake. Her
+husband walked through the garden with a sense of loneliness he
+scarce expected to experience; and then back to the library, where
+he awaited the appearance of his wife.
+
+She came down soon with a smile on her face, but the swollen eyes
+showed the grief she had been struggling with.
+
+"We must look cheerful for Miss Evans' sake," he said, kissing her;
+for, somehow he felt as though she too had gone, and he must assure
+himself that it was not her shadow alone that stood before him.
+
+"It is so nice," she said brightly, "that Hugh has prevailed on Miss
+Evans to remain here during his absence. It would be so lonely with
+only Aunt Susan at home. As it is, we can see the library and
+drawing-room open, and we shall not feel his absence so keenly."
+
+"And what a charming place for her to write her book in," remarked
+Herbert, walking to the bay-window that overlooked the garden.
+
+"We can come over every week and see her and the house, which will
+be next thing to seeing Dawn and her father," said his wife,
+earnestly.
+
+Despite all his theory, his large and unselfish heart, a strange
+feeling came over him, a cloud flitted over his sunny nature. It was
+hardly discernable, and yet were it to take a form in words, might
+have displayed itself thus: "I fear she loves them better than me."
+He shook the feeling off, as though it was a tempter, and said
+fondly:
+
+"As our friend Hugh arranged that we take tea in his home to-night,
+we will go and meet Miss Evans, who, I think, must be near by this
+time."
+
+It was Mr. Wyman's desire that Miss Evans should be at his house as
+soon after they were gone as possible, and establish herself within
+it. She granted his wish, and requested them to bid her adieu at her
+own home, which she would close immediately after, and repair to
+his.
+
+"What an atmosphere she will have to work in," said Florence, as she
+arranged a delicate vine over a marble bust. "But come, it will be
+lonely for Miss Evans to walk all the way by herself, to-day."
+
+They met her just turning into the path. She had a wreath on her
+arm, Dawn's parting gift, and a beautiful moss rose-bud in her hair,
+which Hugh gave her when he bade her good-bye.
+
+"How were they, happy?" were the first words of Florence, anxious to
+hear a moment later from her dear ones.
+
+"Very happy and bright," answered Miss Evans, with an inward
+struggle to keep back a tide of emotion. Florence clasped her hand,
+and held it in a manner which said, "Let us be close friends while
+they are away, and help each other."
+
+The firm pressure assured her that we may talk without words, they
+entered the house, and sat down to a nice repast, which Dawn had
+prepared with her own hands, while the room was fragrant with
+blossoms which she had gathered an hour before her departure.
+
+After supper they walked in the garden, and when twilight came on,
+returned to the house, and listened to the charming music which came
+from the instrument, under Herbert's magic touch.
+
+"I expect we shall all dream of sunny France, and dreamy Italy,"
+said Miss Evans, after the music had ceased, and the time for words
+had come.
+
+"If we expect to dream, we must place ourselves in proper condition;
+so we must bid you good night, Miss Evans," said Mr. Temple, rising.
+
+"I did not expect my words to hasten your departure, Mr. Temple. Can
+you not stay longer?"
+
+"Not another moment," he answered, taking his wife's bonnet and
+shawl, which she had brought from the hall, and putting them upon
+her. "I expect Florence has gone with our good friends. Come and see
+us, Miss Evans, soon. Good night; I will speak for both. Florence
+has gone away in spirit."
+
+At this Florence roused, and kissed Miss Evans good night. She had
+no words. She was very weary, and felt glad to know that her home
+was not far off, only a pleasant walk, for Hugh would not consent
+that there should be a great distance between them, so long as the
+freedom to build where they chose was allowed.
+
+Florence was indeed weary; neither the morrow, nor the deep love and
+devotion of her husband brought her strength back, but she pined day
+by day.
+
+Miss Evans carried flowers, Dawn's favorites, to her each day, with
+the hope that she would revive. On the contrary, they only served to
+keep the spell of languor upon her. At last her husband grew
+alarmed, and one evening after she had retired to rest, earlier than
+usual, he sought Miss Evans, who, hearing his step on the carriage
+path, knew he was alone, and expected to be summoned to his wife.
+
+"How is Florence, to-day?" she inquired, as soon he was seated.
+
+"The same languor oppresses her, and I have come to speak with you
+about it. Can you enlighten me in regard to her state? Some strange
+fears have crept into my mind, I suppose, because my nerves are
+weak, in my anxiety for her." Here he paused, as though he dared not
+entertain the thought, much less make it known to another.
+
+In an instant she read his fears.
+
+"I think I understand the cause of your wife's languor, for,
+although not an educated physician, I lay some claim to a natural
+perception of the causes of physical and mental ills."
+
+"Some people are magnetically related." She continued. "I think Hugh
+and your wife were bound by spiritual laws which are as sacred as
+physical. They lived upon each other's magnetism. She will droop for
+a while, but revive when she receives his letters. He will not feel
+the change so sensitively, as he has new life and interests before
+him every moment. This relation ought to be better understood, and
+will be, I trust, with many others, which are not now recognized as
+having an existence."
+
+"Then you think she will recover?"
+
+"Certainly; and a change for the better will be apparent as soon as
+she receives his first letter. She is only attenuated now, reaching
+after him, her friend and instructor for so many years."
+
+"I feared-I almost-forgive me, Miss Evans, for the strange thought,
+that Florence might, after all, have loved Hugh better than myself.
+I will not stand in her or any woman's way to happiness, if I know
+it."
+
+"Drive that thought from your mind, Herbert." As she said this with
+so much depth of earnestness, he noticed that her manner and tone
+betrayed not a shadow of surprise at his confession, and his face
+turned inquiringly to her.
+
+"It was a wicked thought, I know; let it rest with you, Miss Evans."
+
+"It is buried," she said, "and will never know a resurrection. But
+as to its being wicked, it was far from that, and very natural."
+
+"Your words allay my fears, and strengthen my trust."
+
+"They have lived such an earnest life together that his was a
+constituent, a part of her own. No wonder that she drooped when this
+union of vital sympathy was divided. Neither is it strange that you
+should be agitated by doubts and fears; but let me assure you again,
+that she by this attraction is none the less your own. She will feel
+an infusion of his life through his letters, and regain her wonted
+strength. She is yours, and his too; and more to you because she is
+much to him."
+
+A smile of peace settled over his disturbed features, as he took her
+hand, saying,--
+
+"You have made me strong and trustful, and from this hour my life
+will flow in broader and deeper channels. My present is bright; my
+future all radiant with hope."
+
+"I am very glad that your call has resulted so pleasantly," said
+Miss Evans, and as Mr. Temple left she sent her love to Florence,
+with the assurance that she would soon have the pleasure of
+welcoming her again to the home of Dawn.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+There are two classes that are specially liable to disease,--those
+who live grossly, and whose lives are spent in scenes of excitement,
+and those who are finely organized, so delicately constituted, that
+their nerves vibrate to every jar, not only of the physical but of
+the moral atmosphere.
+
+There are persons whose routine of daily life is seldom if ever
+disturbed; whose minds are at ease on material questions. Having
+enough, and to spare, they seek their pleasure from day to day, with
+scarcely an interruption of their established course. Such may well
+be free from the ills of the flesh, and being so, they complacently
+attack the less fortunate, those whose lives are tumultuous and
+heavily-laden with their own and other's needs; applying to them
+such remarks as, "They might live more regular." "They work too
+much." "They do not work enough." "They go about too much." "They do
+do not go about enough;" and having delivered their opinions, these
+self-satisfied mortals settle themselves down in their comforts,
+thanking God they are not as other men.
+
+There are lives that are shaken with convulsions; circumstances over
+which no mortal has control, surge their wild, tempest-waves over
+them, and all their wishes are of no avail; they must take what is
+borne to them. Raying out life every moment; pressed on every side,
+with every faculty strained to its greatest tension, is it a matter
+of wonder that they become weak, that they sicken and suffer?
+
+Sickness is not a sin, neither is its presence derogatory to our
+nature. It implies a susceptibility to the inharmonies of life, and
+is complimentary than otherwise to our organization. They are not to
+be envied who have never known an hour of pain and languor, for they
+come not under the discipline and instruction of one of life's great
+teachers. They are apt to be harsh, and cold, and unfeeling towards
+their fellows; apt to be boastful of their own strength, and
+regardless of the delicate sensibilities of others. While we should
+studiously endeavor to live in harmony with the laws of our being,
+it is nevertheless true that with all the caution we may exercise,
+we cannot avoid, if we are spiritually true, the jarring of the
+inharmonies of this world, and from this as much if not more than
+from any other cause, come the ills and pains of our earthly life.
+
+These disturbances of the spirit produce to those of fine natures a
+similar disturbance of their physical condition; then disease
+follows and makes sad havoc with the temple of the soul.
+
+On a subject so intricate as the cause of disease, only a few hints
+can here be given.
+
+People become sickly from living too long together; from pursuing
+continuously one branch of study or labor; from meeting too often
+with one class of minds; from living on one kind of food, or on food
+cooked by one person; besides, there are countless other causes;
+agitations of mind, overtasked and irregular lives are constantly
+generating impure magnetisms, with which the whole atmosphere is
+tainted, and which those who are susceptible are forced to absorb.
+
+As there are many causes of disease, there must be many ways of
+cure. No one system can regulate the disturbances of the complex
+machinery of the human frame.
+
+Dr. Franklin subjected himself to what was denominated the air bath,
+as a remedial agent. Others believed in the direct action of the
+sun, placing themselves beneath glass cupolas to receive it; while
+still later we have the water-cure, which is thought by many to heal
+all diseases. These are right in combination, but no one will cure
+alone.
+
+Does the strong man, with steady nerves, compact muscle, and perfect
+arterial circulation, need the same remedy when ill, as a less
+vigorous person, one whose hourly suffering is from a diseased
+nervous organization?
+
+One member of a family argues that because he can bathe in ice
+water, another, with more feeble circulation, can do the same, and
+realize the same results. One man will take no medicine, another
+swallow scarcely anything else, and thus we find extremes following
+each other.
+
+One ideaism in this direction is as much to be avoided as in any
+other. The man of good sense says, "I will take whatever is required
+to restore the balance of my system."
+
+Of mental disorders we know little. Asylums for their treatment have
+multiplied in our midst, but few of the thousands of educated
+physicians are qualified to minister to a mind diseased. Past modes
+will not do for to-day. Our conditions are not the same. Our lives
+are faster, our needs greater. Our grand-parents lived in the age of
+muscle; we exist in the nerve period, and have new demands, both in
+our mental and physical structure.
+
+And new light will come in answer to the demand. The eye of
+clairvoyance is already penetrating beyond science, and traversing
+the world of causes.
+
+Eagerly Florence broke the seal of her first letter from Hugh. He
+had arrived safely, and wafted over the sea his own and Dawn's love
+and remembrance.
+
+"Dawn desires to go to Germany, first," he wrote, "and as I have
+business with parties in Berlin, I shall gratify her wish. I
+thought, all along, how much I wished you were with us, but since
+writing I feel different. I need you at home to express myself to,
+when I am overflowing with thought. If you were at my side, when I
+am seeing all these things, we should both have the feast together,
+and be done. Now, in rehearsing it to you, I enjoy it over again.
+Very much we shall have to talk about, when we meet again. How I
+would like to transmit to your mind the vivid impressions of my own,
+when I first put my foot on the soil of England; but such things are
+not possible, and sometime I hope you will be here yourself, and
+feel the thrill of the old world under your feet."
+
+This portion of the long and interesting letter so refreshed her,
+that Miss Evans, when she came in after tea, guessed at once the
+cause of the sparkling eye that greeted her.
+
+"Letters are wonderful tonics," said Mr. Temple, laughingly, as he
+glanced toward Florence.
+
+"That depends from whom they come," she answered, and repented of it
+as soon as said. She looked up after a while, but there was no
+shadow on his face. She saw that he was sharing her joy, and then
+she knew that not a ripple of doubt would ever disturb their
+smoothly flowing life.
+
+Miss Evans left at an early hour, and reaching her home, wrote till
+nearly midnight. Her nature was one that was most elastic at night;
+her brilliancy seemed to come with the stars.
+
+Page after page fell from her desk to the floor; thought followed
+thought, till the mortal light seemed to give place to the divine.
+At length the theme grew so mighty, and words seemed so feeble to
+portray it, that she laid down the pen and wept,--wept not tears of
+exhaustion, but of joy at the soul's prospective. Sublime was the
+scene before her vision; enrapturing the prospect opening before
+earth's pilgrims, and she felt truly thankful that she was
+privileged to point out the way to those whose faith was weak, and
+who walked tremblingly along the road.
+
+She gathered her pages, laid them in order, and then wrote the
+following in her journal:
+
+"Night, beautiful night; dark below but brilliant above. I am not
+alone. These stars, some of them marking my destiny, know well my
+joys and my griefs. They are shining on me now. The waters are
+darkest nearest the shore, and perchance I am near some haven of
+rest. I have been tossed for many a year, yet, cease my heart to
+mourn, for my joys have been great. The world looks on me, and calls
+me strong. Heaven knows how weak I am, for this heart has had its
+sorrows, and these eyes have wept bitter tears. The warm current of
+my love has not departed; it has turned to crystals around my heart,
+cold, but pure and sparkling. There is a voice that can melt them,
+as the sun dissolves the frost.-I turn a leaf. This shall not record
+so much of self, or be so tinged with my own heart's
+pulsations,--this page now fair and spotless.
+
+"I thought, a month ago, this feeling would never come again. I hold
+my secret safe; why will my nerves keep trembling so, when down, far
+down in my soul, I feel so strong?
+
+"To-night I must put around my heart a girdle of strong purpose, and
+bid these useless thoughts be gone. I must not pulsate so intensely
+with feeling. My fate is to stand still and weave my thoughts into
+garlands for others. I must lay a heavy mantle on my breast, and
+wrap fold after fold upon my heart, that its beating may not be
+heard. Why have we hearts? Heads are better, and guide us to safer
+ports.
+
+"'T is past the midnight hour. What scratches of the pen I have put
+upon this virgin page. So does time mark us o'er and o'er. We must
+carry the marks of his hand to the shore of the great hereafter.
+Beyond, we shall drink from whatever fount will best suffice us.
+Here, we must take the cup as 't is passed to us, bitter or sweet-'t
+is not ours to choose. These boundaries of self are good. Where
+should we roam if left to our inclinations? Let me trust and wait
+God's own time and way."
+
+"Dear Florence," wrote Dawn, some months after they had been away,
+"I have seen gay, smiling France, and beautiful Italy with its
+wealth of sunlight, and its treasures of art. I have seen classic
+Greece,--of which we have talked so many hours,--and its fairy islands
+nestling in the blue Archipelago,--isles where Sappho sang. I have
+been among the Alps, and have seen the sunset touch with its last
+gleam, the eternal waste of snow; but more than all, I love dear
+Germany, the land of music and flowers, scholarship and mystic
+legends.
+
+"Now, my good friend and teacher, how shall I describe to you my
+state amid all this new life? At first I felt as though my former
+existence had been one long sleep, or as I suppose the mineral
+kingdom might feel in passing to the vegetable order, as some one
+has expressed it.
+
+"It was an awakening that thrilled my being with intensest delight;
+a fullness which left nothing to hope for. A new revelation of life
+has arisen within me, as sudden and grand as the appearing of those
+mysterious isles which are upheaved in a single night from the
+depths of the ocean.
+
+"A deeper pulsation than I have ever known, now stirs my blood. I
+feel the claims of humanity calling me to labor. My purpose is
+strong; I shall return with this thrill in my heart, and become one
+of God's willing instruments. That He will own me, I feel in every
+heart-beat. My mission is to erring women, and you, my friend, will
+smile, I know, on my purpose.
+
+"The other night I dreamed that a beautiful being stood by my side,
+while a light, such as I have never seen on earth, shone about her.
+
+"'Tell me,' I said, 'why this heavenly halo is around you? and if I,
+too, may become like you?'
+
+"'Listen.' She answered. 'Years ago, I lived on earth and passed
+through much suffering. I seemed to be placed in a close, high
+building, into which all the light that could enter came from above.
+I could only look up, with no power to turn to the right or left.
+After being years in this state, the rays coming thus directly from
+above, cleansed my soul, whitened my garment, and made it spotless.
+This light became a part of myself; it followed me to the other
+world, and now, when I approach earth, it enables me to see all the
+errors and virtues of humanity. Wouldst thou be willing to become a
+light by which pilgrims can see the way to Heaven?'
+
+"'I would. My only desire is to do good,' I replied.
+
+"'It is easy to desire this,' she remarked, sadly.
+
+"'But wouldst thou be willing to be almost annihilated, were it by
+that only you might become a lamp to the pilgrim's feet?'
+
+"I looked into my heart, and think I spoke truthfully, when I
+answered that I would.
+
+"'Then thou art accepted,' the angel said. 'It shall not be literal
+annihilation, although akin to it, for all your earthly desires must
+be swept away; all ambition, fame, learning, friends, must be
+sacrificed upon this altar. The light you will bear is fed alone
+from heavenly sources. Think again, child, if all these things can
+be as naught.'
+
+"I searched my soul once more. One answer, one word broke from my
+lips,--'Amen.'
+
+"'T is well,' the angel visitant said; 'thy being shall be turned to
+light.'
+
+"I awoke. The morning sun shone in my windows, and laid in golden
+bars upon my bed. I thought long of the vision of the night, and
+then sat down to pen it to you. To me it is significant. Write and
+tell me if it seems but a dream to you. I should like to be
+permitted to glorify my name, and be the 'Dawn' of light to some of
+earth's weary pilgrims."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+
+
+
+In a pleasant room in Frankfort, on a slight eminence which
+overlooked the river Maine, sat a young man, of about thirty years,
+in deep meditation. His face showed traces of recent suffering; his
+broad, high brow was white as marble, and his hands, though large,
+were soft and delicate as a woman's. Near by sat a young girl, whose
+physiogomy showed close relationship to the invalid. She was his
+sister, and was travelling with him, hoping that change of air and
+scenery might produce a beneficial effect on his health.
+
+"I think you seem stronger than when we came, Ralph; don't you?" She
+had been watching the color flickering on his face and lips, the
+last half hour.
+
+"Yes, the air of Frankfort has done me good, and the present fatigue
+is only the result of my journey."
+
+"I am glad to hear you say so; it confirms my impression, which is,
+that you will recover."
+
+"Heaven grant it may be so. Long suffering has robbed me of the
+buoyancy of hope. I think I have not enjoyed myself more at any time
+during my illness, than while we were at Heidelberg, among its
+castles."
+
+"I hope you will enjoy your stay here as much. You know how long you
+have wished to see the birthplace of Goethe."
+
+"I have, and expect to see his statue to-morrow, which will be
+pleasure enough for one day; at least for an invalid. Do you
+remember his 'Sorrows of Werter,' Marion? In what work has the depth
+of men's emotional nature been so sounded?"
+
+"I remember you read it to me last winter, while I was working those
+slippers you have on."
+
+"Ah, yes; delightful days they were, too. I wonder if I shall be
+able to see Dannecker's Ariadne the same day?"
+
+"I have forgotten, Ralph, the figure."
+
+"It is that of a beautiful female riding on a panther. The light is
+let in through a rosy curtain, and falling upon the form, is
+absorbed and incorporated into the marble."
+
+"How beautiful; I wish we could go to-day."
+
+"I shall be stronger to-morrow, and perhaps be able to sketch a
+little before I leave."
+
+"Ah, if you could. What a pity that we had to come away from
+Heidelburg without your being able to add anything to your folio."
+
+"It was; but if I recover my health, as you think I will, I shall go
+again, and see how that place of beauty looks to me in full vigor."
+
+"I wonder if there are many visitors at the hotel? Taking our meals
+as we do in our rooms, we see but little of them."
+
+"There have been several arrivals to-day," she answered.
+
+"And there are more coming. Sister, I feel strangely here. The
+feeling has deepened ever since I came. I feel a soul; some one near
+me; a being strong in soul and body, and more lovely than any one I
+have ever met."
+
+Marion looked distressed. She feared his mind was wandering. In vain
+she tried to hide her look of concern; he saw it, and relieved her
+fears by his words and manner.
+
+"It is not mere fancy, nor mental illusion, my dear sister, but
+something real and tangible. I feel it in my entire being: some one
+is coming to make me whole."
+
+"A woman?"
+
+"Yes; a woman such as you nor I have never looked upon."
+
+"You are weary now, Ralph; will you not lie down?"
+
+"I will to please you; but I am far from being weary."
+
+She smoothed his pillow, and led him to the couch. At that instant a
+carriage drove to the door, and several persons alighted.
+
+Marion turned her gaze from the strangers to her brother. Never in
+her life had she seen him look as he did then. His eyes glowed, not
+with excitement, but with new life. The color mounted to cheeks and
+forehead, while he kept pacing up and down the room, too full of joy
+and emotion to utter a single sentence.
+
+"What is it, brother?"
+
+This question, anxiously put, was all she could say, for she
+perceived, dimly, a sense of some approaching crisis.
+
+Her anxious look touched him, and he threw himself on the couch, and
+permitted her to pass her hand gently over his brow.
+
+"There; it's over now."
+
+"What, Ralph?"
+
+"The strange tremor of my being. Marion, some one has come to this
+hotel, who will strangely affect my future life."
+
+"The woman,--the soul you felt in the air?" she inquired, now excited
+in turn.
+
+"Yes, the soul has come; my soul. I shall look on her before
+to-morrow's sun has set. I feel an affiliation, a quality of life
+which never entered my mental or physical organization before. And
+Marion, this quality is mine by all the laws of Heaven." He sank
+back upon the couch like a weary child, and soon passed into a sweet
+slumber.
+
+Marion watched the color as it came into his face. It was the flush
+of health, not the hectic tinge of disease; and his breath, once
+labored and short, was now easy and calm as an infant's.
+
+Some wondrous change seemed to have been wrought upon him. What was
+it? By what subtle process had his life blood been warmed, and his
+being so strongly affiliated with another life? and where was the
+being whose life had entered into his? Beneath the same roof,
+reading the beautiful story of "Evangeline."
+
+The next morning Ralph arose, strong and refreshed, having slept
+much better than he had for many months.
+
+"Such rest, Marion," he said, "will soon restore me to health," and
+his looks confirmed the truth of his statement.
+
+"I should think you had found life's elixir, or the philosopher's
+stone, whose fabled virtues were buried with the alchemists of old.
+But who is the fairy, Ralph, and when shall we behold her face?"
+
+"Before the sun has set to-day," he answered, confidently.
+
+Marion smiled, looked slightly incredulous, and sat down to her
+books and work.
+
+Towards the close of the day, her attention was attracted by a
+graceful figure approaching the river bank. Her hat had fallen from
+her head, displaying its beautiful contour, and in her hair were
+wild flowers, so charmingly placed, that they seemed as though they
+had grown there. She watched her with the deepest interest, and
+turned to beckon her brother to the window, when lo! he was directly
+behind her, and had seen the fair maiden all the while. He had been
+drawn there by an irresistible power, and in the single glance he
+felt the assurance that she was the being who was to bless his life.
+He would have given much, then, to have seen her face, and having
+watched her till out of sight, went to his couch for rest.
+
+Marion looked on his placid features, and hope sprung up in her
+breast. She felt that her brother was, by some mysterious power,
+improving, and knew that he would fully recover his health. The
+flood-tides of affection flowed to the surface, and she wept tears
+of joy.
+
+Towards sunset they walked out together. Even the mental excitement
+caused by looking upon Goethe's statue, and the beautiful Ariadne
+had not exhausted him as formerly, and he was able to go into the
+evening air for the first time for many months.
+
+They returned to their rooms, and talked of the stranger.
+
+"Is she not lovely?" asked Marion, after long silence.
+
+But in that dreamy silence, Ralph had, in spirit, been absent from
+his sister and present with her of whom she inquired. The sound of
+her voice brought him back; he started and said,--
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Why the stranger, of whom we were speaking."
+
+"Lovely?" he replied; "she is more than that, she is holy, heavenly,
+pure. But let us talk no more tonight, dear; I am weary."
+
+The link was broken; her words had called him from the sphere of the
+beautiful stranger, and he needed rest.
+
+"Just what I feared," she said to herself, "he is mentally excited,
+and to-morrow will droop."
+
+Contrary to her fears, however, he awoke fresh and bright on the
+morrow, and able to visit with her, many places of interest. He did
+not see the stranger that day, nor the one succeeding.
+
+"I fear they have gone," said his sister, as Ralph walked nervously
+through the room. "I saw several go last evening, and she may have
+been among the number."
+
+"No, no; she has not gone. I should feel her absence were she away.
+I should have no strength, but lose what I have gained, and droop. I
+feel her here under this roof. I am approaching her, and shall,
+within a few hours, look on her face, and hear her voice."
+
+"Ah, Ralph, don't get too much excited, for I want you to look well
+when father and mother join us at Paris. They will be overjoyed to
+see how much you have improved."
+
+He made a hasty gesture, which she did not see, and then, ashamed at
+his feeling of impatience, went and sat beside her, and arranged the
+silks in her basket. Engaged in this light pastime, he did not hear
+a low rap at the door.
+
+"Come in," rose to the lips of Marion; then the thought flashed on
+her mind that the caller might be a stranger, and she arose and
+opened the door.
+
+"Have you a guide-book you can loan me?"
+
+The voice thrilled Ralph's being to its centre. He raised his eyes
+and said,--
+
+"Come in; we will find the book for you."
+
+To Marion's surprise she entered and seated herself by the window,
+but never for a moment took her eyes from the features of Ralph.
+
+His hands trembled violently as he searched for the book among a
+pile on the table, and Marion had to find it at last, and pass it to
+the stranger, who took it, but moved not. Her eyes seemed
+transfixed, her feet fastened to the floor.
+
+"This is the person who has drawn my life so since I came here. He
+is ill, but will recover," she said, stepping towards him, and
+placing her soft, white hand upon his brow.
+
+During this time Ralph was speechless, and felt as though he was
+struck dumb. He trembled in every limb, as she gently led him to the
+couch and motioned him to lie down. Then his limbs relaxed, his
+breath became calm, the face lost all trace of weariness, and he
+passed into a deep, mesmeric sleep. "Fold on fold of sleep was o'er
+him," and the fair one stood silently there, her eyes dreamy and far
+off, until his being was fully enrapt in that delicious state which
+but few on earth have experienced.
+
+Then silently she withdrew, while Marion whispered in her ear, "Come
+again; please do, for this is so new and strange to me."
+
+"I will," she said, and quietly departed.
+
+An hour passed, and he did not awake; another, and still he
+slumbered. "Can it be? O, is it the sleep which precedes death? I
+fear it may be," and the anxious sister, musing thus, suppressed a
+rising sigh. He moved uneasily. She had disturbed the delicate state
+by her agitated thoughts.
+
+"O, if she would come," said Marion, "I should have no fear."
+
+At that instant the door opened, and the wished for visitor glided
+in.
+
+"Has she read my thought?"
+
+"Fear not," whispered the stranger, in a voice and manner not her
+own, "thy brother but sleepeth. All is well; disease will have left
+him when he awakes. I will stay awhile."
+
+A volume of thanks beamed from Marion's face at these words, as she
+took her seat close by the side of the fair girl.
+
+At the end of the third hour he awoke. The stranger glided from the
+room just as his eyes were opening, and Marion closed the door, and
+went and sat beside him.
+
+"What was it like, Ralph? O! how strange it all seems to me."
+
+"Like? sister mine; like dew to the parched earth; strength to the
+languished; light unto darkness. What was it like? Mortal cannot
+compare it to anything under the heavens. It was as though my being
+soared on downy clouds-the old passing out, weariness falling as I
+ascended, and all sense of pain laid aside as one would a garment
+too heavy to be worn. I knew I slept. I was inspired with currents
+of a new life. I was lulled by undulating waves of light; each
+motion giving deeper rest, followed by a delicious sense of
+enjoyment without demand of action; a balancing of all the being. O!
+rest, such rest, comes to man but once in a lifetime. But where is
+the fair one to whom I am so much indebted for all this?" He glanced
+around the room.
+
+"Gone. She left just as you were waking. But tell me, Ralph, is it
+the mesmeric sleep that has so strengthened you, and with which you
+are so charmed?"
+
+"It must be. What wondrous power that being has; Marion, I am as
+strong and well as ever; look at me, and see if my appearance does
+not verify my assertion."
+
+She looked and believed. The past hour had developed a wonder
+greater than could be found among all the works of art in that great
+city; for Christ, the Lord, had been there and disease had fled.
+
+Ralph and Marion met the strangers quite often, and passed many
+happy hours in her society. Marion rallied her brother on his long
+tarry at Frankfort, at which he smiled, saying, "I cannot go while
+she remains." No more was said concerning his departure, it being
+her pleasure to go or stay, as he wished.
+
+One bright morning, they sat under the trees. Ralph was sketching,
+while Marion and the young lady who had so entranced him, were
+amusing themselves with some portraits which he had drawn a long
+time previous, when a servant delivered a letter to Marion. She
+opened it eagerly, and said, "It's from mother, Ralph, and we must
+meet her in Paris by the twentieth; it's now the seventh."
+
+A look of disappointment passed over his face, which was soon chased
+away by smiles, at the words of their companion who said:
+
+"How singular. Father and myself are going there. We leave
+to-morrow."
+
+Marion excused herself, and ran to her room to answer her mother's
+letter. The two thus left alone, sat silent for some time, until
+Ralph broke the calm with these words, "I long to know the name of
+one who has so long benefited me. I only know you as Miss Lyman. I
+should like to treasure your christian name, which I am sure is
+bright, like your nature."
+
+"My surname is Wyman, not Lyman, and my christian name, Dawn."
+
+"How strange! How beautiful!" almost involuntarily exclaimed Ralph.
+
+"Will you allow me, Dawn," he said, after a brief silence, "to
+sketch your profile?"
+
+"Certainly, when will you do it?"
+
+"Now, if you have no objection."
+
+"I have not the slightest, provided I can have a duplicate, in case
+I like it."
+
+He complied readily, and she took a position requisite for the work.
+
+"Look away over the river, if you please."
+
+He did not know how much these words implied. Her gaze was far away,
+and would ever be, for her real home was beyond.
+
+He succeeded at the first effort, and asked her judgment upon it.
+
+"Truthful and correct," she said. "Now another for me, if you
+please."
+
+"This is yours. I shall idealize mine, and in it I shall sketch you
+as you appear to me. Mine would not please you, I know."
+
+"You judge me correctly. I wish my portrait to be exactly like
+myself."
+
+"Yet if you sketched, you would want to draw your friends profiles
+as they appeared to you, would you not?"
+
+"Certainly. Is this your speciality, heads, or do you go to nature
+and reproduce her wonderous moods and shades with your pencil?"
+
+"My great ideal is Nature. You, too, are an artist."
+
+"I have no talent whatever, but the deepest sympathy with Nature,
+and an appreciation of her harmonies."
+
+"Do you not paint flowers, or sketch home scenes?"
+
+"I have never used pencil or brush, and yet I feel at times such
+longings within me to give expression to my states, I think I must
+have, at least, some latent power in that direction."
+
+"As all have. I could teach you in a very short time, to sketch
+woods, hills, and skies."
+
+"I think I should never copy. You don't know how foreign it is to my
+nature to copy anything. I should respect artists more if they did
+not copy so much. I reverence the past; I honor and admire the pure
+lives and noble works of those who are gone; but where are the new
+saints and the new masters? Was genius buried with Michael Angelo
+and Raphael? The same God who inspired their lives, inspires ours.
+We can make ourselves illustrious in our own way. We may not all
+paint, but whatever our work is, that should we do as individuals.
+If we copy, we shall have no genius to transmit to future
+generations."
+
+Dawn wished to be pardoned if she had wearied her listener, but she
+saw at once, as she looked on his face, that the thoughts she had
+expressed were accepted, and that her words had not fallen on
+unappreciative ears.
+
+"You have spoken my own views, and if my health remains, I shall
+give the world my best efforts in my own way. Nature shall be my
+study. I will not fall a worshipper, like Correggio, to light and
+shade, but use them as adjuncts to the great idea which must ever
+dwell in the soul of the faithful artist, to give the whole of
+nature."
+
+"I would not have spoken so much upon a theme even so dear to me as
+this, had I not felt that you would accept my thoughts, and
+therefore knew that I should not weary you."
+
+"I shall see you before you go," he said, retaining her hand which
+she extended, as she arose to leave.
+
+"I should be very sorry not to bid you good-bye. Have you my
+portrait?" He handed it to her, and walked with her to the hotel.
+
+"To-morrow she will depart, I may never see her again. Never! No, it
+cannot be. I shall see her, live near her, feel her life flowing
+into mine each day. It must be, I shall droop and fade without her,
+as the flower without dew or water." He went in and found the letter
+written, sealed and directed to Paris. He loved the word, since she
+was going there.
+
+Dawn went to her room and wrote her last letter from the land of
+music, flowers, legends and art.
+
+"Dear Ones at Home:-To-morrow we bid good-bye to this land of
+beauty, which so accords with my feelings. We shall bid adieu to its
+mountains, its castles, and its works of art. When you receive this
+we shall have visited Paris, thence to London to embark for home.
+'Home,' dear word. All my roamings will only make me love home
+better, and those whose lives are so woven in with mine. Tell
+Herbert he must come here to have his inspiration aroused. When he
+has walked upon Mont Blanc; when he has sailed on the Rhine, stood
+by Lakes Geneva and Lucerne, and by the blue Moselle, then he will
+feel that his whole life has been a fitting prelude to a rapturous
+burst of immortal song. He must come to Germany before he can fathom
+the sea of sound, or understand in fullness what the rippling waves
+of sweet music are saying. Florence, Herbert! do not let old age
+come on you, before you see this land, if none other. It is growing
+dark, or I would write more. Were I to sing a song to-night it would
+be, 'Do they miss me at home?' Three years have passed; I could stay
+as many more and not see half of that which would interest and
+instruct me, yet I feel ready to leave, for I know it to be my duty
+to do so. May the waves bear us safely to the arms of those who love
+us. Yours ever, DAWN."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+
+
+
+During the voyage home, Dawn was too indrawn to converse much with
+her father. He saw her state, and delicately left her to herself,
+except at brief intervals. What a help is such an one to us in our
+moods-one who knows when to leave us, and as well when to linger.
+
+The days went swiftly by. As they neared home, Dawn's abstracted
+manner warmed to its usual glow, and parent and child talked
+earnestly of the joy of returning to their own dear fireside. With
+deepened life within, and extended views of happiness, how
+pleasantly would the days glide on, lit with the sunlight of the
+happy faces they were so soon to behold.
+
+The autumn had just flashed its beauties on the forest trees, when
+Mr. Wyman and Dawn drew near their home. It was sunset when they
+reached the little station at L--and saw their carriage waiting,
+and Martin, their faithful servant, holding Swift. A bright face
+peeped out from a corner of the carriage. One bound to the platform,
+and Florence and Dawn were clasped in each other's arms. Tears
+sprang to Hugh's eyes as he held her hand and read in her happy face
+that all was well with herself and friends. The old horse even gave
+them a kindly greeting, turning his head and looking upon the joyous
+group, then pawing the ground as if anxious to take them to their
+home. They were not long in catching the hint, and soon Martin gave
+Swift the reins, and he pranced along as though his burden weighed
+no more than a feather.
+
+"Who do you think is at our house?" inquired Florence.
+
+"I have been too long away from yankee land to 'guess'; tell me at
+once, Florence."
+
+"Miss Weston, whom we met at the sea-shore."
+
+Dawn held up both hands with delight.
+
+"Why did you not mention it in your last letter?"
+
+"Because she arrived since I wrote."
+
+"I hope she is to stay awhile with us," said Dawn.
+
+"We shall need all the balancing power we can bring to offset our
+enthusiasm. Do you not think so, Florence?" asked Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I do, indeed. I expect Dawn's earnestness will kindle such desires
+among these home-loving people, that by next spring, all L--will
+embark for Europe."
+
+"Some fuel will not ignite," said Dawn, casting a mischievous glance
+at Florence.
+
+"I think foreign travel has injured my pupil's manners," remarked
+Mrs. Temple, assuming an air of dignity.
+
+"Yes, you must take her in charge immediately," answered her father.
+"But here we are at our own gate. Stop, Martin," and with a bound he
+sprang from the carriage. He could sit no longer. The familiar trees
+which his own hand had planted, spread their branches as though to
+welcome his return. Brilliant flowers flashed smiles of greeting.
+The turf seemed softer, and more like velvet than he had ever seen
+it; the marble statues on the lawn more elegant than all the
+beautiful things he had looked upon while away. Some hand had
+trailed the vines over the pillars of the house; the birds sang, and
+the air seemed full of glad welcomings. The good, honest face of
+Aunt Susan met them at the hall door, and a warm, hearty shake of
+the hand was the greeting of each.
+
+Flowers everywhere,--pendant from baskets, and grouped in vases;
+vines everywhere,--laid as by a summer breeze, on marble busts and
+statuettes; blossoms everywhere:-but where was she whose
+thoughtfulness and taste was made manifest in all these?
+
+Impatiently he passed to the drawing-room, then to the library, and
+a feeling of blank disappointment rose in his breast, for she he so
+much expected to see, was not there to greet him.
+
+"I forgot to tell you," said Aunt Susan, "that no sooner was the
+carriage gone for you, then Miss Evans was called to a very sick
+friend. She left this note for you."
+
+Hugh hastily opened it, and found a line expressing regret that such
+summons should come at such an hour, and welcoming him home with all
+the warmth of a true and earnest soul.
+
+"O father! is it not heavenly to be back again?" and the sensitive
+daughter fell weeping with joy into her father's arms. He pressed
+her to his heart, held her as though she had been away from him all
+these years, instead of at his side beholding the wonders of the Old
+World. "Dawn, Dawn, my darling girl," was all he could say.
+
+"Where is she?" she inquired, suddenly rising.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss Evans. Strange I have not thought of her since we entered our
+home."
+
+"She is away. Here is her note, which will explain her absence."
+
+Dawn read it without looking at the words, and said:
+
+"The house is full of her. I like her sphere; she must not go away
+from us."
+
+Her father glanced wonderingly towards her. How strangely woven into
+his own life was the tissue of his child's, how vibratory had their
+existence become.
+
+"Shall she not always stay, dear father? You will need some one-some
+one with you."
+
+The last words were slow and measured. What was it that seemed
+drifting from his grasp just then? What more of joy was receding
+from his life-sphere?
+
+"Dawn, my child," he said, "You are not going from me?"
+
+"Why, poor frightened papa, I am not so easily got rid of. I am not
+going, but some one is coming, coming, I feel it, close to you, yet
+not one to sever us. There are some natures that bind others closer,
+as some substances unite by the introduction of a third element."
+
+"Child, you are my very breath; how can you come closer to me?"
+
+"By having a new set of sympathies in your being aroused; by
+expansion. Was my mother farther removed or brought nearer to you,
+when she gave birth to a new claimant upon your love?"
+
+"Brought nearer, and made dearer a thousand times."
+
+"Do you understand me now, father?"
+
+"I feel strange to-day, Dawn. It came over me when I left the
+carriage,--a something I fain would put away, but cannot. Some other
+time we will talk upon it."
+
+"May we come in?"
+
+The door was flung wide open, and Florence and her husband stood
+before them. The children were in the garden just at that moment.
+The tea-bell rang, and soon they all formed a happy group around the
+bounteous board.
+
+Revelations come to us sometimes in flashes, at others in partial
+glimpses. The revelation of Hugh Wyman's feelings towards one he had
+known but as a friend, came slowly. There was no sudden lifting of
+the veil, which concealed the image from his sight. It rose and
+fell, as though lifted by the wind,--and that merely a chance
+breeze,--no seeming hand of fate controling it.
+
+How should ho know himself; how fathom the strange fluttering of his
+heart, the quickening breath, the flashing blood, at times when he
+most earnestly sought to put such emotions away. What meant his
+child's close words touching his dim thoughts floating like nebul‘
+in his mind? What was this vague questioning state, with no
+revelations, no answers? He tried to put it away, but each endeavor
+brought it closer, and he yielded at last to the strange spell.
+
+Three days after their arrival, Miss Evans came from the house of
+mourning to their home of joy.
+
+Hugh met her suddenly in the garden, whither she had gone in search
+of Dawn. But where was "Hugh," her brother, when they met? Not
+before her. The person had the manners of a stranger, instead of a
+long absent friend returned.
+
+She sought Dawn, and met with a cordial welcome from her, which in
+some measure removed the chill from her heart.
+
+Dawn struggled long that night with her feelings. Her thoughts would
+wander over the sea to one who had so deeply touched her sympathies.
+Her last meeting with him was in Paris. He then stood with his
+sister gazing on Schoffer's picture, which so beautifully represents
+the gradual rise of the soul through the sorrows of earth to heaven.
+This beautiful work of art "consists of figures grouped together,
+those nearest the earth bowed down and overwhelmed with the most
+crushing sorrow; above them are those who are beginning to look
+upward, and the sorrow in their faces is subsiding into anxious
+inquiry; still above them are those who, having caught a gleam of
+the sources of consolation, express in their faces a solemn
+calmness; and still higher, rising in the air, figures with clasped
+hands, and absorbed, upward gaze, to whose eye the mystery has been
+unveiled, the enigma solved, and sorrow glorified."
+
+That picture floated through her mind.
+
+"Shall I ever be among the 'glorified,'" she asked of her inner
+self; "among those who see the divine economy of suffering, which
+purifies the soul from all grossness? I must banish the thought of
+him from my mind," she exclaimed, vehemently. "I must have no
+earthly moorings; far, far out on life's tumultuous sea, I see
+myself buffeting the waves alone." Thus spoke reason, while her soul
+kept up the swelling tide of emotion, and soon away went thought and
+feeling far over the blue sea, where he was yet gazing on the
+beauties of the Old World.
+
+Would chance once more send him across her path? Would she ever
+again look into those eyes of such wondrous depth? These were the
+thoughts which floated through her mind-the last she experienced
+before passing into dreamland.
+
+Lulled in sweet sleep, she seemed to stand upon a shore watching the
+waves which threw, at each inflowing, beautiful shells at her feet.
+They were all joined in pairs, but none were rightly mated; all
+unmatched in size, form and color. What hand shall arrange them in
+order? Who will mate them, and re-arrange their inharmonious
+combinings?
+
+She tried to tear a few asunder. She could not separate them, for
+they were held so firmly by the thick slime of the sea, that no hand
+could disunite them. 'They must go back, and be washed again and
+again by the waves,' a voice within seemed to say, 'on eternity's
+broad shore they will all be mated. They symbolize human life, and
+what in the external world are called marriages. The real mate is in
+the sea, but not joined to its like.'
+
+A feeling of impatience came over her, as she saw the shells roll
+back, and the incoming tide still throwing more at her feet. The
+feeling deepened, and she awoke.
+
+It was midnight; a gentle breeze scarce stirred the curtains of her
+windows and bed, and there broke over the room a wave of sound.
+
+Dawn knew that some one was there, yet no fear of the visitant came
+upon her. She only feared her breath might disturb the delicate
+atmosphere which filled the room, growing at each moment more
+rarified and delicate in its quality. She knew that the presence
+could be none other than that of her mother, for none but she could
+so permeate her being, and fill the room with such an air of
+holiness, and she felt that in the atmosphere which was thus
+gathering, her angelic form must soon become cognizant to her sight.
+As these thoughts filled her mind, the rays of light began to
+converge and centre at her side. Her eyes seemed rivited to the
+spot, as she saw the dim but perfect outline of a form. It grew more
+tangible, until at last the form of her mother stood saintly and
+glorified before her.
+
+O, the rapt ecstacy of such an hour; the soothing influence which
+flows into the brain when a mortal is thus blessed.
+
+Dawn tried to speak; her lips parted, but no sound issued, and she
+learned that there is another communion than that of words, which
+mortals hold with those who have passed into a broader and deeper
+life.
+
+Slowly the form faded away; first the limbs, then the shadows, or
+semi-transparent clouds, rose gradually, till nought but the white
+effulgent brow beamed out; yet but for an instant, then all was
+gone.
+
+A rest deeper than that of sleep came over her. She closed her eyes
+to shut out the darkness, and retain the vision, and remained thus
+until slowly the golden orb of day rolled his chariot over the
+eastern hills, when reluctantly she arose, and the heavenly spell
+was broken.
+
+"Dear Pearl, how good you are to come and see us," burst from the
+lips of Dawn, when, two hours later, she entered the parlor of her
+teacher and clasped the hand of Miss Weston. "I shall claim her
+to-day; may I not, Florence?" and without waiting for a reply, she
+carried her to her own home.
+
+They talked long and earnestly; Dawn's description of her travels
+entertaining her guest exceedingly, and it was noon ere they were
+aware that one half of the morning had passed away.
+
+"And now I have talked long enough, and will stop; but may I ask you
+where you propose to spend the coming winter? If you are not
+positively engaged, I want you to stay with Florence and myself."
+
+"I am going to the quiet little town of B--, to remain for an
+indefinite period with some dear friends, relatives of my dear
+Edward, who have just returned from Europe. I had a letter from them
+yesterday, saying they were all safe at home, and should be looking
+for me next week."
+
+"Then all my plans must fail."
+
+"As far as having me here for so long a time; but how I wish you
+could know Ralph and Marion, Dawn.-Why, what is the matter; what is
+it, dear Dawn?"
+
+"Nothing but a sharp pain. It's all over now. Were your friends
+in-in Paris last month?" her voice trembled as she spoke.
+
+"Yes. But how pale you look. Dawn, you must be ill."
+
+"I am not. I did not sleep well last night. But Pearl, I have seen
+your friends."
+
+"Seen them; seen Ralph?" exclaimed Miss Weston, in joyous surprise.
+"Is his not a fine character? And Marion, his sister, is she not
+lovely?"
+
+"I know them but little. They were at a hotel in Frankfort, where we
+stopped. I first met them there, and again in Paris, twice,
+accidentally."
+
+"How strange," continued Miss Weston. "Will they not be greatly
+surprised when I tell them I know you?"
+
+Dawn laid her hand heavily on her friend's shoulder, saying:
+
+"Miss Weston, I have my reasons, which sometime I may explain to
+you, for asking you not to mention my name to any member of that
+family." It was the same bright face which years ago was turned on
+her with words of consolation; the same childish pleading, for
+Dawn's face was a type of her spirit,--free, innocent and pure. "Will
+you promise without an explanation?"
+
+"I will, strange as it seems; but, may I ask you one question,
+before we leave this subject?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Has Ralph or Marion ever injured you?"
+
+"Never. I think very highly of them both."
+
+The subject was dismissed, and although their words floated to
+interesting topics, no deep feeling could be experienced by either,
+for each had become insphered and separate; one pondering, despite
+her efforts to the contrary, upon the strange request; the other
+thinking how strangely fate had again approximated lives which, in
+her present state, she could only see, must be kept apart.
+
+Little did Dawn think she should meet in her own home, one who knew
+Ralph. It seemed an indication that she might meet him again, when
+and where she knew not, but of one thing she was certain, the
+meeting could not be one of friendship only. A conflict of emotions
+pulsed through her being. She could not converse, and plainly told
+her friend that she was too abstracted to be companionable.
+
+"Go to Florence," she said, "and tell her she may have you the rest
+of the day. To-morrow--to-morrow," she said slowly, "I shall want
+you, for then I shall be myself."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+
+
+
+When Margaret Thorne left N--, it was with the intention of
+following the old woman's warning, and avoiding the stranger.
+
+"Where shall I go?" was the ever prominent question, repeated again
+and again, to the end of the journey.
+
+At last the train stopped at the busy city; the close of the journey
+had come, but no end to her restless thoughts. While she was thus
+musing, she was aroused by the usual, "Have a hack? a hack, miss?"
+This seemed to indicate her next step. She handed her baggage check
+to the person who addressed her, and directed him to drive to a
+public house.
+
+Seated in the carriage she was somewhat relieved of the feeling of
+uncertainty which had oppressed her. Alas, the poor girl did not
+know that at that moment the woman of evil deeds was directing the
+coachman where to carry the helpless victim.
+
+And thus her fate was sealed; her child was born in a house of sin,
+and its little eyes first opened in its dark, immoral atmosphere.
+
+The woman had managed all so cunningly that Margaret did not know
+but that she was in a respectable house, nor see her until it was
+too late. Then, knowing her helplessness, the woman, by subtle
+flatteries and approaches in her hour of womanly need, at a time
+when she was weak and susceptible to seemingly kind attentions, won
+her confidence. The child of circumstances caught at the broken
+staff held out for her as a drowning one seeks any hold in a storm.
+In her hour of sorrow and destitution, she accepted the only aid
+which was proffered her, for aid she must have, and she was not able
+to command her choice.
+
+Day by day the woman into whose hands she had fallen, worked herself
+into her life and affection, until at length Margaret began to think
+there might be worse persons than those about her, and greater sins
+in the wide world than those which were committed beneath the roof
+which now sheltered her.
+
+Creatures of circumstance as we are, we are too apt to attribute to
+our own strength of purpose the virtue, so called, in which we pride
+ourselves. Women in happy homes, by pleasant hearths, and surrounded
+with every means of social enjoyment, take credit to themselves for
+their upright demeanor, and indulge in bitter denunciation of those,
+who, less fortunately circumstanced, yield to the tempter's
+allurements. Little do they think of what they themselves might have
+been, but for the protection which some good angel has thrown around
+them. It would be well for us all to pause and think, and ask our
+souls the question which this thought suggests.
+
+As has been seen, Margaret Thorne came not willingly to the home in
+which she now was, neither did she willingly remain. Circumstances
+not of her own making, governed her; and may it not be there are
+many similarly situated. To such the world owes its pity, not its
+condemnation.
+
+The "social evil" is not confined to the houses which the public
+marks as its only abode, but is to be found in many of those in
+which the marriage ceremony is supposed to have insured chastity.
+
+In these, too often, the unwelcome child is ushered into being, the
+fruit of a prostitution more base than any which is called by that
+name, because sanctioned and shielded by a covenant of holiness. If
+any children are illegitimate such are. If any mothers are to be
+condemned, they are those, who, vain and foolish, filled with
+worldly ambition, angrily regret that their time is encroached upon
+by the demands of their dependent offspring. In vain the little ones
+reach out for the life and love which should be freely given them;
+then, finding it not, fade and die like untimely flowers. Thousands
+of innocent beings go to the grave every year from no other cause
+than this, that though born in wedlock they are the offspring of
+passion, and not the children of love.
+
+Sad as these thoughts are, they are nevertheless true. An hour's
+walk in any community, will bring to any one's observation
+inharmonious children. Let the married reflect, and closely question
+themselves, in order that they may know the true relation which they
+bear to the children who are called by their name. Better by far
+that a child of pure love be brought into the world, with a heart to
+love it, a hand to lead it, and a soul to guide it, than a child of
+passion, to be hated and forsaken by those who should care for and
+protect it.
+
+Little can be done by one generation to right this wrong, but that
+little should be done with earnestness.
+
+"I will not forsake it," said Margaret, looking into the eyes of her
+child; eyes that fastened on hers such a questioning gaze, that it
+made her heart beat fast, and the scalding tears flow down her
+cheeks; eyes that resembled those that once flashed on her the light
+of passion, which she mistook for that of pure affection.
+
+Years rolled on, and she struggled with life, trying to support
+herself and child by her efforts. But, alas, the taint was on her;
+none would help her to a better existence, and she fell to rise no
+more this side the grave.
+
+Not suddenly did she surrender her womanhood, but slowly, as hope
+after hope failed, and all her efforts were met with a foul
+distrust.
+
+The years that came and went by, bringing happiness to many, brought
+none to her. One night the angel of death stole noiselessly to her
+side, and took her only earthly comfort,--her child. His fair face
+and innocent smile had repaid her a hundred fold for the frowns of
+the world she had met. Now she had no moorings, no anchor in the
+broad sea of existence.
+
+"I shall die some day," she said, "and perhaps the angels will
+forgive me." So she walked alone, and cared not what came to her
+life, or filled the measure of her days on earth.
+
+Miss Evans sat alone in her home, musing, as she had often done. She
+had just been reading passages from "Dream Life," having opened the
+book at random to a chapter entitled, "A Broken Hope." Was life
+mocking her at every step? She turned the pages listlessly, and
+"Peace" flashed before her vision. Peace, at last. No matter how
+great the struggle, rest shall be ours. We may not attain what we
+have striven for on earth, but peace will come, and the "rest which
+the world knows not of."
+
+But her mind did not feel the promise then. Life seemed growing
+dull, insipid. The course of the chariot wheels of progress, were
+impeded. What had become of her earnest, working self, whose deepest
+happiness was in laboring for humanity? Why were her hands so idle,
+and her mind so listless? Question rose on question, until her mind
+seemed plunging into a sea whose troubled waves moaned and dashed
+against her life-bark, giving her spirit no repose. Why was she
+floating on this restless sea?
+
+A hand was laid upon her shoulder. She turned, and the warm blood
+tinged her cheeks and brow.
+
+"Hugh!"
+
+"Arline!"
+
+It was the first time for years that the sound of her own name had
+thrilled her so deeply.
+
+He sat by her, took her hands in his own, and had never seemed to
+belong to her so much as in that hour.
+
+"I never was more delighted to see you," she said, unaware of the
+tide of emotion which his answer would awaken.
+
+"I am glad, indeed, that it is so. Then I do not seek you to be
+repulsed. I love you, Arline."
+
+She was not startled by this avowal, as it might have been supposed
+she would have been, and yet she never thought to hear words like
+those pass his lips. Like dew upon withering flowers they came, and
+she looked up, saying,--
+
+"How long has this feeling existed in your heart, Hugh?"
+
+"Since I found I could love more than one, and yet love that one
+deeper and more tenderly."
+
+"And when was that?"
+
+"When I first saw my home after my foreign trip. Until then, I had
+but one feeling towards you, and that, you know, was a brother's
+love."
+
+"I do."
+
+"But tell me," he said, as though a new thought had impressed him,
+"how long have you loved me?"
+
+"Always, Hugh."
+
+"Always?" he repeated. "And yet you kept that love a secret to every
+soul but your own. It is well, and in order. I could not have known
+it before. May I ever prove worthy of such devotion, such true love.
+Arline, our love has not the fire of passion, but a purer flame
+burns upon its altar, one which consumes not, while it illumines our
+way."
+
+For many hours they sat together, much of the time in silence, their
+souls communing in that language which has not an earthly
+expression. Soon the current of their lives mingled; the green banks
+of peace were in view. Night adorned itself in the robes of morning;
+doubt and questioning gave place to faith and trust.
+
+She went to his home to walk daily with one whom God had made to
+vibrate in soul to that of her own earnest life. There was no crowd
+to witness the external rite; only a chosen few who could enter into
+the true spirit of the occasion, were present, while over them
+hovered the angelic form of the dear, departed Alice, happy indeed,
+that a woman's affection and gentleness had come to bless him whom
+she too so truly loved.
+
+Dawn was radiant with emotion at the union. "Another life now
+enfolds me," she said to her father, when they were alone for the
+first time after the ceremony. "I knew she was coming; I felt it
+when we came home. You did not seek it, father, it came to you; it
+was to be; and now as you have some one to sit by your side, I may
+roam a little, may I not?"
+
+"Ah, yes; I remember a certain pair of eyes over the sea, which more
+than once flashed on a young lady who shall be nameless."
+
+Dawn suddenly interrupted this remark by the exclamation, "Ah,
+don't, father, don't!" and her tone struck him as sadly out of place
+for the time and occasion; so he said no more, but wondered at her
+strange, and to him at that moment, unaccountable manner.
+
+"What a peculiar wedding," said every one; "just like the Wymans,
+they never do anything like any one else."
+
+"What he found to admire in Miss Evans, is more than I can see,"
+said one of the busy-bodies who favored Miss Vernon with a call on
+a certain memorable morning.
+
+"He's a curious man," said an old lady, between a yawn and a smile,
+"and nobody ever could understand him."
+
+These, and a hundred similar expressions equally unimportant, were
+heard, and then all was still again.
+
+The new pair took up the deep current of their lives with united
+strength, and merged their efforts into one channel, each distinct,
+but flowing in time to the divine order, enriching each other's
+lives.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Some lives are steady, with a continuous flow of discipline; other's
+convulsive and terrible in their wild upheavings. Slowly we learn
+the goodness of God's mercy, which sends the storm that whitens our
+garments, making them pure as snow. When our song should be praise,
+we fly here and there bemoaning our fate, crossing and re-crossing
+the path which leads into life, instead of walking therein, and
+following it out to its glorious goal.
+
+Slowly we learn to take each day, and fill it with our best
+endeavor, leaving to-morrow to God. Life's experiences should teach
+us to find where our work begins and where it ends; but in our
+learning, how we project ourselves, and exalt our own little
+knowledge.
+
+Like children, we meddle with our father's tools, and so retard the
+blessing. When we learn to work with God, then will our lives be in
+divine order, and flow deep and peaceful to the end. Our impatient
+movements cut the threads in the heavenly warp, and the garment
+which was to enfold us is delayed in its making.
+
+It has been said, "Man is his own worst enemy," and life's
+experience proves the truth of the assertion. But our final success
+is born of our present failures. It is in our efforts to ascend the
+stream, and thus rowing against the current, that we gain strength.
+Without resistance life would be a negation, and our running,
+sparkling river, become a stagnant pool.
+
+Dawn brightened with the rising sun, or rather the cloud went by,
+leaving her in all her native brilliancy. Miss Weston spent her last
+day with her, and then went to her friends, with permission to write
+whenever she felt disposed, but with the caution not to say anything
+of her to Ralph or Marion.
+
+"I think I must take one more look at the sea before winter closes
+in," said Dawn to her father, one pleasant day when the air was
+still and the foliage bright with autumn hues.
+
+"You will be obliged to go alone, then, for I have too many duties,
+to accompany you," he said, and after a moment's pause, he asked,
+"Can you not wait a day or two?"
+
+He read an answer in her pleading eyes, which said, "To-day, or not
+at all; I am in the mood, and must go now."
+
+"Go, then," he said, "but do not allow the waves to steal you away."
+
+It seemed to him that she was slipping from his life; and indeed she
+was receding, but only to flow again more freely and strongly to
+him. As the tide which sweeps out and comes back, each time making a
+farther inroad upon the shore, so she was outflowing and inflowing,
+each tidal return beating deeper into his soul. We must flow out to
+the ocean, to the depth of living waters, if we would win a firmer
+abiding in the hearts of those we love.
+
+Dawn walked upon the beach, the very spot where in childhood her
+ardent spirit first looked upon the sea. Idly, some might think, she
+wore the hours away, gathering white pebbles, and throwing them into
+the waters.
+
+How long she continued thus, thinking of the past and musing of the
+future, she knew not. With her, one thought was uppermost, and that
+was of Ralph, whose letters to her had of late been warm with that
+spirit which sooner or later glows in every heart. She felt that to
+him she had a duty to perform which at the farthest could not long
+be deferred, and she knew that to meet it, required a strength and a
+singleness of purpose which would call into service all the
+philosophy she could command.
+
+The deep silence that surrounded her was at length broken by the
+sound of a footstep; then a voice was heard, that seemed to her, in
+her half-entranced state, to come from the world of spirits. She
+started, as the voice sounded nearer. She knew whose voice it was,
+yet she only whispered to herself, "How strange," and still gazed
+upon the sea, while a feeling pervaded her whole soul, akin to joy
+supernal.
+
+"Dawn, Dawn; I have found you at last, and by the sea!"
+
+Still she looked on the restless waters. There are moments in every
+life when speech fails, when words are powerless, when the soul can
+only express itself by silence. Such a moment came to Dawn.
+
+Ralph took her hand in his own. She turned on him a gaze which
+seemed to bring her soul nearer to his own than ever before, and
+they walked slowly side by side. Then he told her that his sister
+and a friend were on the beach, a mile below; that they had all
+three come to take one more look at the sea, and to gather mosses.
+
+"I knew not why I had such a strong desire to come here," he said
+"but now see clearly what drew me in this direction. The feeling to
+come was overpowering, and I could not resist it."
+
+They walked, and conversed of all the past, until finally, the
+question of so momentous interest to both was approached, and Ralph
+pleaded as none but a lover can.
+
+A long silence ensued. Hope and fear, doubt and uncertainty, came
+and went, and every moment seemed to him an age.
+
+Dawn at length turned her face slowly towards him, and then raised
+her eyes to heaven, as if imploring its aid. The deep working of her
+spirit was plainly depicted upon her features; first the conflict,
+then the triumph.
+
+"I must walk alone. I love you, Ralph, as I have never loved before;
+but I have a mission on earth; one which I cannot share with
+another. To its service I dedicate my life."
+
+She sprang towards him, threw her arms for an instant around his
+neck; then, tearing herself away, was gone before he could fully
+realize what had happened.
+
+Slowly the reality of what had occurred came upon him, like a storm
+more terrible for its slow approach.
+
+"O, that I had not seen her to-day," he said, "for then hope would
+have been left me. Now, all is over. With me life must be gone
+through with mechanically, not lived earnestly; happiness must be
+relinquished, peace and rest prayed for."
+
+When Marion and Edith came in search of him, the crisis of his great
+grief was past, but the white face showed it was not the Ralph who
+left them.
+
+"Why, you are ill; what has happened?" was his sisters' ejaculation.
+
+"I came near sinking."
+
+"Were you bathing?" they both asked, together.
+
+"In sorrow's sea," he was about to say, but kept the words back, and
+appeared cheerful for their sakes.
+
+"Then a wave did really come over you, Ralph?" said his sister,
+looking anxiously into his face.
+
+"Yes, a strong one. I came near going under."
+
+They did not know that he spoke in correspondences, and accepted the
+literal explanation, which was true in the abstract.
+
+"You look as though you had concentrated a dozen years into one
+day," said Mr. Wyman, as he met Dawn at the door.
+
+"I have had a very intense day."
+
+"You should have taken more time, child."
+
+This was her first unshared sorrow, and she longed to be away,
+alone. It seemed as though an ocean rolled, for the time, between
+herself and her father, and she hastily left him and sought her
+room. That night none but angels witnessed her struggles, and the
+peace which afterwards flowed into her troubled heart.
+
+When morning came, with light and love in her face, she went below,
+and those who met her knew not the conflict of the night,--the great
+darkness,--so brilliant was her morning.
+
+"I am going to the city, to-day, to make some purchases: my wardrobe
+needs replenishing."
+
+"Which announcement, I suppose, is an appeal to my purse," remarked
+Mr. Wyman.
+
+"I should put her on a shorter allowance, if I were you," said his
+wife, "if she does not give us more of her company."
+
+"Are you aware that you have been roaming most of the time, Dawn,
+since the change in our home?" said her father, as he presented her
+the means for her purchases.
+
+"Of course, having some one to take my place as housekeeper, I wish
+to enjoy my freedom a little."
+
+Mrs. Wyman looked troubled. Had she separated them? Was Dawn
+absenting herself on her account? A look of pain passed over her
+face, which she little knew the subject of her thoughts caught and
+interpreted.
+
+"I am not going because you are here," said Dawn at parting; "I am
+going because I feel impelled to. I am truly grateful to you, that
+your love came to bless my father's life. Do you believe me?"
+
+"I do; and thank you from my heart for your words." This was said
+with a depth of feeling that is always accompanied by the holy
+baptism of tears, and this was no exceptional occasion.
+
+The first thought that came to Dawn, on her arrival in the city, was
+the dream of her childhood,--the pure white robe, and the damp, dark
+lanes.
+
+"Perhaps my mission is close at hand," she said, stepping aside to
+let an old man pass. She glanced at his sad, wrinkled face. It
+seemed as though other eyes were looking through her own into it.
+She took some money from her purse, and thrust it into his hand.
+
+He closed his fingers mechanically over the bill; it was something
+more than money he needed.
+
+"I am looking for-for-her," he said, his eyes gazing on vacancy.
+
+"Any one I can find for you?" inquired Dawn, touched by his gentle,
+childlike manner.
+
+"Find her? Can you find Margaret? Why, she went away when she was a
+little gal; no, she has grown up-like you. But I guess she's lost;
+yes lost. O, my little Margy,--your own mammy, and your other mammy
+is dead, and I am all alone. Come, Margy, come," he said, reaching
+forth his hands to Dawn.
+
+"I am not Margy; but perhaps we can find her." She drew nearer to
+him, and walked by his side down the street.
+
+They passed along until the crowd grew more dense, and the sea of
+human forms, rushing and jostling, made her head swim.
+
+What a variety; from childhood to age,--faces in which sorrow and
+hope were struggling; faces marked with lines and furrows; cheeks
+sunken by disease and many griefs; bright, glowing faces, fresh as
+flowers, before the dew had been parched by noon-day sun and heat.
+On, on they went,--the busy crowd, and the old man, and the maiden;
+he, looking at all, yet seeing none; she, gazing with restless
+vision, for what? for whom? How typical of life's great highway, on
+which we wander, looking for that which we know not; hoping, that
+out of the sea of faces, one will shine forth on us, to receive or
+give a blessing.
+
+They passed spacious buildings, and came to those less pretentious
+in style. The crowd grew less dense, the apparel less showy and
+elegant; the low wooden houses contrasting strangely with the lofty
+edifices which they left behind. Little shops, with broken panes in
+every window; children ragged, idle, and brutal in their appearance,
+stirred the heart of the passer-by with a grief which no words could
+portray.
+
+Dawn looked on them, and longed to gather them all into one fold of
+love and harmony. "O, guide me, Father, and help me to lead them to
+better lives," was the earnest prayer of her soul.
+
+"I am led hither to-day, that my sympathy with human want may be
+deepened," she said to herself, while a thrill of joyous emotion
+pervaded her being, and faith laid hold more firm of the eternal
+anchor, which holds us fast, in the deep waters.
+
+She was so indrawn that she did not notice the approach of a
+carriage, as they were on a street that ran at angles with the great
+thoroughfare, until a sharp cry from the old man aroused her to the
+state of affairs. He had been struck, and had fallen under the
+wheels. One moan, one convulsive motion of the features, and he was
+white as marble.
+
+Before she had time to think or act, a shriek rent the air, and
+pierced the very soul of Dawn, for it was a wail from depths which
+few have fathomed. She turned to see from whom it came, and beheld a
+light female form bending low over the prostrate man. She was poorly
+clad, and her face bore every mark of the workings of great inward
+struggles. Two men raised the fallen one carefully, and carried him
+into a store near by. But it was only the clay they bore there; the
+soul had fled; gone to a world of a larger charity, and nobler souls
+than this.
+
+"O, my father; my poor, old father," broke from Margaret's lips, and
+her body swayed to and fro with its burden of grief.
+
+Dawn took her hand; it was icy cold. Thus had the father and child
+met; one in the slumber of death; the other with the last sorrow of
+earth eating away what little of life remained in her. It was,
+truly, a pitiful scene, and touched all who witnessed it.
+
+"Where shall we take him, miss?" said the police respectfully, to
+Dawn, whom he supposed, from her manifest interest, knew the
+parties.
+
+"I do not know them, sir," she replied, turning a look of deepest
+pity on Margaret.
+
+"May I ask where your father shall be taken?" said Dawn tenderly, to
+Margaret.
+
+"Taken? Why, home; no, it's a great way off; but don't bury him here
+in the wicked city. O, take him where the grass will wave over his
+grave, and the blue birds sing at early morn. O, do not bury him
+here," she cried, clinging to Dawn with that confidence born of the
+soul when ushered, however strangely and suddenly, into the presence
+of truth and goodness.
+
+"He shall be carried away to the green fields, and we will follow,"
+said Dawn, and stepping to a kindly-looking man in the crowd, she
+gave him orders to prepare a casket and shroud, and carry the body
+to the home of the poor woman who stood moaning beside her.
+
+"Where shall we take him, Miss?" he said, stepping towards Margaret.
+
+"Take him? I-I have no home. I was sent from my lodging this
+morning, because I had no money to pay. Take him anywhere, only let
+me go to his grave."
+
+Her pleading voice and look told that life had now but one more step
+for her. All was swept away; one hope after another had departed,
+and she stood alone in darkness.
+
+Clarence Bowen, and his young and elegant wife, were riding in a
+part of the city whose broad avenues were overarched with trees all
+radiant with autumnal flames, when a hearse, followed by a single
+carriage, suddenly attracted the attention of the former.
+
+Why was it that his whole frame shook, and the color left his face?
+His wife laughed and chatted by his side, and it was no uncommon
+sight in those streets to see a funeral pass. What was it, then,
+that so thrilled him? And his wife, too, she became alarmed as she
+glanced at his altered countenance.
+
+From that lone carriage a face looked forth upon him. It looked with
+a vacant gaze. It was Margaret's face that, even she knew not why,
+stared upon Clarence. An electric chord seemed to connect the
+two,--the one with wealth and the vigor of life, the other with
+poverty and death.
+
+"Why! what has come over you?" asked his wife. He was wandering
+again in the green woods, and stood once more by the innocent
+maiden's side. He heard not the voice that spoke to him, and she
+left him to his thoughts. The reins slackened in his grasp, and the
+horse walked at a slow pace, while his wife knew not of the bitter
+waters that were surging about his soul. Thus by our side do forms
+sit daily, while our thoughts glance backward and forward with
+lightning speed. At such times, the soul brings from the past its
+dead, to gaze on their lifeless forms, then turns and looks, with
+restless longing, towards the unknown, impenetrable future.
+
+"Why! hus', I declare if you are not too stupid. I'll take the reins
+myself, if you do not arouse."
+
+She little knew how his soul was aroused then, and how great the
+conflict that was going on between self and conscience.
+
+He struck the horse lightly, and they passed on while the little
+funeral cortege went slowly to the burial place for the poor and
+unknown dead.
+
+It was a simple, and somewhat dreary place, which they reached at
+last. There were no cared-for flowers blossoming there, and the
+grass grew uncut around the nameless graves.
+
+The old man with his spade had just finished his work. The last
+shovel-full of earth was thrown out when the hearse and carriage
+stopped at the gate, and the men bore the coffin slowly in, followed
+by Margaret and Dawn.
+
+The angels must have wept had they seen the grief-prostrated form
+beside that grave, when the sound of the earth, as it fell on the
+coffin, came to the ear of the desolate-hearted Margaret.
+
+Moan after moan broke forth, as they bore, rather than led her away
+to the carriage.
+
+Homeless and friendless; where would the morrow find her? God
+tempered the wind to the shorn lamb, and sent his ministering angel
+in his own good time. Dawn had decided, on the way to the grave, to
+take her home, and gave the hackman directions to drive to the
+station.
+
+The rain drops began to patter on the pavement, the air grew chill
+and heavy, adding to the gloom of the occasion, and it was a relief
+to both to step into the cars, and see faces lighted up by hopes,
+going to life's experiences, rather than floating away from them.
+
+There was no action in the dumb soul, which sat beside Dawn. She had
+passed beyond question and agitation of thought. It was that simple
+quiescence which every soul feels when the curtain of sorrow has
+fallen, even amid scenes of hope and happiness; but to one whom hope
+had long since forsaken, and life's bitter experiences been often
+repeated, there could be no projection of self, nought but the Now,
+divested of all earthly interest.
+
+The train rushed past hills, through valleys, fields and woods, like
+a thing of life and intelligence, and stopped at the station, where
+a carriage was waiting. Mechanically Margaret followed, and Martin,
+at Dawn's gesture, lifted her into the carriage. The smoke of the
+receding train rose and curled among the trees, assuming fantastic
+shapes, while the shrill whistle caused the cattle to race over the
+fields, and the lithe-winged warblers to recede into the forests.
+Just so does some great din of the world, falling on our ears, send
+us to our being's centre for rest.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+She laid still and pale upon the bed, while Dawn moved, or rather
+floated, about the room. The tide of life was fast ebbing; the last
+grief had sundered the long tension, and soon her freed spirit would
+be winging its way heavenward.
+
+"Shall I sit by you and read?" asked Dawn, as the hand on the clock
+pointed to the hour of midnight. No sleep had come to the weary
+eyes, which now turned so thankfully and trustingly to the
+benefactor of the outcast.
+
+In tones sweetly modulated to the time and state, she commenced
+reading that comforting psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd."
+
+At its close, Margaret was asleep, and Dawn laid back in her chair,
+rested, and watched till morning.
+
+"Where am I? What has happened?" were the questions expressed on the
+features of the poor girl, when she awoke, and her spirit wandered
+back from dreamland.
+
+It was some time before she could take up the thread of joy which
+was now woven into her last earthly days, and forget the dark,
+sorrowful past. The old years seemed to her then like musty volumes,
+bound by a golden chord. The present peace compensated her for the
+long season of unrest, and in its atmosphere her soul gathered its
+worn, scattered forces, and prepared itself to leave the old and to
+take on the new form.
+
+How few homes are such gates to heaven. And yet they who expect
+angels to abide with them, must not forget to entertain the lowly
+and the erring. Many have houses decked and garnished, but how
+rarely do we find on life's journey, these wayside inns for the
+weary pilgrims who have wandered away into forbidden paths.
+
+Not alone did Dawn administer to her; her father and mother soothed
+the dying girl's pillow, and infused into the otherwise dark and
+troubled soul, rays of eternal light.
+
+Ye who would have beautiful garlands beyond, must care for the
+neglected blossoms here, and wash the dust of life's great highway
+from their drooping petals. Ye who would seek life, must lose it;
+the flowing stream alone is pure and vital. Lives are selfish that
+are stagnant, and generate disease and death.
+
+How poor, because destitute of enduring wealth, are those who, rich
+in worldly goods, neglect their opportunities, and hence know not
+the blessedness of doing good. There is no provision in all God's
+universe for such pauperism. Slowly must they, who by their own
+acts, become its subjects, work themselves from it into the sphere
+of true life. Another world will more plainly reveal this, and it
+will be found that they who value not such opportunities here, will
+beg for them there. In that existence will be many, who, forgetful
+or neglectful of their duty while on earth, must remain in spirit
+about this world, and through other organisms than their own, do
+that which they should have done, and could have accomplished far
+easier, when occupants of their earthly temples. There is no escape
+from the law of life, for God is that law, and that law is God.
+Happy they who become willing instruments in his hand.
+
+In selfhood, nothing can be done, for life is always in conjunction.
+All potent forces are combinations, and egotism ever limits that
+power which is daily and hourly seeking lodgment in the midst of
+mankind. He who trusts only to himself, destroys his own usefulness,
+and blindly turns away from every source of highest enjoyment.
+
+The sun passed slowly over the western hills, tinging with a
+beautiful mellowness the clouds along the horizon. It was a pleasant
+hour to die, when the earth was still, and weary feet were turning
+from labor to rest.
+
+"Shall we know each other there?" asked the dying girl of Dawn.
+
+"It is there as here. We are ever known and loved, for God's
+provision for his children extends beyond the vale."
+
+"And are the sinful, the erring, received into peace and rest?"
+
+"None are without sin; none spotless; peace and rest are for the
+weary."
+
+"O, comforting words. They must be from God," softly whispered
+Margaret; she closed her pale blue eyes as though she would shut out
+everything but that one consoling thought.
+
+When she opened them, they shone with a heavenly radiance, and she
+reached forth her thin, white hand towards Dawn, who clasped it in
+her own. A few short breaths, a single pressure,--it was Margaret's
+last token as she went over the river to find that life and rest
+which on earth had been denied to her.
+
+Dawn laid the cold, white hands on the breast of the sleeper, and
+went out of the chamber where a soul had had its new birth, with
+deepened emotions of life, and its claims upon humanity.
+
+The next instant she was clasped to the warm heart of her father,
+and nestled closely there until the weary lids closed, and sleep
+descended upon her.
+
+He held her through her slumber, and prayed for strength to bear the
+separations which must come between himself and child; for most
+clearly did he perceive that God had mapped out for her a labor that
+would call her from his side.
+
+"May I never shadow the rays of the Infinite," he said, just as she
+awoke.
+
+"How clear it is; some cloud seems to have been removed from me,"
+spoke Dawn, looking up into his eyes, not perfectly comprehending
+all. "I may work in my own way, now you have some one to love beside
+me; may I not?"
+
+"Not for worlds, my child, would I hinder you in your mission of
+usefulness, and if in the past, I have been selfish, I am not now.
+Go and come at your pleasure; bring whom you will to your home, and
+my blessings shall rest on them and you."
+
+Dawn had no words with which to express her gratitude. The tears,
+that in spite of her efforts to keep them back, would glisten in her
+eyes, indicated the depth of her feelings, and the love she
+cherished for her father. From that moment their lives flowed like a
+river, in a deeper and broader channel, and many bright flowers
+blossomed on its margin giving hope to the despairing, rest and
+strength to the weary and fainting pilgrims of time.
+
+They made a grave under a willow, and engraved on a plain, white
+stone, the simple word: MARGARET.
+
+Parents and child had met in the world beyond, to grow into daily
+recognition of, and unfold in a more genial clime, their individual
+lives.
+
+Mrs. Thorne (Margaret's step-mother) had died a year previous to the
+time when Dawn found the old man in the city, looking for his
+daughter.
+
+After Margaret's departure from home, he became dull and listless,
+and finally deranged. What subtle attraction led him to the city
+where Margaret was stopping, few can comprehend; but to those who
+fully realize that guardian angels watch over and guide us, the
+mystery is solved, and it, like many other seemingly strange things
+of life, made clear in the light of that faith.
+
+It was for woman that Dawn labored, for through her elevation she
+saw that the whole race must ascend. All should know that men will
+be great if women are; and it is a truth that is daily becoming more
+evident, that he must be reached through her. In a Hindoo fable,
+Vishna is represented as following Maga through a series of
+transformations. When she is an insect, he becomes an insect; she
+changes to an elephant, and he becomes one of the same species; till
+at last she becomes a woman, and he a man; she a goddess, and he a
+god. So, outside the regions of fable, if woman is ignorant and
+frivolous, man will be ignorant and frivolous; if woman rises she
+will take man up with her.
+
+Two years passed away, and the current of life grew stronger, as
+each wave inflowed to the shore where Dawn sat, waiting for
+shattered barks. This was her life-mission, and well she knew, to
+help the lowly and down-trodden in every station of life, was but
+fulfilling the divine command.
+
+They were not all outcasts who laid claim to her love and sympathy;
+for, sanctioned by the marriage law, the soul's chastity was daily
+being sacrificed to lust, shame, and dishonor. She saw many living
+together in wedlock, under the most debasing influences, void of
+every grace and feeling which makes life holy and refined; bringing
+into the world children, gross, dull, and inharmonious, like
+themselves.
+
+The question will force itself upon every thoughtful mind, Why is
+all this?
+
+Even to destroy life, heinous as that sin is, cannot be deemed more
+sinful than to bring it into being, under such circumstances, to
+suffer.
+
+But we are passing through the refining process. Much will be
+questioned, much remain unanswered. Let us look well to ourselves,
+and learn that there are many ways in which we may err, before we
+condemn others.
+
+The light of to-day is insufficient for to-morrow; let us,
+therefore, be not too assertive, and bold, but follow quietly the
+indications of life, not closing down our opinion upon any of its
+agitations. To-day is ours, no more; sufficient unto the day is the
+evil. We burden ourselves each hour with too many questions which
+retard our progress.
+
+A wise man takes no more weight than his horses can draw. Our
+journey would be swifter, if we started with less each morning. We
+can not hasten God's purposes. Growth is slow; feverish action is
+disease. The throbbing pulse is beating away our vital forces, not
+adding to life, and yet how many do we behold, who, working in this
+unhealthy manner, look on those more calm and collected, as lacking
+force.
+
+The cataract expends itself in spray and foam; the deep river, more
+slow, bears its tribute of wealth to the ocean.
+
+Let us work calmly, and not mistake mists for mountains. Depth is
+height.
+
+Enthusiasm is the sun which warms, not burns, our lives. It is a
+richness, a fullness of being, not a wild, spasmodic action.
+
+With Dawn's efforts came increased light, until it seemed to her,
+that all the motives of human souls were laid open before her
+vision. This power of perception made her life compact, sharp, and
+real; and there were moments when she longed for a veil to be let
+down between her and the persons with whom she came in contact.
+
+She walked among the crowd, but did not mingle with it. She soared
+above, and they who could not comprehend her, called her strange and
+odd. Such chasms must ever exist, where one sees the heart's
+interior, and knows that its true beatings are muffled and
+suppressed. With such clear vision, the mind at times almost loses
+its mental poise, its equilibrium, and forgets the glorious hopes
+and promises which are recorded in the book of life, as compensatory
+for all its conflicts here.
+
+After many months of a life of intensity, it was with a sense of
+relief that Dawn, upon opening a letter from Miss Weston, received
+information of her intention of making her a short visit. This would
+so change the tenor of her life, that she was overjoyed at the
+thought of the happiness in store for her. But when, at the close of
+a bright summer day, she met her friend at the door, and recognized
+the life of Ralph so closely blended with her spirit, she
+involuntarily shrank from her approach, and almost regretted that
+she had come. She, however, quickly rallied all her forces, fearful
+lest the shadow might be mistaken for that of uncordiality, and
+drawing her tenderly to her side, imprinted her warmest kisses upon
+her lips.
+
+Tears sprang to Edith's eyes, and coursed down her cheeks; tears
+which Dawn could not comprehend, for her vision, both mental and
+spiritual, was clouded, her thoughts wandered, and her words seemed
+vague and indirect.
+
+Seated in the library after tea, she asked her friend to sing for
+her.
+
+Miss Weston readily complied, and sang with beautiful pathos and
+feeling, Schubert's Wanderer.
+
+"Why that song?" said Dawn, as Edith rose from the instrument.
+
+"I seemed to sing it for you, for I, surely, am no wanderer now."
+
+The color rose to Dawn's face, as she said quickly, "I hope not.
+Then you, at last, have found rest?"
+
+"Perfect peace and rest. I think I never found my home before; for I
+am so happy with Ralph and Marion."
+
+Was Dawn jealous? What did that blushing face mean, followed by a
+whiteness rivalling that of the snow? Was it caused by fear, or
+hope?
+
+Miss Weston seemed not to notice her agitation, but continued
+praising Ralph and his sister, till her listener proposed a walk in
+the garden before retiring.
+
+They strolled among the flowers and shrubbery, and then sat upon the
+same seat which her father and mother had so often occupied.
+
+Her tears could flow now and not be seen, so she repressed them no
+longer, but allowed them to fall freely over her blanched cheek.
+
+"Dawn," said Edith, suddenly, "I have a fairy tale which I wish to
+read to you to-night, before we go to our slumbers."
+
+Dawn, glad of any diversion, gladly assented, and they went into her
+room, where they sat together, while Edith read the following tale:--
+
+"In the days of chivalry, when life to the wealthy was a series of
+exciting enjoyments, and to the poor a hopeless slavery, a Fairy and
+a beautiful child lived in an old castle together. The owner of this
+large and neglected building had been absent on the crusade ever
+since the time which gave him a daughter and deprived him of a wife;
+but many an aged pilgrim brought occasional tidings of the glory he
+was winning in the distant land. At last it was said he was wending
+his way homeward, and bringing with him a young orphan companion,
+who had risen, by dint of his own brave deeds alone, from the rank
+of a simple knight to be the chosen leader of thousands. The child
+had grown to girlhood now, and very bright upon her sleep were the
+dreams of this youthful hero, who was to love her and be the all of
+her solitary life. I said she dwelt with the Fairy; true, but of her
+presence she had never dreamed. Always invisible, the being had yet
+never left her. She whispered prayer in her ear, as she knelt
+morning and evening in the dim little oratory; she brought calm and
+happy feelings to her breast, which the commonest things awoke to
+joy and life; she led her to seek and feel for the needy, the sick,
+and the suffering; she nurtured in her the holiest faith in God, and
+trust in man; yet the maiden thought she breathed all this from the
+summer evenings, the flowers, the swift labor of her light fingers,
+and the thousand things which cherished the happiness growing up
+within her heart.
+
+"It was night, and Ada slept; the moon's rays, gilding each turret
+and tower, crept in at the narrow portal which gave light to the
+chamber, and lingered on the sunny hair and rounded limbs of the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"The Fairy sat by her side, weeping for the first time.
+
+"'Alas!' said she, 'the stranger is coming; thou wilt love him, my
+child; and they say that earthly love is misery. Among us, we know
+no unrest from it; we love, indeed, each other and all things
+lovely, but ages pass on, and love changes us not. Yet they say it
+fevers the blood of mortals, pales the cheek, makes the heart beat,
+and the voice falter, when it comes; yet it is eternal, mighty, and
+entrancing. Alas! I cannot understand it! Ada, I must leave thee to
+other guidance than my own. I love thee more than self, still I can
+be no longer thy guide.'
+
+"The Fairy started, for she felt, though she heard not, that other
+spirits had suddenly become present. She raised her eyes, and three
+forms, more radiant than any fairy can be, were gazing on her in
+silent sadness.
+
+"'O, spirits,' cried the weeper, faintly, 'who can ye be?'
+
+"'The shades of love,' replied voices so etherially fine that a
+spirit's ear could hardly discern the words.
+
+"'The shades," repeated the Fairy in surprise; 'I thought love was
+one.'
+
+"'I am Love,' said the three together; 'intrust the untainted heart
+of your beloved one to me.'
+
+"'O, pure beings,' cried the Fairy, bending reverently before them,
+'will ye indeed guide Ada to happiness, yet ask my permission? Tell
+me, though not human, to choose which a human heart would prefer.'
+
+"'My name is Mind,' replied the first. 'When I dwell on earth, I
+bind together two etherial essences; I unite the most spiritual part
+of each; I assimilate thought; I cause the communion of ideas. No
+love can be eternal without me, and with me associate the loftiest
+enjoyments. Words cannot tell the rapture of love between mind and
+mind. Dreams cannot picture the glory of that union. Very rarely do
+I dwell unstained and alone in a human breast, but when I do, that
+being becomes lost in the entireness of its bliss. Fairy, the lover
+of Ada is a hero; wilt thou accept me to reign in her heart?'
+
+"The Fairy paused, and then spoke sadly,--
+
+"'Alas, bright being, Ada is a girl of passionate and earnest
+feeling. Thou couldst not be happiness to her. Thou mightest,
+indeed, abstract her intellect in time from all things but itself;
+but the heart within her must first wither or die, and the death of
+a young heart is a terrible thing. Pardon me, but Ada cannot be
+thine.'
+
+"'They call me Virtue,' said the second spirit; 'when I fill a
+heart, that heart can live alone. It wakes to life on seeing my
+shadow in the object it first loves; that object never realizes the
+form of which it bears the semblance, and then turns to me, the
+ideal, for its sole happiness. I am associated with every thing pure
+and holy and true. Where human spirits have drawn nighest to the
+Eternal, I have been there to hallow them; where the weak have
+suffered long without complaint, where the dying have to the last,
+last breath held one name dearer than all; where innocence hath
+stayed guilt, and darkest injuries been forgiven, there ever am I.
+Fairy, shall I dwell with Ada?'
+
+"Still sadder were the accents of the guardian Fairy:
+
+"'And is this human love?' said she. 'This would be no happiness to
+my child, who is a mortal and a woman, and who will yearn for a
+closer and a dearer thing than the love of goodness alone; erring
+creatures cannot love perfection as their daily food. Beautiful
+spirit, thou art fitted for heaven, not earth, for an angel, but not
+for Ada.'
+
+"Then spoke the third:
+
+"'My name is Beauty,' said she. 'Men unite me to imagination and
+worship me. Many have degraded me to the meanest things I own,
+because my very essence is passion; but they who know my true
+nature, unite me with everything divine and lovely in the world. If
+I fill Ada's heart when she loves, the very face of all things will
+change to her. The flowing of a brook will be music, the singing of
+the summer birds ecstacy; the early morning, the dewy evening, will
+fill her with strange tenderness, for a light will be on all
+things-the light of her love; and she will learn what it is to stay
+her very heart's beatings to catch the lightest step of the adored;
+to feel the hot blood rushing to her brow, when only he looks on
+her, the hand tremble, and the whole frame thrill with exquisite
+rapture, and meet with delicious tremor, the first look of love from
+a man. The raptures of my first bliss were worth ages of misery;
+and, pressed to the bosom of the beloved, a human spirit feels it is
+indeed blessed. Youth is mine, eternal youth and pleasure. Fairy,
+Ada must be mine.'
+
+"'Thou seemest,' said the Fairy, musingly, 'to be the most suited
+for mortals. In thy words and emblems I see nothing but sensuality
+of the least material order. And to all there seemeth, too, to be a
+time when one clasp of the hand that is loved is more than the
+comprehension of the grandest thought. Beauty, I will give up my
+child to thee; and O, if thou canst not keep her happy, keep her
+pure till I return. Guard her as thou wouldst the bloom of the rose
+leaf, which may not bear even a breath.'
+
+"The Fairy's voice faltered as she turned away, and imprinted a kiss
+on the sleeper's cheek. Ada moved uneasily, but did not awake; and
+in the last glance that she gave to her charge was united the form
+of the spirit of Beauty, folding, in motionless silence, her radiant
+wings over the low couch. The other shades had fled some brief time
+since, and, burying her face in her slight mantle, the beautiful
+Fairy faded slowly away in the moonlight.
+
+"A brief time passed, and the baron had returned with his hero guest
+to the castle, and the beneficent being who had guarded Ada's
+childhood, had been up and down the earth, cheering the sad,
+soothing the weary, and inspiring the fallen.
+
+"Much had she seen of human suffering, yet many a great lesson had
+it taught her of the high destiny of mortals, and she winged her
+flight back to Ada's couch, sanguine of her happiness. The spirit of
+Beauty still floated above it, but the Fairy thought that the bright
+form had strangely lost its first etheriality.
+
+"Fevered and restless, the sleeper tossed from side to side. With
+trembling fear she drew near the low bed, and gazed fondly on the
+unconscious form. Alas! there was no peace on that face now. There
+was that which some deem lovelier than even beauty-passion; but to
+the pure Fairy the expression was terrible.
+
+"'My child, my child,' cried she in agony, 'is this thy love? Better
+had thine heart been crushed within thee, than that thou shouldst
+have given thyself up to it alone. Thou hast an eternal soul, and
+thou hast loved without it; thou art feeding flames which will
+consume the feelings they have kindled. Spirit, is this thy work?'
+
+"'Such is the love of mortals,' answered the shade. 'It is ever
+thus; the sensual objects are but emblems of the spirit union of
+another world; yet this is never seen at first, and every impetuous
+soul, rushing on the threshold of life, worships the symbol for the
+reality,--the image for the god. Fear not, Fairy, the flame dies, but
+the essence is not quenched; from the ashes of Passion springs the
+Phoenix of Love. Ada will recover from this burning dream.'
+
+"'Never!' cried the Fairy, 'if she yields her heart up to thoughts
+like these. Thou art a fiend, Beauty,--a betrayer. Avaunt, thou most
+accursed, thou hast ruined my child.'
+
+"And as she spoke, weeping bitterly, she averted her face from the
+shade. All was still once more, and her grief slowly calming, the
+Fairy hoped she was now alone, until, raising her eyes, she saw the
+being, more radiant and glorious than ever, still guarding the
+sleeping girl.
+
+"'Fairy,' said the shade, sadly, 'this is no fault of mine. I have
+ever come to the human heart with thoughts pure as the bosom of the
+lily, and beautiful as paradise, but the nature of man degrades and
+enslaves me. Thou sawest how my wings were soiled, and their light
+dimmed by the sin of even yon guileless girl, and, alas! thousands
+have lived to curse me and call me demon before thee. Now, at thy
+bidding, I will leave Ada, and forever. She will awake, but never
+again to that fine sympathy with nature, that exquisite perception
+of all high and holy things, I have first made her know. She will
+awake still good, still true; but the visions of youth quenched
+suddenly, as these will have been, leave a fearful darkness for the
+future life.'
+
+"'Alas! alas!' cried the Fairy, wringing her hands, with a burst of
+sudden grief, 'whether thou goest or remainest now, Ada must be
+wretched.'
+
+"'Not so,' returned the shade, in a voice whose sweetness, from its
+melancholy, was like the wailing of plaintive music; 'not so, if
+thou wilt otherwise. Thou hast erred; from the shades of Love thou
+didst select me, and, panting as we each do for sole possession of
+the heart we occupy, it is impossible either separately can bring
+happiness to it. Each has striven for ages, but in vain. It is the
+union of the three, the perfect union, that alone makes Love
+complete.'
+
+"'But will Mind and Virtue return?' asked the Fairy, doubtingly; 'I
+bid them myself depart.'
+
+"'They will ever return,' said Beauty, joyfully, 'even to the heart
+most under sway, if desired in truth. A wish, sometimes-fervent and
+truthful it must be, but still a wish-alone often brings them.'
+
+"At that moment a hurried prayer sprang to the Fairy's lips, but ere
+it could frame itself into words, light filled the little chamber,
+and the three shades of Love stood there once more, beautiful and
+shining.
+
+"'Mighty beings,' said the spirit, 'forgive me. Attend Ada united
+and forever, and I shall then have fulfilled my destiny.'
+
+"'We promise,' returned the shades; and gazing for a few moments in
+earnest fondness on the dreamer's happy face, the Fairy bade a last
+farewell to her well-loved charge."
+
+"Where did you find this strange tale?" inquired Dawn, as soon as
+her friend had finished.
+
+"In Ralph's folio of drawings, which he loaned me a few days ago."
+
+"Have you the folio here?"
+
+"No, I left it at home; but took some of his last sketches to copy,
+or rather study."
+
+"I did not know you could sketch."
+
+"I do not; but Ralph is teaching me."
+
+"Do you enjoy it?"
+
+"Very much, with him for instructor. I should not like any one else
+to teach me."
+
+"How do you know that, as you have never tried any other?"
+
+"We know some things intuitively; as I know that you love this man,
+though no words of yours have ever lisped that love to a living
+being."
+
+"Edith!"
+
+"Dawn, it's true; and may I not know the reason why you so steel
+your heart against him?"
+
+"I steel my heart against him? Who told you that?"
+
+"Some Fairy, perchance; but seriously, my dear friend, answer me,
+and forgive me if I seem curious and intrusive. Do you know aught
+against him? Is he not high, and good, and noble?"
+
+"For aught I know he has all those qualities of heart and soul which
+would draw any woman's heart towards him."
+
+"Then you cannot love him, save as a brother, or you would respond
+to his longing to take you to himself, and help you in your labors."
+
+"Edith, how do you know this? Has he thus laid his feelings before
+another? I could not ever reverence one who could do this."
+
+"He has not. I know it all by living in his home. I feel his sorrows
+and know their nature, as well as his joys. You seem strange, Dawn;
+I do not understand you."
+
+"Neither do I understand myself. My life is strange; although I love
+this man as I never loved before, I do not see that I can wed him.
+Perhaps we shall be one above, but no one must come between me and
+my labor,--not even the dearest idol."
+
+"Perhaps his love might make you stronger; help you to extend your
+usefulness by increasing your happiness."
+
+Carlyle says, 'There is in man a higher than love of happiness; he
+can do without happiness, and instead thereof, find blessednss.'"
+
+"Very true; and yet happiness might also be blessedness."
+
+"And yet you have read to me, in the fairy tale, that 'earthly love
+is misery,' that it 'fevers the blood of mortals, pales the cheek,
+makes the heart beat, and the voice falter, when it comes.' I cannot
+be thus consumed. I have another mission. Edith, who do you suppose
+wrote that tale?"
+
+"I know not; it bore no name. Which of the three shades would you
+prefer to guide you, Dawn?"
+
+"Virtue."
+
+"I knew your answer before you spoke it. May the spirit you have
+chosen remain with you forever, and may your career be as bright as
+your name."
+
+They parted; one to rest, the other to struggle long and earnestly
+with passion and feeling, ere the tide of peace flowed in.
+
+It was morning when her soul cast off the contest, and as the
+shadows of night were swept away, so her mental shadows were lost in
+the soul's bright effulgence; for her emotions had been made
+subordinate, not destroyed, as they should ever be, to the
+spiritual. They were only submerged, not annihilated, ready to flow
+again when the hour should demand them.
+
+The natural emotions of the heart are right, when kept subservient
+to reason. They are the soul's richest reserved forces, and should
+not be daily consumed.
+
+A more intimate relation sprang up between Edith and Dawn, and when
+they met that morning, it seemed as though they had just emerged
+from a long experience. So closely and unexpectedly do we sometimes
+come to one another.
+
+Herbert and Florence, to Dawn's great joy, were travelling in
+Europe, and their children were now a part of her father's
+household. The day's pleasure was planned with a view to their
+happiness, and spent mostly in the woods gathering mosses, wild
+flowers, and ferns.
+
+Hugh and his new wife were daily extending their usefulness, and
+growing in stronger individuality and deeper harmony. It was always
+a great pleasure to have Dawn with them in their most earnest
+conversations. She seemed to vivify and to cause their thoughts to
+flow with a power they knew not, separately or together, without her
+presence. Thus do some natures impart a sense of freedom to our
+mental action, while others chill our being with a feeling of
+restraint, and limit all our aspirations. In the presence of these
+latter we seem and act directly the opposite of ourselves, or rather
+below our intellectual and affectional plane, and the warm heart and
+generous nature appears cold and distrustful.
+
+Young Herbert, Florence's eldest, was a great talker, and as they
+wandered through the woods, naught scarce could be heard, but his
+voice in exclamation, questioning, or surprise, as each turn and
+winding revealed some beauty new to his admiring eyes.
+
+"I think I shall have to relate to you the fable of Echo and
+Narcissus," said Dawn, as he was contending for the last word with
+his sister.
+
+"What is that? tell me right away, won't you?" he said impatiently,
+seizing her hand and looking eagerly into her face.
+
+"Not just now, but after we have gathered more mosses, and had our
+luncheon, I will tell you all about the beautiful nymph."
+
+"Nymph, nymph! what was that? Was it alive? Could it see us?" These
+and other questions followed, till Dawn found it quite hard to
+longer put him off.
+
+"If you are patient and good to your sister, I will tell you all
+about the nymph. Now go and take good care of her, while I go on
+farther, where Miss Weston is sketching those rocks."
+
+"I will be good, but don't forget the story, Auntie, when you come
+back. Are there any nymphs here?"
+
+"Perhaps there may be. I think there is one who resembles them very
+much," and she kissed his young, happy face, turned so eagerly up to
+her own. Leaving him to amuse himself as best he might, Dawn
+approached Edith and seated herself beside a bed of deep green moss,
+and watched, with intense interest, the growing picture for a long
+time; then her mind became abstracted and cloudy. She was no longer
+in the green woods, amid the fern and wild flowers, but away, far
+away on life's great highway, where the dust, rising at every step,
+blinded her eyes.
+
+Thus semi-entranced, Dawn sat unconscious of the presence of her
+friend, and everything earthly around her, until the spell was
+broken, and her attention was attracted by a sheet of note paper,
+which fluttered at her feet. Almost involuntarily she picked it up,
+and her gaze was fastened upon the writing with which it was
+covered.
+
+  "'Tis love which mostly destinates our life.
+  What makes the world in after life I know not,
+  For our horizon alters as we age;
+  Power only can make up for the lack of love--
+  Power of some sort. The mind at one time grows
+  So fast, it fails; and then its stretch is more
+  Than its strength; but, as it opes, love fills it up,
+  Like to the stamen in the flower of life,
+  Till for the time we well-nigh grow all love;
+  And soon we feel the want of one kind heart
+  To love what's well, and to forgive what's ill
+  In us--"
+
+Then followed these lines, written with a trembling hand, some of
+the words being almost illegible:
+
+  "I cannot love as I have loved,
+    And yet I know not why;
+  It is the one great woe of life,
+    To feel all feeling die;
+  And one by one the heart-strings snap,
+    As age comes on so chill;
+  And hope seems left, that hope may cease,
+    And all will soon be still.
+  And the strong passions, like to storms,
+    Soon rage themselves to rest,
+  Or leave a desolated calm--
+    A worn and wasted breast;
+  A heart that like the Geyser spring,
+    Amidst its bosomed snows,
+  May shrink, not rest, but with its blood
+    Boils even in repose.
+  And yet the things one might have loved
+    Remain as they have been,--
+  Youth ever lovely, and one heart
+    Still sacred and serene;
+  But lower, less, and grosser things
+    Eclipse the world-like mind,
+  And leave their cold, dark shadow where
+    Most to the light inclined.
+  And then it ends as it began,
+    The orbit of our race,
+  In pains and tears, and fears of life,
+    And the new dwelling place.
+  From life to death,--from death to life,
+    We hurry round to God,
+  And leave behind us nothing but
+    The path that we have trod."
+
+She knew whose hand had copied these words, and how keenly the heart
+that sensed their meaning was suffering, and yet she could not place
+her hand upon its beatings and quell its throbs.
+
+"Why! how came this from Ralph's folio? The wind must have taken it
+out," said Miss Weston, noticing the paper, while holding the
+picture for her friend to look at. Dawn did not reply to her
+inquiry, but gave her words of praise and encouragement, while her
+thoughts were afar from forest, friends and picture.
+
+"Come, Auntie, it's time for the luncheon, your father says, and we
+have it almost ready."
+
+She arose, and with Miss Weston joined the party, thinking how
+strange it was that those lines should come to her; for something
+seemed to tell her that they had been accidentally placed in the
+folio, as they were evidently not intended for any eye but that of
+the writer.
+
+The luncheon was partaken of with more avidity by the others than by
+Dawn, whose mind was constantly reverting to the words which she had
+read.
+
+"Now for the story, Auntie," said Herbert, seating himself on the
+grass, beside her.
+
+"Do you remember the name of the nymph I am going to tell you
+about?"
+
+"Yes, it was-it was Echo."
+
+"Very good. I am glad you remembered it. Well, Echo was a beautiful
+wood-nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself
+to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in
+the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and
+would always have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her
+husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the
+nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the
+nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed
+sentence upon Echo in these words: You shall forfeit the use of the
+tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose
+you are so fond of--reply. You shall have the last word, but no
+power to speak first.
+
+"This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the
+chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps.
+O, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him
+to converse; but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience
+for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth,
+being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, 'Who's here?'
+Echo replied 'here.' Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one,
+called out, 'Come.' Echo answered, 'come.' As no one came, Narcissus
+called again, 'Why do you shun me?' Echo asked the same question.
+'Let us join one another,' said the youth. The maid answered with
+all her heart in the same words and hastened to the spot, ready to
+throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, 'Hands
+off; I would rather die than you should have me.' 'Have me,' said
+she; but it was all in vain. He left her and she went to hide her
+blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived
+in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till
+at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into
+rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that
+she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up
+her old habit of having the last word."
+
+"Speak to her now, and see if she will answer you?" said Dawn to her
+attentive listener.
+
+"Why, is she here? in these woods?"
+
+"Call her, and see."
+
+"Echo-Echo!" The words came back to the wondering child, his face
+aglow with curiosity and fear.
+
+"Now I will tell you the moral of this little story, which is: be
+not anxious for the last word, as I see my good little Herbert is,
+too often, especially when talking with his sister."
+
+"Will I change into rocks and shrink all up if I do?"
+
+"That is not the thing to be feared. But you would not; your mind
+would grow narrow and selfish, which is a fate most to be deplored,
+for you wish to be a good and great man, do you not?"
+
+"Yes, I want to be good as papa, and uncle Wyman, as he always calls
+him."
+
+"Then remember and be unselfish, and think first of others' welfare,
+will you?"
+
+"I will try; and can I always talk with Echo?"
+
+"Whenever you are near the wood where she lives."
+
+"Will she live here when I am a grown-up man?"
+
+"Yes. Why?"
+
+"Because, if I don't like folks' answers, I can come and talk to
+Echo."
+
+"She will certainly be very likely to be of your opinion, or, at
+least, she will express herself to your liking; but I hope my little
+Herbert will find those more agreeable than Echo to talk with."
+
+"I don't want to, Auntie; I like her."
+
+Dawn smiled, and thought how older heads did not like disputation,
+preferring often the companionship of a mere echo, to good sense and
+sound judgment, forgetting that "he who wrestles with us,
+strengthens us."
+
+The party returned home laden with flowers, with just weariness
+enough to enjoy their rest. The children were put to bed, after a
+good supper, and the family enjoyed themselves with music and
+conversation, each feeling differently related to each other, as we
+ever do, when some fresh life is infused into the every-day scenes
+of life.
+
+The barren soul seems like a kaleidoscope, changing its relations at
+each experience, whether of joy or sorrow. How beautiful is life,
+when we learn how much we can be to each other, and how varied may
+be the relations we bear to our friends.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Miss Weston returned to her friends, and Dawn took up the thread of
+her life, which was every day extending and winding into new scenes
+of darkness and light. But a voice within her, told her that one day
+all the darkness would become light. She trusted that voice, for it
+was speaking unto her every day, and growing each hour into deeper
+recognition. What avails the love of our friends, if it be but for a
+few earthly days or years? What is the love of a mother to her
+child, without an eternity for its manifestation? "Whatever has
+lived upon earth still lives."
+
+The mother, forced from her new-born child, sorrows over the
+physical separation. It is natural; but what power does she not
+possess to live and breathe into its spiritual unfolding. Silent,
+but subtle, like nature's most potent forces, her spirit descends
+into its being, and there dwells, molding it every hour into a
+higher form of life. Truth is at the basis of all theories, and,
+though man builds many a superstructure in accordance with his own
+fancy, he can in no way affect this truth. It is a natural law of
+the universe, that love should linger and remain after the
+habiliments of flesh are withdrawn. No one lives who has not felt,
+at times, the presence of the unseen; and it seems strange that
+there can be one so limited in thought and understanding as to say
+there is nought beyond the narrow limit of physical life to hold
+communion with our souls? Happy the man who opens the doors of his
+spirit wide for angel visitors. Happy the heart which knows by its
+own beating, when they come and go, for,
+
+  "It is a faith sublime and sure,
+    That ever round our head
+  Are hovering on noiseless wing,
+    The spirits of the dead."
+
+It has been said that nothing is more difficult than to demonstrate
+a self-evident truth. To those who feel and know of this
+guardianship of friends, gone beyond, this affiliation of soul with
+soul, language is powerless to transmit the conviction. It must be
+felt and experienced, not reasoned into the mind, because it is a
+component of the soul, a legitimate portion of its life.
+
+"I must go, and remain away a long time," said Dawn to her father,
+one morning, after they had just finished reading a letter from
+Florence.
+
+"And why, may I ask?"
+
+"Because we are replete with the same kind of life; our minds are
+set to the same strain, and exhaust each other. I can be more to
+myself and others, if I go, you will enter mother's sphere more
+completely in my absence, and thus shall we both be refreshed and
+strengthened."
+
+"I feel the truth of your words, and I am glad to know that your
+philosophy of life so fully accords with my own."
+
+"We have a superabundance of one quality of life in our home, and a
+change is absolutely requisite for our mental as well as for our
+physical well-being. Absence from it, separation between us, a going
+out into new atmospheres, a social mingling with persons we do not
+daily come in contact with, will produce the most beneficial
+results. This is what every family at times needs. One great
+objection I have to our marriage system is, that as society is now
+constittuted, it allows no freedom to the individual. The two are so
+exclusively together that they lose knowledge of themselves. They
+suffer physically and intellectually. On the other hand, if more
+freedom existed, if their lives took a broader scope, each would
+know each more perfectly, and absorb from others that vigor which
+would develop a natural growth of their own. For my part, I can
+never submit to the existing rules of married life."
+
+"The analogies of the natural world to human life are good, for the
+rocky shore symbolizes the highest power of the human soul, which is
+endurance rather than action. To most persons such characters seem
+vapid and sentimental, lacking force and tone, and generally
+unfitted for the enterprises of the world. And yet there are forces
+in man beside the grappling and hammering manifestations of the day.
+There is a greater mastery in control, than in the exercise of
+power. An angry man may evince more energy than he who keeps calm in
+the heat of provocation, but the latter is the man of most power. In
+the common circumstances of life we must act, and act lawfully; but
+to bear and suffer is alone the test of virtue, for there come hours
+of pain and mental anguish when all action is vain, when motion of
+limb and mind is powerless; then do we learn
+
+"How sublime it is
+To suffer and be strong."
+
+Then do we learn the great lesson that there is no quality more
+needed in our life than endurance. There is so much which occurs
+outside the circle of our own free will, accidents both mental and
+physical."
+
+"And yet we feel there can be no accident."
+
+"Nothing in the highest analysis which can be termed such, for all
+things are either in divine order, or under human responsibility,
+which latter power is too limited. What we term accidents are parts
+of, and belong to, the general plan, and when these occur, they
+serve to inspire us with endurance, which is no minor virtue-it is
+achievement-and bears its impress on the face. These thoughts are
+those of another, who has so well expressed them, that I have given
+them to you in his own language."
+
+"I shall profit by your words, dear father. I shall need much of
+that heavenly quality which is so little appreciated, and apt to be
+mistaken for lack of force."
+
+"May you grow in all the Christian graces, and be life and light to
+yourself and others, always remembering that your light is none the
+less for lighting another's torch."
+
+"I shall go to-day to G--. Will you drive there, yourself alone?"
+
+"I will."
+
+An hour later they were on their way to a quiet village, a few miles
+from the Wyman's, where lived a friend of Dawn and her father, with
+whom she would stay a few days. The ride was delightful, and their
+communion so close and deep, that when they parted, it seemed as
+though they had never realized before, their need of each other.
+This feeling of tenderness brought them nearer in soul, if that were
+possible. It was like moonlight to the earth, mellowing and
+softening all lines and angles.
+
+"Dearest father, did I ever love you before?" said Dawn, throwing
+herself on his breast, at parting.
+
+"If you had not been working yourself so many years into my heart,
+you could not touch its very centre as you do now," he said, wiping
+the moisture from his eyes, and folding her more tenderly to
+himself. "Partings are but closest approaches, drawings of the
+heart-strings, which tell how strong the cords are which bind us to
+each other." The door of the friend's house was thrown open just at
+this point of his remarks, and a welcome face smiled on Dawn, who
+sprung from her seat beside her father, into the arms of her friend.
+
+"Take good care of her, and send her home when you are weary," said
+her father, and turned his face homeward, but lingered long in
+spirit in the atmosphere of his child.
+
+As he wound his way slowly up the long, shady avenue, that led to
+his home, another love came to his bosom, and transfused his being
+with a different, but equally uplifting life. A moment more, and he
+held that other love close to his heart, the woman whom he had
+chosen to brighten his days and share his happiness.
+
+"It seems as though Dawn had returned with you," she said, as she
+received his loving caress.
+
+"She is with me, and never so near as now. Heaven grant I may not
+make her an idol," he said, fervently, and then, almost regretting
+his words, he gazed tenderly into the eyes of his wife.
+
+"You would find me no iconoclast," she said, "for I, too, love her
+with my whole heart, and am jealous at times of all that takes her
+from us. Yet she must go; day must go, for we need the change which
+night brings."
+
+"True," answered Hugh, "no mortal could live continually in such
+concentrated happiness as I enjoy in the companionship of my child."
+He looked into the face of her who sat beside him, and saw in its
+every feature love, true love for him and his own, and he thanked
+God for the blessings of his life, laid his head on that true
+woman's breast, and wept tears of joy.
+
+It was twilight when they rose from their speechless communion, and
+each felt how much more blessed is the silence of those we love,
+than the words of one whose being is not in harmony with our own.
+
+It was a relief to Dawn to drop out of her intense sphere into the
+easy, contented, every-day life of her friend. They were not alike
+in temperament or thought. It was that difference which drew them
+together, and made it agreeable for them to associate at times. Such
+association brought rest to Dawn, and life to her friend. There was
+little or no soul-affiliation, consequently no exhaustion. It was
+the giving out of one quality, and the receiving of another entirely
+different, instead of the union of two of the same kind, hence there
+was not the reaction of nervous expenditure, which two ever feel,
+who perfectly blend, after a period of enjoyment. How wise is that
+provision which has thrown opposites into our life, that we may not
+be too rapidly consumed. For pure joy is to the soul what fire is to
+material objects, brilliant, but consuming.
+
+"I am going to have some company to-night, charming people most of
+them. I think you will enjoy them, Dawn; at least I hope so,"
+remarked Mrs. Austin, rocking leisurely in her sewing chair.
+
+"No doubt I shall." She was not called upon to tell how she should
+enjoy them. Amused she might be, but enjoyment, as Dawn understood
+it, was out of the question with such a class as came that evening,
+and to each of whom Mrs. Austin seemed very proud to introduce her
+friend.
+
+Among the guests was one who attracted the particular attention of
+Dawn, not from grace of person or mind, although he had them, but
+from some interior cause. He was tall, and rather elegant in
+appearance, a kind of external beauty which draws most women, and
+wins admirers in every circle.
+
+At a glance Dawn perceived that although mentally brilliant, he had
+not the spiritual and moral compliment. By his side stood a woman of
+the world, whom Dawn at once knew to be his wife, and on her, she
+felt that involuntarily her look was steadily, almost immovably
+fixed.
+
+She felt like testing the power of inner vision. It seemed to her
+that the woman was weighing heavily upon the man, holding him to
+earth rather than in any way uplifting him to heaven in his
+aspirations. She saw that the chain which bound them, was large,
+coarse, and flashed like gold. This led her to conclude that she
+married him for his wealth. She saw that the chain was wound around
+them both so tight that it was almost suffocating, and that the
+links that passed over the woman's heart were corroded and black.
+
+At the instant that Dawn noticed this, some one approached the lady
+and asked her to seat herself at the piano. She consented, and after
+a great many excuses and unnecessary movements, began to play. A
+dark cloud took her place at the side of her husband when she left,
+which became greatly agitated as the music proceeded, and soon there
+issued from it a female form. That face Dawn had surely seen
+somewhere; she passed her hand over her brow and endeavored to
+recall the familiar features.
+
+Like a flash it came; it was poor Margaret's face, white and
+glorified, but with a shade of sadness resting upon it.
+
+Dawn's whole being quivered with emotion. She saw nothing now in the
+room but that form, and the earthly one beside it. The young man
+pressed his hand to his brow, as though in troubled thought, and
+moved from where he stood, shivering in every limb.
+
+"Are you cold, Mr. Bowen?" some one inquired of him; the window was
+closed to shut out the chill air; but the chill which ran over his
+frame, no material substance could keep off, for it was caused by a
+spirit touching him.
+
+"I declare, he looks as though he was frozen," said his wife, rising
+from the instrument amid the usual applause, and drawing close to
+him, she whispered in his ear, "You look precisely as you did the
+day we met that hearse and one carriage. Come, it's a shame to be so
+abstracted." Then, addressing Mrs. Austin, she expressed a wish to
+be introduced to the gentleman who came in last, and the
+introduction followed.
+
+Nearer and nearer she went. She could not do otherwise, until at
+last Dawn stood beside Clarence Bowen, the destroyer of Margaret's
+earthly happiness. The face in the cloud grew brighter; hope seemed
+to glow from its features, as she stood there and found her way to
+his troubled soul, with all the native instinct and delicacy of a
+true woman. She talked of life and its beauties, its opportunities
+to do good, and of uplifting the down-fallen; still the face shone
+on, till it seemed to her that every person present must have seen
+it, as she did. Such presences are no more discernable by the
+multitude, than are the beautiful principles of life, which lie
+every day about us, but which though not seen by them, are none the
+less visible to the few.
+
+A new interest glowed in the young man's face; he felt that he had
+met a woman divested of the usual vanities of most of her sex. His
+being awoke to life under the new current of earnest words which
+flowed in his own narrow stream of life. The waters deepened-he felt
+that there was something better, higher to live for, as he gazed on
+the glowing face before him.
+
+During all the conversation, his thoughts kept flowing back to the
+green grove, and the sweet, innocent face of Margaret. There was
+surely nothing in the face before him to recall that likeness, yet
+the bitter waters of memory kept surging over him, each word
+reflecting the image of the wronged girl.
+
+The face which had all the time been visible to Dawn, slowly faded
+away, and when the last outline had passed from her sight, she
+ceased talking, and left him alone with his thoughts.
+
+Alone with those bitter reflections, heaven only might help him, for
+the chains that bound him to earth were many and strong.
+
+He could not resist the impulse to ask permission to call upon Dawn
+some day while she remained at Mrs. Austin's, which she readily
+granted, and then the party broke up, with a strange murmur of
+voices, and rustling of silks.
+
+"Was it not delightful? I hope you had a good time, Dawn," was the
+first remark of Mrs. Austin, after the last of the company had left.
+
+"I have enjoyed it very much," and she answered truthfully; but
+little did her friend surmise in what manner.
+
+It was a relief to be in her room alone that night, and think over
+the thrilling experience of the evening. And this is one of the
+lights the world rejects, and calls by every other name but holy. A
+light which reveals the inner state, and shows the needs of the
+human soul. It may be rejected, but it cannot be destroyed. Man may
+turn his back upon it, yet it shines on, though he wilfully refuses
+to enjoy the blessing it imparts. The testimony of one who lives in
+a dark, narrow lane, that the sun does not exist, would not be
+considered of any value. Supposing one chooses to close his eyes,
+and declare that it is not morning; shall those whose eyes are open
+accept his assertion? Alas, how true it is that many are talking
+thus, with closed mental vision, from the rostrum and the pulpit.
+Let each see for himself, and take no man's word upon any subject
+any farther than that word gives hope and encouragement. Each must
+do his own thinking, and look upon every effort of another, to limit
+his range of thought or debar him from the investigation of every
+new presentation of truth, as an attempt to deprive him of his
+liberty.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+When Clarence next met Dawn he was greatly dejected. She thought he
+appeared too old and wan for one of his years. The brow on which the
+light of hope and life should repose, was indeed wrinkled, and
+furrowed with unrest because the spirit was ill at ease. There was a
+claim upon him, a voice calling for retribution, which through the
+very law of life, aside from personal wrong, would not let him rest;
+and was only in the presence of Dawn that he experienced anything
+like repose. His wife and friends taunted him daily upon his
+depression, because they were far from his soul, and could not
+comprehend the agony which was working therein. Many thus live only
+on the surface of life, and see only results. What a righting of
+affairs will come when all are able to see the soul's internal; when
+darkness shall be made light. That time is rapidly approaching.
+
+Dawn sat beside him, the same grieved but saintly face shone out, in
+the atmosphere.
+
+"I have heard, Miss Wyman, that you sometimes have interior
+sight-that you can see conditions of the mind, and the cause of its
+depressions. May I ask you if you can at present, penetrate my
+state, and ascertain the cause of this unrest?"
+
+She was silent for a moment. The workings of her own mind were
+visible on her features. She scarce knew how to break the truth to
+him, but soon lighting up she said:
+
+"I think I have seen at least one cause of your unrest. There is a
+spirit presence now in this room, a young and lovely girl whom you
+have at some time neglected." She did not say "wronged."
+
+He started to his feet.
+
+"The face, Miss Wyman; can you describe her appearance?" his words
+and manner indicating his interest, if not belief, in her power.
+
+"She has light blue eyes, heaven blue, and brown hair. She is a
+little taller then myself, has a very fair complexion, and she holds
+a wreath of oak leaves in front of you."
+
+Clarence turned deadly pale.
+
+"I think she must have been once dear to you, by the look of sweet
+forgiveness which she gives you."
+
+He groaned aloud.
+
+"Now she holds in her arms a child-a bright-eyed boy, which has your
+look upon its face."
+
+He started with a defiant look, but this changed in an instant to
+one of grief, and he leaned his head upon his hands and wept.
+
+Slowly the fair face faded away; then Dawn knew all, and knowing
+all, how great a comforter did she become to him! Angels smile on
+and mingle in such scenes; mortals see but the surface, and wonder
+why they thus mingle, with the usual earthly questioning, whether it
+is for any good that the two thus come together.
+
+The long pent-up grief passed away, in a measure, and Clarence felt
+as though in the presence of an angel, so sweet and soothing were
+the words of promise, and tender rebuke which came from the lips of
+Dawn and flowed to his heart, strengthening his purpose to become a
+better man.
+
+"Can he who fully repents be wholly forgiven," he asked, in a tone
+of deepest want.
+
+"God's mercies are for such and his forgiveness is free, full, and
+eternal. It does not flow all at once: it must be obtained by
+long-suffering and earnest asking, that we may know its value, and
+how precious is the gift."
+
+"Do you think if I were to go beyond, where dwells that one I have
+wronged, I could be with her and walk by her side?"
+
+"If your repentance was pure and complete. You would be where your
+soul was attracted."
+
+"Do spirits feel the change in our states? If we are sorry for our
+misdeeds, can they see that we are?"
+
+"Their mission to earth as helps and guardians to mortals would be
+of little use if they could not. They rise and fall with us. They
+administer to us, and learn of us. The worlds are like warp and
+woof. We stay or go where our labor is, wherever the soul may be
+which has claim upon us."
+
+"This must be sight then, real vision, for such a person as you have
+described I once loved and wronged. But the hour is late, I must go,
+yet I hope you will permit me to call upon you once more. Can I have
+your promise to see me again, before you leave the place?"
+
+"If I remain I shall be most happy to see you. Remember that all
+your efforts to do right will relieve and elevate this friend who is
+around you, who cannot leave you, until her mind has become
+assimilated with yours, and the balance of your nature is restored
+by the infusing of her life into yours. If she is relieved by your
+act, rest will follow; if not, the opposite. This is a law of
+nature, and cannot be set aside, no more than two on the earth
+living disharmonized and misunderstood, can find rest away from, or
+out of, each other.'
+
+"I deeply thank you," he said, "for your kind words. May all
+happiness be yours forever." And then they parted, not the same as
+when they met, but linked together by the chain of sympathy and
+common needs.
+
+Clarence heard not the words of his wife that night as he entered
+his home, who after a while grew weary of his absent replies, and
+found consolation in sleep. But to him sleep was not thought of. All
+night he laid awake, his being transfused with a new current of
+thought, and his life going out and soaring upward into a higher
+existence. The warp of a new garment was set in the loom. What hand
+would shape and weave the woof?
+
+When day broke over the hills another morning burst on his senses,
+and Clarence Bowen, of the gay world, was not the same as before,
+but a man of high resolves and noble purposes, trying to live a
+better life.
+
+Slowly his higher nature unfolded. Very slowly came the truths to
+his mind, as Dawn presented them with all the vigor and freshness of
+her nature. She told him the story of Margaret, of her death and
+burial, and of her father; and while he listened with tear-dimmed
+eyes, his soul became white with repentance. As Dawn spoke, the
+vision came and went,--each time with the countenance more at rest.
+It was an experience such as but few have; only those who seen
+beyond, and know that mortals return to rectify errors after their
+decease.
+
+There could be no rest for either, until a reconciliation was
+effected. Happy he who can stand between the two worlds and transmit
+the most earnest wishes of the unseen, to those of earth. The
+mission, though fraught with many sorrows, is divine and
+soul-uplifting to the subject. But who can know these truths save
+one who has experiened them? The human soul has little power of
+imparting to another its deepest feelings. We may speak, but who
+will believe, or sense our experiences? An ancient writer says:
+"There are many kinds of voices in the world, but none of them
+without signification. Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the
+voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that
+speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me."
+
+"When you tell me of these things I believe; they are real to me,"
+said Clarence, "but if I read them, or hear them related as the
+experience of others, they are dull and meaningless; why is this?"
+
+"I suppose it is because you so feel my life and assurance of them,
+that in my atmosphere they become real and tangible to you."
+
+"I think it must be so. I may yet find strength enough to walk
+alone."
+
+"You will walk with her who comes to mingle her happiness with
+yours, and to help bear your crosses."
+
+"Is it wrong to wish to die?"
+
+"It is better, I think, to desire to live here our appointed time,
+and ultimate the purpose of our earthly existence."
+
+"But I can never be happy here, for there are none who understand
+me."
+
+"Seek to understand yourself, and that will draw others to you. It
+matters but little whether we are understood in this world, when we
+think of the long eternity before us. There is danger of becoming
+morbid on that point. We lose time and ground in many such
+meditations. Our gaze becomes too much inward, and we lose sight of
+life's grand panorama while thus closed in. We can see ourselves
+most clearly in others; our weakness and our strength. We need to go
+out, more than to look within. Do you not in conversing with me feel
+yourself more, than you do when alone?"
+
+"I do. Another essence, or quality of life mingling with our own
+gives us our own more perfectly. Will all this power go with us to
+the other world, or do we leave much behind?"
+
+"Nothing but the husk-the dust is left here. Whatever is, shall be.
+Should you or I pass on, to-day, we should still preserve our
+individuality of thought and being."
+
+"And our loves will unfold there, and we be free, think you, to
+associate with whom we love?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it in my own mind, but can scarce expect another
+to feel the conviction as I do. We shall be better understood there.
+Here we have inharmonious natures of our own and others to contend
+with. These are given to us and are brought about us without any
+ability in ourselves to accept or reject. Our surroundings are not
+always what we would wish them, and few find rest or harmony of soul
+while here. And yet all this is necessary for proper unfoldment and
+development, else it would not be. Few weary pilgrims reach in this
+life the many mansions prepared for the soul; few find their
+fullness of soul-enjoyment. I have seen some of these weary ones as
+they entered the other world and were led to places of rest. As they
+caught a single glimpse of the peace and rest awaiting them, their
+faces glowed with the light of a divine transfiguration; yet they
+knew that the bliss they had been permitted to look upon, and to
+hope for, could be theirs only as they were developed into a state
+of perfect appreciation of it. Even so the person who enters the
+most fully and understandingly into our own feelings, grasps and
+holds the most of us. I am yours and you are mine just so far as we
+can fathom and comprehend each other."
+
+"I had never thought of that before. How little do they who claim us
+as their own, know of the existence of this law; and yet the more I
+consider it, the more do I see its beauty, its truth, and the
+harmony of all its parts."
+
+Dawn was greatly pleased in seeing how readily he recognized her
+position, and continued:
+
+"The relation which such claimants bear to us is one purely external
+in its nature, and oft-times painful. It is a kind of property
+ownership which ought to be banished from social life. It should be
+cast out and have no place nor lot with us, for those higher and
+divine principles cannot dwell with us until these things are
+regarded as of the past, and now worthless."
+
+"But might not the new flow in naturally, and displace the old?"
+
+"That is partly true, but when content with our condition we feel
+the need of no other. This is one reason why to many, the blessings
+in store for them are seemingly so long in coming. The man who is
+struggling with adversity, and sees nothing but darkness and want
+surrounding him, fondly imagines that in the possession of abundance
+he would find rest and peace. And yet he could never be blest while
+in that condition of feeling, though all wealth were his. But having
+passed through, and out of, this condition, and learned that the
+exertion induced by privation was the best possible means of his
+growth, then, wealth might come to him and be a blessing and a
+power. Blessings will come to us when we are prepared by culture or
+discipline to rightly employ them for our own good and the good of
+others."
+
+"Your thoughts have made me truly blest. You have withdrawn the dark
+veil which has hung over me so long. I must surely call this a
+blessing."
+
+"And the darkness was the same, for it has led you to appreciate the
+light."
+
+He took her hand at parting, and pressed it with the warmth of
+generous gratitude, bade her adieu and went out into the darkness of
+the evening, but with rays of the morning of life shining in his
+soul.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Dawn! Dawn! where are you?" called Mrs. Austin from the library
+after Mr. Bowen had left. "I'm glad that stupid fellow has gone,"
+she continued, "for we want you to sing for us."
+
+How could she sing? The sentiment which would suit her mood would
+not surely be fitted to those who would listen; but forcing her real
+state aside, she played and sung several lively songs.
+
+"Delightful!" exclaimed her friend, "we mean to have more of your
+company now, and keep such stupid people as Clarence Bowen away, he
+is so changed; he used to be very gay and lively; what do you find
+in him, Dawn?"
+
+"A need; a great soul need. He wants comforting."
+
+"What, is he sad? He ought to be the merriest, happiest fellow
+alive. He has enough of this world's goods, and a most brilliant
+woman for a wife."
+
+"These alone cannot give happiness. True, lasting happiness is made
+up of many little things on which the world places but little value.
+He has much to make him thoughtful and earnest, and very little to
+make him gay."
+
+"You are so unlike everybody else, Dawn. Now I like life; real,
+hearty, earnest life. I don't care a straw for hidden causes. I want
+what's on the surface. I think we were put here to enjoy ourselves
+and make each other happy."
+
+"So do I; but what you call 'happiness,' might to some, be mere
+momentary excitement, mere transient pleasure. To me, the word
+happiness means something deeper; a current, which holds all the
+ripples of life in its deep channel."
+
+"Well, if happiness is the deep undercurrent, as you say, I don't
+want it. I want the ripples, the foam, and the sparkle. So let us go
+to bed and rest, and to-morrow ride over the hills on horseback.
+I'll take Arrow, he's fiery, and you may take Jessie. Will you? You
+need some roses on your cheek." And the joyous-hearted woman kissed
+the pale face of her friend till the flush came on her cheeks and
+brow.
+
+"There; now you look like life; you seemed a moment since as still
+and white as snow!"
+
+"Your warm nature has surely changed the condition of things, for I
+feel more like riding just now than sleeping."
+
+"That's good. Suppose we have a moonlight race?"
+
+"I protest against any such proceeding, being the lord and master of
+this manor," said her husband, looking up from his book, in which
+they supposed he was too deeply engaged to hear their conversation.
+
+Reader, don't trust a gentleman who has his eyes on the page of a
+volume when two ladies are conversing.
+
+"Then I suppose there's nothing left for us but to go to bed."
+
+"Yes, a something else," said her husband.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Go to sleep."
+
+"Stupid! I suppose you think you have made a brilliant speech."
+
+"On the contrary I think it the reverse. I never waste
+scintillations of genius on unappreciative auditors."
+
+"Edward Austin! you deserve to be banished a week from ladies'
+society. Come Dawn, let us retire."
+
+It was in this pleasant, light vein of thought that Dawn recovered
+her mental poise, and she sank into a sweet and profound slumber,
+which otherwise would not have come to her. Thus do we range from
+one sphere to another, and learn, though slowly, that all states are
+legitimate and necessary, the one to the other. The parts of life
+contribute to the perfection of the whole. Each object has its own
+peculiar office, as it has its own form. The tulip delights with its
+beauty, the carnation with its perfume, the unseemly wormwood
+displeases both taste and smell, yet in medicinal value is superior
+to both. So each temperament, each character, has its good and bad.
+The one has inclinations of which the other is incapable.
+
+"This is a world of hints, out of which each soul seizes what it
+needs." So from other lives we draw and appropriate continually into
+our own, and we need the manifestations of life to make us
+harmonious. Each person draws something from us that none other can,
+and imparts out of its special quality that which we cannot receive
+from any other. We need at times to surrender our will, to merge
+ourselves into another sphere, and loose the tension of our own
+action; this surrender being to the mind what sleep is to the brain.
+
+The whole of life does not flow through any one channel; we drink
+from many streams. "A ship ought not to be held by one anchor, nor
+life by a single hope." Slowly we learn life's compliments, and the
+value of its component parts. Many threads make up the web, and many
+shades the design. As we advance in experiences, we feel that we
+could not have afforded to have lost one shade, however dark it may
+have been. Time, the silent weaver, sits by the loom, seeing neither
+the light nor shade, but only the great design which grows under his
+hand in the immortal web.
+
+The morning was clear and lovely. Mrs. Austin and Dawn rode over the
+hills, their spirits rising at every step, under the exhilarating
+exercise. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves of the trees, and made
+the whole air sweet and vital. Birds carolled their songs, and made
+the woods vocal with praise. Nature seemed set to a jubilant key;
+while fresh inspiration flowed into the heart of man as he gazed on
+the scene so redolent with life and beauty.
+
+"You are as radiant as the day," said Mrs. Austin, drawing in Arrow
+a little, and coming to the side of Dawn.
+
+"Thank you for your compliment, but it's more the reflection of the
+outer world, than a manifestation of myself. One cannot but be
+bright on such a morning."
+
+"I cannot hold Arrow in longer, or I might argue on that point." In
+a moment she was out of sight, round the bend of the road.
+
+"She does me good every moment. I sometimes wish I did not see the
+conditions of life, and its states as I do. I must keep on the
+surface a little more,--so run along Jessie," said Dawn, giving the
+gentle animal a little touch of the whip that caused her to canter
+away briskly and catch up with Arrow. Yet it was but for an instant,
+for Arrow bounded off as he heard the approach, and horse and rider
+were soon as far in the distance as before.
+
+At the end of the long road Mrs. Austin halted, and reined Arrow
+under a tree to wait for her friend.
+
+"You are quite a stranger," said Dawn, coming up at a slow pace.
+"I've been taking time to enjoy the scenery."
+
+"So I perceive. I thought you had dismounted and was sketching, or
+writing a sonnet to the woods."
+
+"It were most likely to have been the latter, as I never sketch
+anything but human character."
+
+"Then tell me what I am like. Sketch me as I am."
+
+"You are unlike every one else," said Dawn, in an absent manner.
+
+"That's a diversion. Come to the point, and define me. I'm a riddle,
+I know."
+
+"If you have got thus far, you can analyze yourself. It's a good
+beginning to know what you are."
+
+"But I cannot unriddle myself. I have, under my rippling surface, a
+few deep thoughts, and good ones, and they make me speak and act
+better, sometimes. I am not all foam, Dawn."
+
+"I never supposed you were. There is a depth in you that you have
+never fathomed, because your life has been gay, and you have never
+needed the truths which lie deep, and out of sight."
+
+"But I'd rather go up than down; much rather."
+
+"Depth is height, and height is depth."
+
+"So it is. I never thought of that before. Dawn, you could make a
+woman of me. Edward does not call me into my better self as you do.
+Why is it?"
+
+"I suppose because he does not need that manifestation of your
+being. Your lives are both set to sweetly flowing music. You have
+never felt the sting of want and suffering, either mental or
+physical, nor witnessed it to any great extent in others."
+
+"Why are we allowed to sit in the sunshine, then, if there is so
+much sorrow in the world?"
+
+"You are saved for some work. When the worn laborers now in the
+field can do no more, perhaps you will be called forth."
+
+"O, Dawn, your words thrill me. Then we may not always be as happy
+as now?" and her glance seemed to turn inward on her joyous heart.
+
+"You may be far happier, but not so full of life's pleasures."
+
+"Yes; I remember the deep, strong current, and the ripples. Let us
+go on, Dawn. I feel, I don't know how, but strange. Shall we start?"
+
+"Certainly; I wait your move. Come, Jessie, show me another phase of
+your nature. I have seen how gentle you are; now go."
+
+At the word, the creature seemed to fly through the air, so swiftly
+did she leap over the ground, and Arrow was left behind.
+
+At noon they stopped at a house on the mountain side, the home of an
+acquaintance of Mrs. Austin's, to refresh themselves and their
+horses.
+
+"I have brought you to some strange people," said Mrs. Austin, as
+they alighted, and a boy came and led their horses to the stable.
+
+"Strange; in what way?"
+
+"O; they believe in all sorts of supernatural things-in the doctrine
+of transmigration, second-sight, and every other impossible and
+improbable thing."
+
+"I am delighted. I shall be most happy to see them."
+
+"Because you yourself are so much inclined that way?"
+
+"No. I should be more curious to see them if I were not interested
+in the things you have mentioned. But now I shall meet kindred
+souls, and in those I always find delight."
+
+"I've half a mind to take you home without even an introduction, for
+your impudence; as though I was not a 'kindred soul.'"
+
+"It's too late, now, for here comes a lady and gentleman to welcome
+you."
+
+"Miss Bernard, my friend Miss Wyman, Mr. Bernard."
+
+Dawn took their proffered hands which seemed to thrill with a
+welcome, and they led the way to a large, old-fashioned parlor. The
+house was one of those delightful land-marks of the past generation,
+which we sometimes see. It stood on a high hill, or rather on a
+mountain shelf, shaded by lofty trees which seemed like sentinels
+stationed about to protect it from all intrusion. No innovations of
+modern improvement had marred the general keeping of the grounds and
+buildings, for any change would have been an injury to the general
+harmony of the whole. A large, clean lawn sloped to a woody edge in
+front, and in the rear of the dwelling were clusters of pines and
+oaks.
+
+Miss Bernard could not be described in a book, nor sensed in a
+single interview, yet we must lay before the reader an outline to be
+filled by the imagination. She was a blending of all the forces,
+mental, moral, and spiritual. Her face was full of thought, without
+the sharp, defined lines, so common to most women of a nervous
+temperament. It impressed you at once with vigor and power;
+chastened by a deep, spiritual light, which shone over it like that
+of the declining sun upon a landscape. It seemed to burst from
+within, not having the appearance of proceeding from dross burning
+away, but like a radiance native to the soul, a part and quality of
+it, not an ignition which comes from friction and war within.
+
+Basil, her brother, whose name indicated his nature, made every one
+feel as though transported to a loftier atmosphere. He seemed to
+belong among the stars. Dawn felt at home at once in his presence,
+which was a mystery to her friend, to whom he seemed intangible and
+distant. She had never seen upon the face of Dawn such rapt
+admiration as she saw there, when Basil conversed.
+
+The conversation changed from external to inner subjects, just as
+the bell rung for dinner. At the table there were no strangers, and
+to Dawn it seemed as though she had always known them, and many
+times before, occupied the same place in their midst. Thus do those
+who are harmonious in spirit affiliate, regardless of material
+conditions.
+
+A vase of elegant flowers decked the table, also a basket of
+blossoms, unarranged, which, at dessert, were placed on the plates
+of the guests.
+
+A light shone from Basil's eyes, which did not escape Mrs. Austin's
+notice, as he placed a scarlet lily upon her plate.
+
+  "The wand-like lily which lifted up,
+  As a M‘nad, its radiant-colored cup,
+  Till the fiery star, which is in its eye,
+  Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky."
+
+While these lines of Whittier's ran through her mind:
+
+  "I bring no gift of passion,
+    I breathe no tone of love,
+  But the freshness and the purity
+    Of a feeling far above.
+  I love to turn to thee, fair girl,
+    As one within whose heart
+  Earth has no stain of vanity,
+    And fickleness no part."
+
+Then she watched him with deeper interest as he placed a spray of
+balm beside the lily.
+
+  "Balm that never ceases uttering sweets,
+  Goes decking the green earth with drapery."
+
+"I wonder what he will give me," she said to herself, almost
+impatiently, yet fearing the offering might not be complimentary,
+for she well knew that Basil Bernard was always truthful. He held
+already in his hand a rose, blooming and fresh as morning, which he
+put upon her plate, and beside it a spray of yellow jessamine. Grace
+and elegance-while the beautiful Mundi rose spoke its own
+language-"you are merry."
+
+  "Blushing rose!
+  Blown in the morning-thou shalt fade ere noon:
+    What boots a life that in such haste forsakes thee?
+  Thou 'rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon,
+    And passing proud a little color makes thee."
+
+And now came the most interesting point, to see what flowers he
+would place upon his sister's plate.
+
+First, a handful of violets. "Faithfulness," thought Dawn, "he is
+right thus far." And then, as though his thoughts rose with the
+sentiment, he laid snowballs gently around them, while these words
+flashed upon her mind:
+
+  "Should sorrow o'er thy brow
+    Its darkened shadow fling,
+  And hopes that cheer thee now,
+    Die in their early spring;
+  Should pleasure, at its birth,
+    Fade like the hues of even,
+  Turn thou away from earth--
+    There's rest for thee in heaven.
+  "If ever life should seem
+    To thee a toilsome way,
+  And gladness cease to beam
+    Upon its clouded day;
+  If, like the weary dove,
+    O'er shoreless ocean driven,
+  Raise thou thine eyes above--
+    There's rest for thee in heaven."
+
+"And now we will each make a contribution to Basil" said his sister,
+smiling on him in a manner which told how dear he was to her.
+
+She passed the basket to Dawn, who blushed and trembled at first,
+not with fear, but pleasure.
+
+"The offering," said his sister, "is to be an expression of the
+sentiments, which, in the opinion of each of us, are most in keeping
+with his character."
+
+Dawn reached forth, and drew, without hesitation, a cluster of
+verbenas, and one white water-lily.
+
+"Sensibility and purity of heart. She has read him aright," thought
+Miss Bernard.
+
+  "Gentle as an angel's ministry
+  The guiding hand of love should be,
+  Which seeks again those chords to bind
+  Which human woe hath rent apart."
+
+"She has seen my brother's very heart, his most noble self," she
+repeated to herself, as she passed the basket to Mrs. Austin, who
+plucked a Clyconthas, and laid it on his plate, with a blossom of
+Iris.
+
+"Benevolence," said Dawn, and to her mind these beautiful words were
+suggested;
+
+  "Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief,
+    Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
+  Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief;
+    Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold?
+  'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold
+    Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
+  Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled,
+    Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,
+  Breathes freely its perfume throughout the ambient air.
+    Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
+  And thou an angel's happiness shalt know.
+    Shalt bless the earth while in the world above;
+  The good began by thee shall onward flow
+    In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
+  The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
+    Thy hand unsparing and unwearied sow,
+  Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
+    And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers."
+
+But one more offering, and that from his sister. She drew the bay
+leaf, of which the wreath to adorn the conqueror and the poet is
+made, and, while the eyes of the two women rested on her, drew forth
+also the pale, but sweet-scented mountain pink, signifying
+aspiration, beautifully expressed by Percival in these lines:
+
+  "The world may scorn me, if they choose-I care
+    But little for their scoffings. I may sink
+    For moments; but I rise again, nor shrink
+  From doing what the faithful heart inspires.
+    I will not falter, fawn, nor crouch, nor wink,
+    At what high-mounted wealth or power desires;
+  I have a loftier aim, to which my soul aspires."
+
+"We regret that we must leave, now," said Mrs. Austin to her friend,
+after they had returned to the drawing-room and conversed awhile.
+
+"We would gladly detain you longer, but knowing you have a long
+drive, we cannot conscientiously do so," said Miss Bernard; "but may
+we not hope to see you both, again?"
+
+"Not unless you return our visit; we cannot take another long drive
+right away, having so many ways to move, and so little time to
+spare. But come and see us whenever you can."
+
+"Thank you," replied Miss Bernard, and Basil bowed, while his eyes
+rested on Dawn.
+
+"We should both be happy to see you again, Miss Wyman," he said,
+taking her hand, and the horses having been brought to the door, he
+helped her into the saddle first, and then Mrs. Austin.
+
+They bounded away, and were soon far from the hospitable home,
+discussing, as they rode side by side, the merits and beauties of
+its occupants.
+
+"I did not tell you Miss Bernard's name. I think her brother did not
+mention it while we were there; now what do you think it can be?"
+
+"I do not know; perhaps Margaret-a pearl. No, not that; maybe,
+Agathe, which signifies good; and yet I do not feel I have it yet."
+
+"No; guess again."
+
+"I thought once while there, it might be Beatrice, for she seems
+like one who blesses."
+
+"You are right. That is her name, and most nobly does she illustrate
+its signification."
+
+"I am glad, for I hoped it was. How strange their names should so
+suit their natures," said Dawn, musingly.
+
+"Not if you knew them and their ancestry. They are of German
+descent, and believe in all sorts of traditions, and, as I have said
+before, supernatural things. They live almost wholly in sentiment,
+and are little known save by a very few. I like them, yet I cannot
+tell why. When in their presence I feel a sort of transcendental
+charm, a something intangible, but restful to my soul. It's only
+with you and them, Dawn, that I ever feel thus, and that is why I
+brought you together."
+
+"I can never thank you enough, but I wish to know them better."
+
+"You shall. Did I not see how they felt your sphere, as you
+'impressionists' say."
+
+"I hope they felt my desire for a better life, for it is a great
+rest to be comprehended. It is as though some one took us by the
+hand, and led us over the hard places of life."
+
+"I wish I could feel and live as you do, Dawn. You seem to have
+something so much deeper and richer in your life, than I have in
+mine-but, I suppose you would say, if I wanted deeper thoughts, I
+should search and find them."
+
+"I should, most certainly; you have anticipated my answer. We have
+what we aspire to--what we feel the need of."
+
+"We are getting too earnest, it makes me feel almost sad. Come,
+Arrow, let me see you speed over that shady road;" and away he flew
+at the sound of his name, leaving Dawn and Jessie, who seemed in no
+mood just then for galloping, far behind.
+
+It was almost twilight when they reached home together, Mrs. Austin
+having checked her horse's speed, for her friend to come up with
+her. They had passed a most delightful day, and cosily seated in
+their parlor, we will leave them talking as the twilight deepens
+around, and go to the home of Basil and sister, who are conversing
+upon the day's events.
+
+"It seems as though somewhere, in this or another existence, I had
+seen that face and form," said Basil to his sister.
+
+"She is certainly very lovely, wherever you may have met her. She
+may have been a dove, brother, and rested on your shoulder. I do not
+know but that we should hesitate before we condemn the belief in a
+transmigration of spirits, souls, and forces, when nature seems to
+somewhat imply its truth in her kingdom?"
+
+"Spirit cannot, in its countless transmigrations, be limited to the
+little space which we call earth. The life of the universe is the
+activity of its ever-living forces and existences, and their eternal
+striving to separate or to unite.
+
+"The belief in the transmigration of souls is of high antiquity, and
+is worthy of more than a passing thought. A writer has said: 'Being
+itself does not change, but only its relations. Mind and soul move
+in other connections, according to divine ordinances. The strength
+or weakness of the will, which the mind is conscious of, in itself,
+by a natural necessity creates a distinction between the elevation
+or the degradation of self. That is its heaven-this is its hell.
+There is an infinite progress of spirit towards perfection in the
+Infinite, as the solar systems with their planets wheel through the
+realm of the immeasurable. All eternal activity! New union to be
+going on of spirits and souls with new powers, which become their
+serviceable instruments of contact with the All of things-this is
+transmigration of souls. Any other kind of continued duration and
+continued action is inconceivable to us. Whether upon earth, or in
+other worlds, is a matter of indifference.' But one spirit sees
+these things more clearly than another."
+
+Basil stopped, and gazed long into the dim twilight, that light so
+fitted for communion; and as he gazed he felt his mind going out
+from his home, towards the being who had so touched his
+soul-thoughts. Was it his counterpart, or second-self, that made him
+feel that evening as though he had never known himself? What new
+quality had so blended with his own, in that brief space of time, as
+to quicken all his spiritual and intellectual perceptions? Would
+they meet again? and when and where? were the concluding
+interrogatories as he came back from his reverie, his thoughts
+flowing again into audible language.
+
+"You seem freshened, brother," said Beatrice, perceiving that he
+lacked words for the full expression of his intense feelings.
+
+"It's the power of a new mind. I am quickened in spirit."
+
+"I see you are; and is it not wonderful how much a person whom we do
+not daily meet can inspire us? What an impetus such an one brings to
+us, even though but a few words may be spoken. Its fresh magnetic
+life mingles with our own, and tinctures our inspirations and
+aspirations with a new fervor.
+
+"True; how much we have to learn regarding social intercourse. We
+have in society so little spontaniety, that it will take many genial
+natures like that of Miss Wyman to melt the frost away."
+
+She saw that he was pleased with Dawn, and felt glad. It was almost
+a relief to feel the strong tension of his love for her relax a
+little. It is not often that sisters have thus to complain, but
+Basil Bernard knew what love was, and how to enfold his object in an
+atmosphere of delight. It was protective and uplifting, refining and
+broadening, to all who felt it.
+
+There are some natures like that of an infant, ever asking for love,
+and protecting arms. Such need to be carried on one's bosom, and
+nestled, through their whole life. There are maternally protecting
+arms that can bear them thus, and in the sphere of their life and
+love their souls would rest. There are natures that will ever be as
+children, and also those who can meet their wants.
+
+Such clinging lives should be all infancy; they should be cared for,
+until their souls are strong enough to stand alone.
+
+Why is there so much that is fragmentary and unlinked? Why is the
+vine left to trail, when the strong oak, with its giant trunk, is
+standing bare? It's all in parts, disjointed, broken, as though some
+world of glory had been torn asunder, and its portions scattered
+here and there.
+
+There is completeness somewhere-in the land beyond-where the sighs,
+the tears, the passionate longings, the hopes and fears will be all
+adjusted, and our souls rest in celestial harmony.
+
+We cannot question but that it will be well with us there, if we
+have striven for the good, our souls conceived of, here. If, with
+good purpose and intent, we have out-wrought the hints and
+suggestions which have been given us of life, we must find growing
+states of rest, sometime, to repletion. It will not be all peace
+there; for the two worlds are interblended, and shadow into each
+other. There is an interplay of life and emotion forever, and to
+those who sense it, a joy too deep to be portrayed by human words; a
+truth which helps us to bear the sorrows of this life serenely, and
+more fully appreciate its joys.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+Basil and his sister sat longer that summer evening than was their
+wont. There was a deeper intoning of sentiment, a closer blending of
+thought, or rather, their individual states had been more clearly
+defined by the day's incidents.
+
+They were of those rare types of mind which know just how far they
+can be together, and not detract from each other; just when the
+mental and spiritual assimilation was becoming attenuated, and each
+needed solitude. Thus they were constantly coming each to the other,
+and consequently drew from exhaustless fountains of intellectual and
+physical strength.
+
+Life is replete with harmonies ready to inflow, if we are but
+receptive and delicate enough to receive and appropriate them. Blest
+are they who recognize life's indications, its index-fingers which
+are pointing each hour to some new experience, which will deepen and
+expand our lives.
+
+Generally there is great danger of two persons settling into
+themselves, as these two seemed to have done, but Basil and Beatrice
+were so catholic they could afford it, in fact they needed just the
+close companionship which they held. The brother, with his colossal
+spirit, lofty and original, moving forward through life with that
+slow majesty which indicates the wholeness of the individual, unlike
+the airy advance of natures which rush with but one faculty
+quickened, and mistake speed for greatness, supplied the sister with
+that manly, noble quality, which must ever exist in the real or
+ideal of every woman. No wonder her warm, beneficent nature expanded
+daily, until her heart seemed a garden full of flowers of love and
+gratitude.
+
+Did life at times seem dim and hazy, and the mind full of a thousand
+doubts, he could dispel the cloud, wrench the truth from its old
+combinations, and present it to her in striking contrast with its
+opposite error.
+
+No wonder that new purposes and aspirations were born every hour in
+that woman's heart, impregnated by his manliness of quality. Yet
+each drew through the subtle texture of soul a different hue of
+life, as in a bed of flowers, from the same sunlight, one draws
+crimson, another azure, as though conscious of the harmony of
+complement and difference.
+
+"I feel a rich, deep vein of thought to-night," said Beatrice, "as
+though I could write a poem or a book, so vivid are my thoughts."
+
+"Your life has been a poem, full of sweetly blended words. You have
+lived yours out, while others have written theirs."
+
+"But there is such power in books, Basil."
+
+"I know it well. 'Some books are drenched sands on which a great
+soul's wealth lies all in heaps, like a wrecked argosy.' And some
+are sweet and full of passion-tones, and you feel on every leaf that
+you are turning, as though their heart-beats were going into yours;
+that they were dying that you might have life. Books are indeed
+great, but lives are greater; lives that are full of earnest
+purpose, and that fail not, even though the tide beats strong about
+them and the heavens hang thick and dark with clouds. The greatest
+poems are true lives, now surging with grief and passion, now
+pulsing with joy-notes, thrilling on each page of life. Some books,
+as well as persons, make us feel as though we stood in the presence
+of a king, while some give us tears. Some books and some beings dome
+us like a sky. Sister, you are the dome which ever overarches my
+life,--if day, with its azure and ermine clouds; if night, with its
+stars. Nay, do not write a book, but breathe and live your life out
+each day."
+
+"Yet I know that you, Basil, could write one, and make it full and
+perfect."
+
+"I could make one full of words, if not of thought; but come, the
+night is passing, we shall scarce have an hour's rest before
+sunrise."
+
+"Indeed, I think we are in a fair way to see its early brightness."
+
+To their dreams and life we will leave them awhile, knowing that to
+such hearts will ever come peace, whether sleeping or waking.
+
+Past midnight, that silent hour when the earth is peopled with other
+forms. It is the hour for the brain to receive the most subtle
+influences, whether sleeping or waking.
+
+Some kinds of sleep bring us brighter states than day gives us. They
+are awakenings, in which the understanding, instead of being
+dethroned, acquires a power and vivacity beyond what it possesses
+when the external form is awake and active. The soul seems
+emancipated from earthly trammels. The ruling thought of a man's
+life is not unlikely to shape itself into dreams, the constant
+thought of the day may encroach on the quiet of the night. Thus
+Columbus dreamed that a voice said unto him, "God will give thee the
+keys of the gates of the ocean." So any earnest longing, resting on
+our minds when we composed ourselves to sleep, may pass over into
+our sleeping consciousness, and be reproduced, perhaps in some
+happier mood.
+
+Modern writers on the phenomena of sleep, usually concur in the
+assertion that man's sleeping thoughts are meaningless, and that
+dreams are, therefore, untrustworthy. Such was not the opinion of
+our ancestors. They attached great importance to dreams and their
+interpretations. They had resort to them for guidance in cases of
+difficulty, or great calamity. We do not claim for all dreams, a
+divine or reliable character, but that some are to be trusted, every
+individual of any experience can testify. Plato assumes that all
+dreams might be trusted, if men would only bring their bodies into
+such a state, before going to sleep, as to leave nothing that might
+occasion error or perturbation in their dreams.
+
+A young lady, a native of Ross-shire, in Scotland, who was devotedly
+attached to an officer, with Sir John Moore in the Spanish war,
+became alarmed at the constant danger to which her lover was
+exposed, until she pined, and fell into ill health. Finally, one
+night in a dream, she saw him pale, bloody, and wounded in the
+breast, enter her apartment. He drew aside the curtains of the bed,
+and with a mild look, told her he had been slain in battle, bidding
+her, at the same time, to be comforted, and not take his death to
+heart.
+
+The consequence of the dream was fatal to the poor girl, who died a
+few days afterward, desiring her parents to note down the date of
+her dream, which she was confident would be confirmed. It was so.
+The news shortly after reached England that the officer had fallen
+at the battle of Corunna, on the very day in the night of which his
+betrothed had beheld the vision.
+
+Another, a lady residing in Rome, dreamed that her mother, who had
+been several years dead, appeared to her, gave her a lock of hair,
+and said, "Be especially careful of this lock of hair, my child, for
+it is your father's, and the angels will call him away from you
+to-morrow."
+
+The effect of the dream on her mind was such, that, when she awoke,
+she experienced the greatest alarm, and caused a telegraphic notice
+to be instantly dispatched to England, were her father was, to
+inquire after his health. No immediate reply was received; but, when
+it did come, it was to the effect that her father had died that
+morning at nine o'clock. She afterwards learned, that, two days
+before his death, he had caused to be cut off, a lock of his hair,
+and handed it to one of his daughters, who was attending on him,
+telling her it was for her sister in Rome.
+
+Well authenticated cases might be multiplied till they filled
+volumes; but the two we have cited, suffice to prove that in
+sleeping, as well as in waking hours, our minds may receive
+impressions of truth, or, that the spirit goes out to other scenes,
+and there takes cognizance of events and conditions.
+
+Dawn slept on; her beautiful white face was still and upturned, as
+though gazing into the heavens. The excitement of the day had gone,
+and the look of keen pleasure on her features was changed to one of
+intensest emotion, for she was away, her spirit beside one whose
+life seemed almost ebbing out of this state of existence. She saw
+his pale features half hidden in the snowy pillows, the deep, soft
+eyes looking as though in search of one they loved; and then she
+heard him call her name, in tones touching and tender. She wept, and
+awoke. The sun was shining brightly through the window. She arose,
+and dressed for her departure, and, to the surprise of her friend,
+announced her intention of leaving that morning for home.
+
+"You are no more to be depended on than the rest of your sex, Miss
+Wyman," remarked Mr. Austin, who really enjoyed having her with
+them.
+
+She was in no mood to reply in the same spirit, but said quietly:
+
+"I have concluded not to tire you out completely this time, for I
+want to come again."
+
+"I think your going must be the result of some very hasty
+conclusion, Dawn. I had no intimation of it last evening. Really,
+unless you are ill, you are quite unfair to leave us so soon." Mrs.
+Austin having made this remark, glanced for the first time at Dawn's
+white face. What had come over her? Was it Dawn who sat there so
+still and white? "Are you ill?" she asked, the tremor of her voice
+betraying her deep solicitude for the welfare of her visitor.
+
+"No; but anxious. I must go to-day, however, or I shall be sick, and
+on your hands."
+
+"I'd a deal rather you should be on my hands, than weighing on my
+heart, as you are now," and Mrs. Austin expressed the hope, after
+her husband had left, that she would confide to her the cause of her
+departure and sudden appearance of illness.
+
+"I have had an unpleasant dream," said Dawn, when they were alone,
+feeling that some explanation was due her friend, "and I must go
+home."
+
+"A dream! O, fie, I never mind them. Why, I once had a most
+frightful one about Ned. He was away on a journey, and I dreamt that
+the boat caught fire, and every one on board was lost. I even went
+so far as too see a messenger coming to tell me of the disaster."
+
+"But had not your mind been agitated through the day?"
+
+"Why, I had read of some dreadful disasters, to be sure, and then I
+had retired at a late hour, after getting my mind wrought up about
+the liabilities of danger, which, of course, accounted for it-but
+was your dream about your father?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why must you go? Do you think any one is in danger? I think it was
+the result of the long ride, don't you?
+
+"I do not. My dream was purely impressional, and outside of the
+effect of daily incidents. Yes, I must go, Fannie, and right away."
+
+"In that case I shall ride home with you," and she rang for the man
+to harness the horse.
+
+Each busy with her own thoughts they rode in silence for a long
+distance, a silence which was only broken by Dawn's exclamation of
+pleasure, as they came in sight of her home.
+
+The next day she sat beside the bed of Ralph, whose snow-white face
+and attenuated form, showed how fast he was passing away.
+
+He gazed long and tenderly into her face, as she sat there, their
+souls holding their last earthly communion. His spirit was all aglow
+with life, and trust, while the shadow of separation rested on her,
+and dimmed her faith and vision.
+
+"But for a little while, Dawn, and then we shall meet again;
+perhaps, to be united."
+
+How the words entered her heart, for now, under the cloud, she felt,
+O how keenly, that her state had hastened him home. His was the
+vine-like nature that must cling to another, or die. It was all dark
+to her then, and added to the pang of separation, was the thought of
+her cold indifference. He, all gentleness and love, lie in rays of
+light; all her vision and life had gone into him to help him over
+the river.
+
+"And you do not dread to go, Ralph?" she said, her voice choking
+with emotion.
+
+"Fear? I only long to do so; to be there, where all is peace and
+rest;" and the rapt, upturned gaze, confirmed his words.
+
+"It will be always day there," he continued; "none of these weary
+nights which have been so long and lonely-"
+
+"O, Ralph, live; live for me. I have been blind and wayward. O, come
+back, and we will live for each other."
+
+"In my father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for
+you."
+
+The words sounded far, far away.
+
+"Yes, we will live together above, not here. God has so ordered it,
+my own Dawn. I shall be light, perhaps, to you, even in that far-off
+land. Nay, 'tis not 'far'; 't is here. I shall dwell in your heart
+close-close-closer than ever."
+
+He closed his eyes and rested for a few moments. Then, arousing, he
+clasped her hands firmly, as though he would bear her away with him
+as he took his heavenward flight.
+
+"Look there," he said, "the river! go close with me-for this is our
+last moment. Dawn, I am yours; not even death can part us. I am not
+going; I am coming closer than any earthly relation could bring me
+to you; coming-call them."
+
+Parents and sister stood beside the bed with tearful eyes. To them
+he was going far away.
+
+Dawn saw not the death-dew on the marble brow, nor heeded the
+passing breath. Another sight was given her, and while they stood so
+statue-like with anguish, her eyes beheld a soft mist gather like
+snowflakes on the head; and while the breath grew quick and short,
+this seemed to pulsate with life, until a face was outlined there.
+That face the same, yet not the same, but her own dear Ralph's,
+immortalized, set in a softer, finer light. Her being pulsated with
+new joy. A tide of life seemed to have flown into her heart, leaving
+no room for pain.
+
+A moan struck on her ear; so sad that she started, and the vision
+fled.
+
+"O, Ralph, my own loved boy; he's gone, he's gone," burst from the
+mother's sorrowing heart, as they bore her from the room.
+
+Marion stood dumb with grief, while the poor stricken father bowed
+his head and wept bitter tears for his lost son.
+
+Had Dawn no grief, that she could stand there and look so calmly on?
+What made her feel so indifferent to the dead form on which she
+gazed? Because his life, the life that had once animated it, had
+passed into hers, and they were one and united. Ralph, warm with
+life, was imaged in her heart and mind. The clay he bore about him,
+that husk, had no claim upon her being now, and with scarce a look
+at the body, she walked away.
+
+"I think she could never have loved him, or she would not seem so
+cold," were the words that floated to her as she passed from the
+room where lay all that was mortal of Ralph.
+
+It was as near as she could expect to be understood here, in a world
+where so much of her real self was hidden; but such words touched
+her sensibilities none the less, notwithstanding her philosophy.
+They went deep, like an arrow, into her heart, and then she knew
+that the house of mourning was no place for her; that she must go,
+and to the world appear cold and unfeeling, while her heart was
+ready to burst with its deep emotion.
+
+She left them, and they never knew how dearly she loved him, nor how
+close his soul was linked with her own. They mourned him as dead,
+while to her he became each hour a reality, a tangible, living
+presence, full of tenderness and love.
+
+Miss Weston met Dawn as she passed out of the house, with that look
+of tender pity, which says, "I know you suffer." In that look their
+souls met and mounted to higher states. They could not speak, for
+the tears which flowed over the graves of their dead; their sorrows
+made them one and akin.
+
+"You will return by to-morrow," said Miss Weston, as she parted with
+Dawn at the gate, supposing that she designed returning to be
+present at the funeral.
+
+"No, I cannot."
+
+"Why, Dawn! not follow dear Ralph to his grave?"
+
+"I have no Ralph to bury. He is resurrected-gone higher."
+
+"But the family, they surely-"
+
+"They will not miss me. I am not a part of their lives now. They do
+not know me, nor do I know myself."
+
+Here trust, light, and vision left; the weakness of flesh uprose,
+and she went down into the dark valley of grief.
+
+She gave a parting pressure of the hand to her friend, and walked
+slowly to the station. Alone; O, what relief do our tears give us,
+when no one can see them flow. In that dim, summer twilight she
+walked. Fast fell the tears over her cheeks. None but angels knew
+the sobs, the agony of desolation which swept over her, and like a
+pall hung between herself and heaven.
+
+It was midnight when she arose from prayer, but morning to her soul.
+Peace had come; the dove had returned with the olive branch; the
+waters had gone down, and green banks shored the wild sea of sorrow.
+
+She spent the day of the funeral ceremonies alone in the solitude of
+the woods. Full of meaning now came to her these words of Christ:
+"Let the dead bury their dead;" and this was her first personal
+realization of the truth. Alone, yet not alone. That presence,
+unseen, but real, was with her, soothing the harshness of sorrow,
+filling her heart with peace and comfort. Just as the sun sank in
+clouds of sapphire and crimson, his form stood, radiant, joyous, and
+life-like before her. It was no myth, no hallucination of the mind.
+Close, within reach, yet she could not touch him; he stood there,
+the same Ralph, with all the tenderness of love on his beaming face
+which he bore in life. No loneliness came over her as the vision
+faded slowly away; he seemed to dissolve and flow into her heart.
+The soft twilight, the singing of birds, and charming landscape,
+with the breath of summer floating on the air, came like sweet
+accompaniments to the melody which was pulsing her being, and giving
+her new strength and vigor for life.
+
+She knew, that to her Ralph would each day be a sustaining power,
+and give life a dual action. When weary of the outer, she could turn
+within and find one conjoined by the holiest of ties unto her soul.
+
+His life, too, was being unfolded through her, as it could never
+have been on earth; and as years rolled on she saw how well and good
+it was that he had passed on before her. There was more completeness
+to her being than there could possibly have been, had they been
+united on earth by the form of marriage.
+
+When she emerged from the cloud, all this light transfused her
+being, and she had no tears, because there was no separation.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+We learn in unlearning. We lay aside, one by one, the garments in
+which we have enwrapped ourselves; garments of various hues, which
+are our opinions, and so clog and hinder our progress. Happily for
+us that we find our states changing, and the wrappings of old dogmas
+too oppressive. Fortunate are we if our freedom of spirit is large
+enough to enable us to lay aside what was a shield and protection to
+us yesterday, if it be not fitted for us to-day. He who is strong to
+do so, benefits all around him, for no good or evil is confined or
+limited to one. Everything flows; circulation is in all things,
+natural and spiritual. Life in one is life in another; what is faith
+in one is also faith in another.
+
+"What is gained by one man is invested in all men, and is a
+permanent investment for all time.
+
+"A great genius discovers a truth in science, the philosophy of
+matter; or in philosophy the science of man. He lays it at the feet
+of humanity, and carefully she weighs in her hand what is so costly
+to him, and so precious to her.
+
+"She keeps it forever; he may be forgotten, but his truth is a part
+of the breath of humankind. By a process more magical than magic,
+it becomes the property of all men, and that forever.
+
+"All excellence is perpetual. A man gets a new truth, a new idea of
+justice, a new sentiment of religion, and it is a seed of the flower
+of God, something from the innate substance of the Infinite Father;
+for truth, justice, love, and faith in the bosom of man are higher
+manifestations of God than the barren zone of yonder sun; fairer
+revelations of him than all the brave grandeur of yonder sky. No
+truth fades out of science, no justice out of politics, no love out
+of the community, nor out of the family.
+
+"A great man rises, shines a few years, and presently his body goes
+to the grave, and his spirit to the home of the soul. But no
+particles of the great man are ever lost; they are not condensed
+into another great man, they are spread abroad.
+
+"There is more Washington in America now than when he who bore the
+name stood at the nation's head. Ever since Christ died, there has
+been a growth of the Christ-like.
+
+"Righteousness grows like corn-that out of the soil, this out of the
+soul.
+
+"Thus every atom of goodness incarnated in a single person, is put
+into every person, and ere long spreads over the earth, to create
+new beauty and sunshine everywhere."
+
+There was one spot which seemed more attractive to Dawn after
+Ralph's birth, than her home,--our homes are just where our hearts
+cling for the time, here or there,--and that spot was the home of
+Miss Bernard and her brother. This desire to be with them was
+settling into a fixed purpose to go, when one day her friend, Mrs.
+Austin, burst into her room, saying, "I've come for you. I think a
+change will do you good."
+
+A short time only was needed to pack a few articles of clothing, and
+they were soon on their way.
+
+It was early autumn, and the skies and trees were glowing with all
+the tinges and beauties of that season. Scarlet maples flashed here
+and there from their back-ground of pines and firs along the road,
+while over the dead limbs clambered the ivy, more brilliant in death
+than in life. The air was full of life. The voice of her friend
+chatting by her side was soothing to her nerves and spirits, for her
+life had been full almost to bursting since he had come so near.
+
+"You astonish me more and more, Dawn," said her friend, who had
+dropped her lighter mood, as they rode leisurely by the forest
+trees, which ever seem to suggest deeper thoughts.
+
+"And why, may I ask?"
+
+"Because your reconciliation to your loss seems so strange and
+unusual."
+
+"I have no loss. My friend has come home closer to my heart and
+understanding. The form is of little value to us when death gives us
+so much more of an individual."
+
+"Would I could think as you do, Dawn. You are strange, and yet you
+seem to get at the very core of life's experiences."
+
+"We cannot all think alike. There must ever be an individuality of
+thought, as well as of feature, yet on the common ground of
+principles we can meet. My serenity of mind is born of vision, for
+most clearly do I perceive that had I been united on earth to Ralph,
+our lives would have been limited. We should have gone into each
+other and remained, for he was the complement of my very self. In a
+world of so much need of labor, we could not be allowed to be of so
+little use to mankind."
+
+"But I do not see why you might not have blessed humanity more by
+your united efforts."
+
+"Because we should have been located, spiritually insphered in each
+other's life. Now I have no excuse for halting. I must be forever
+moving to some center, and he will find his life in and through me,
+loving me ever, but yet never quite settling into my life, which he
+was naturally inclined to do. In his atmosphere I shall gather
+another kind of strength and life; a life of two-fold power, because
+he will be so near in affection, so close and indwelling. I shall
+have the light of his spiritual life within me to guide me on; and
+can I not labor, yea, bear all things with such strength?"
+
+"O, Dawn, for such light one could call life and toil here, rest and
+heaven."
+
+"As it ever will be if we seek the harmonies of our lives."
+
+"Now you rob death of its gloom to me. You must talk with Basil of
+these things, he can understand and appreciate them. Did you know
+that he was a relative of the Seyton's, a cousin to Ralph's mother?"
+
+Dawn started. It was all clear now. Ralph would have her go to them,
+and that was the cause of her yearning to be there.
+
+"Shall we go to-morrow," she asked of her friend, who sat abstracted
+by her side.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"To Miss Bernard's?"
+
+"Yes, to-morrow. They are anxious to see you, as is also your
+protege, young Mr. Bowen, who has inquired for you every time I have
+met him."
+
+"I had almost forgotten him in my deep experiences. Has he changed?
+Does he seem more hopeful?"
+
+"He seems far away. I think it your mission to send people off the
+earth, or, at least, into larger orbits."
+
+"I should like to make their lives larger, for life is not worth
+anything unless we are daily putting off the old, and taking on the
+new. We cannot live our experiences over. Fresh breezes and fresh
+truths correspond-the outer and inner ever correspond. A clean
+dwelling indicates purity of heart and purpose, while the reverse
+leads us to beware of the occupant."
+
+They were now at the home of Mrs. Austin, who considerately
+conducted Dawn to her room and left her alone until tea-time.
+
+The evening brought Mr. Bowen, who appeared pale and dispirited, but
+he was speedily assisted to better states through Dawn's efforts.
+
+Again poor Margaret appeared to her sight, this time with a new look
+on her features, as though she had gathered strength and light from
+the partial recognition of one who had betrayed her, yet from whose
+life she could not be separated until the spiritual balance of
+forgiveness had been given and received.
+
+Clarence was soon engaged in earnest conversation. "Do you not
+think, Miss Wyman," said he, "that we may be weakened physically by
+spirits who come into our atmosphere?"
+
+"I have no doubt of it. If they remain, and are not illuminating, or
+changing their states; if they come to do us good, even, they may
+sometimes weaken us, because our magnetism which sustains them
+becomes attenuated."
+
+"I have thought that I was at times weaker, from the presence of one
+whom I feel is near to me."
+
+"It may be. She cannot rise until you are ready to do so. And when
+you both go to higher states, or you enter hers, a new life will
+inflow. There will come relief. There is monotony now in the
+influence, because she is waiting for new truths to be infused into
+your mind before others can flow in. Perhaps I cannot make it as
+clear to your mind as I perceive it."
+
+"The thought is suggestive, at least, and will help me out. I
+suppose these things are of slow growth in the human mind, like all
+things in nature?"
+
+"They would not be of the soul were they not slow, and of little
+value to us did they not ripen in the warmth and nurture of our own
+sunshine."
+
+"True. I would know more of these things. They give me strength to
+bear life's burdens much better, and although they seem to take my
+thoughts from my duties, I seem to be brought nearer to them; yet I
+cannot quite comprehend how it is."
+
+"This influence does not take your mind away; it lifts it above your
+cares, and makes you more contentedly subjective to the law that
+governs. Truth ever renders us content to bear, while it liberates
+us from thraldom."
+
+"I know that my life beyond will be richer and nobler for what
+little I have of these truths here. You have greatly blest me-"
+
+"And blest myself," she added, seeing the rich gratitude of his soul
+falter with the poverty of words.
+
+He took her hand, pressed it warmly in token of his deep
+indebtedness, and they parted, to meet no more on earth, save in
+spirit. That night the death-angel came. He was seized with
+hemorrhage of the lungs, and died instantaneously.
+
+The wife of the world, whom position and society had chained him to,
+put on robes of mourning, and in three months was a gay, flirting
+widow, while he was happy in the summer land, joined to his mate,
+the bride of his soul's first love.
+
+For a long time Dawn felt not the presence of either Clarence or
+Margaret. They were away, reposing in the atmosphere of forgiveness
+and love, and learning that "it is not all of life to live, nor all
+of death to die."
+
+Dawn sat beside Basil as an old friend, holding a likeness of Ralph
+in her hand.
+
+"I little thought that you knew our dear Ralph," said Mr. Bernard,
+breaking the silence they had enjoyed, "and yet I ought to have
+recognized his life within yours, Miss Wyman."
+
+Dawn knew well why he did not, for she had kept him away from
+herself.
+
+"I usually feel the sphere of the one dearest to another, when I
+come into their presence; but this time I was completely in the
+dark. There is some reason for it, I know." She knew it, and also
+that he could read her mind.
+
+"I will keep nothing back," she thought, and told him all. Just as
+she had finished, Mrs. Austin and his sister came in from the
+garden.
+
+"Your conditions must have blended very closely," said Beatrice,
+playfully, "it seems as though there was but one person in the
+room."
+
+"You are becoming a dangerous person to have about," said her
+brother, while his tone and speech were greatly at variance, for his
+voice to her was always sweetly modulated and full of tenderness.
+
+Mr. Bernard brought to Dawn a folio of drawings, some of Ralph's
+early sketches, which they looked over together until the hour of
+retiring, when the evening closed with a calm and natural prayer,
+such as was nightly heard in that pleasant home.
+
+"I shall claim Miss Wyman to-morrow," said Beatrice; "I have a great
+many subjects which I wish to talk upon with her; so, brother, you
+will see that our friend, Mrs. Austin, is entertained."
+
+"We will engage to make you very sorry that you are not of our
+party," he answered, as they separated for the night.
+
+"Now you are mine for a few hours," said Miss Bernard, after
+breakfast, to her guest, as she led the way, followed by Dawn, to a
+little room which she had fitted up, and in which she studied or
+mused, sewed or wrote, as the mood prompted. The walls were hung
+with pictures, her own work, some in oil, others in crayon; all
+landscapes of the most poetic conception and delicate finish.
+
+"I have always longed for the power to express my thoughts in
+pictures. What a keen enjoyment it must be, Miss Bernard, to have
+such a resource within one's self."
+
+"I think the power resides in every person, and only waits a
+quickening, like all other powers."
+
+Dawn thought of the hour in Germany when Ralph sat and sketched her
+portrait, and the intervening time was as though it had not been. It
+was but yesterday, and she sat again by his side watching the deep
+life of his eyes, eyes on which she would never look again. Were
+they closed forever? "O, heart so desolate. O, lone and barren
+shore, where are the waves of joy? All receded; all; and she seemed
+to stand upon the beach alone, while a chill ran over her.
+
+"You are chilly, Miss Wyman, let me close the window."
+
+But Dawn heard not, saw not; for before her vision appeared a face
+all radiant with life, toned by a look of intensest sympathy; while
+on the brow glittered a star so radiant that mortal might not gaze
+upon it. Its rays seemed to enter her very soul, and pierce it with
+life and light, bathing it with a flood of joy. It was no longer
+dark, her face beamed with a strange light when Miss Bernard turned
+to call her attention to some pictures which were unfinished.
+
+"You seemed far away, Miss Wyman," said she. "It's so like Basil. He
+has such moments of abstraction, and almost takes me with him."
+
+"I was away for a moment; but what a lovely picture you have here."
+
+"It's one I am trying to copy, but I make little progress."
+
+"Truth is not necessarily literal, is it? If so, I should make a
+poor copyist."
+
+"It is not; and there is where most persons fail. 'The Divine can
+never be literal, and there is in all art a vanishing point, where
+the Divine merges itself into the ideal.' And that vanishing point
+is seen in the human composition, as well as in natural objects,
+that point where we lose ourselves in the Divine, and merge our own
+being into that greater, grander being. You are an artist, Miss
+Wyman, you group human souls and portray them in all their
+naturalness; not on canvas, for that could not be, but spiritually
+to our inner sight.
+
+"I love art in whatever form it may come to glorify life, for true
+art is catholic, beneficent, touching with its mystic wand every
+soul within its reach, thrilling even the sluggish and the
+slumbering with a new sense of the Divine bounty which makes this
+world so lovely and fair."
+
+Miss Bernard looked grateful for the rich appreciation of her guest,
+which she had scarce dared hope to find; and from art they drifted
+to life and some of its present needs, glowing with friendly
+recognition as they advanced and found each possessed with similar
+views. Thus do we meet pilgrims on the way, at some unexpected turn,
+when we thought ourselves alone upon the road.
+
+"I know by these pictures, Miss Bernard," said Dawn, "that your life
+is full of practicality."
+
+"You surprise me, for every stranger thinks that I do nothing else."
+
+"If nothing else, you would not do this, or anything of a fanciful
+nature."
+
+"I see you have had some experience, for very few entertain that
+sentiment."
+
+"I have seen enough to know that those whose time is at their own
+disposal rarely accomplish anything, either practical or beautiful.
+The one helps the other, and one who delves hardest in the
+practical, rises ofttimes highest in the ideal."
+
+"It is true of my own self, and others. My experiences have been
+varied and deep in human life and I have learned that time is of no
+value unless it is estimated by the amount of labor that can be
+accomplished. When thus estimated, however it may be employed, the
+results are productive of good to the individual."
+
+"How I wish, Miss Bernard, that the whole human family might have
+just enough labor and time for improvement which they need. Life
+looks so hard and inharmonious at times, when we see thousands
+toiling from early morn till night, with no moments for thought or
+culture, that we cannot but ask where justice to God's children is
+meted out."
+
+"Life is strangely interspersed with clouds and sunshine. I know
+that somewhere all will find recompense for such seeming losses, and
+that what we now look upon as evil will be seen to be good and best
+for all. Did I not know this, Miss Wyman, I should have little heart
+to go on. Of one thing I am certain, and that is, we must each keep
+working, performing the labor of the day, and some time the great
+united good will come from all this individual work. It is but an
+atom that each one does, but it counts as the grain of sand on the
+sea-shore, and helps by its infinitesimal portion toward the
+aggregate."
+
+"Did you ever feel, Miss Bernard, that extended vision of life's
+conditions incapacitated us for real, vigorous service?"
+
+"I have felt at times it might be so, but am convinced that it does
+not; it only deepens our effort and endeavor."
+
+"I have often thought that I was unfitted for life, from the very
+fact that I saw so much to be done."
+
+"When we see so much it makes us meditate, and that very condition
+gives birth to greater power."
+
+"True, and yet I often wish I did not see so much. Why do I not
+oftener feel a power somewhat commensurate with the demand and
+wish?"
+
+"I suppose, because the power is born of the time and the need, and
+not a burden to encumber us on our way. It is not of material
+nature; cannot be packed and stored away for some occasion that may
+arise, but is proportioned and adapted to the kind and quality of
+the requirement."
+
+"You have explained it just as I felt it somewhere in my soul. The
+thought in me needed the quickening of another mind. You do me good,
+Miss Bernard, every moment. O, how much we need interchange of
+thought."
+
+"We do, indeed, in order to know ourselves, if nothing more. But I
+see that you are weary. Stay with us and rest, will you? New
+atmospheres are good to throw off fatigue in."
+
+"I should indeed be delighted to stay here. Was Ralph fond of being
+here?"
+
+"Very; and he is here now."
+
+"Then you believe in the presence of spirits, and their cognizance
+of us, and we of them?"
+
+"Yes, for many years, and have been led by their advice."
+
+"I am at rest. I find many who believe in communion, but not
+communication. I accept both."
+
+"And so do I. We will compare experiences, and have many happy
+hours. How much we shall all enjoy. You must know my brother, Miss
+Wyman, for he, too, loved Ralph with all the ardor of his deep
+nature."
+
+The next hour Dawn sat alone in communion with self, wondering at
+the daily events of life, and her own deepening womanhood. Life to
+her was growing richer each day. She felt that she was catching the
+divine breath, and coming into celestial harmony, which is the
+soul's true state. O, what bliss awaits us, when we have passed from
+the exterior to the interior life; a state not of worlds, but of
+soul, where we come into divine submission, and can say, "Thy will,
+not mine, be done."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+
+
+
+Mrs. Austin left the next day, and the soul-united trio were alone.
+Only those who know the value of fresh minds and blending qualities
+of heart and spirit, can realize how much they enjoyed together. To
+Dawn, Basil seemed new and old,--old in acquaintance, as we ever find
+those who have pursued the same current of thought; new in the power
+of presenting truth to her mind, in fresh combination and coloring.
+He had all the delicacy of Ralph, with more mental vigor, and
+broader experiences.
+
+His sister, Dawn learned to love better every day, as she witnessed
+the exercise of her varied powers, all working in harmony, and
+rounding her life into completeness.
+
+"I could live here forever," she exclaimed, one morning, when nature
+was sparkling with diamond drops of dew, and singing her morning
+praises.
+
+"Then stay forever," said a voice, deep and musical, at her side.
+"Why not stay forever? for we should stay where we live the most,"
+said Basil, laying his hand on her head. "I suppose, however, the
+'forever' meant, so long as your life here is replete with
+enjoyment, did it not?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose that is our definition of 'forever,' and as it is a
+portion of it, we may properly call it thus."
+
+"Then see that you stay your 'forever,' and make us happy in so
+doing," and his earnest eyes fastening their gaze on hers, told how
+dearly he loved to have her there.
+
+The bell rang for breakfast, and the little party brought bright
+faces and fresh thoughts to the meal.
+
+"Would you like to sail upon the pond, to-day?" inquired Miss
+Bernard of Dawn.
+
+"Nothing better, if there are lilies we can gather."
+
+"There is a plenty, so we shall go. You will see my brother in a new
+phase to-day, Miss Wyman, for nothing calls forth the sweetness of
+his nature like sailing."
+
+"I should advise one to go often, if it had that effect," said Dawn
+scarce daring to lift her eyes.
+
+"I cannot afford to be exercised that way often," he answered,
+looking, it seemed to her, almost stern.
+
+"Why?" inquired his sister, laughing.
+
+"Because it so completely exhausts me to be called out into a high,
+spiritual state too often."
+
+"You speak of conditions as compartments, brother. May we not blend
+the whole, into one perfect state?"
+
+"We may harmonize and unite, but each distinct faculty must forever
+have a separate action, like the functions of the human body,
+perfect in parts, to make a perfect whole."
+
+"I perceive your meaning, yet it does not attenuate me, at least I
+do not feel that it does, when the spiritual and affectional parts
+of my nature are exercised."
+
+"One reason is because your balancing power is greater than mine;
+another, there is more spiritual elasticity in women than in men.
+Women rebound in a breath; men take a more circuitous route."
+
+"You have explained yourself very well, yet we hope to see you
+to-day in your best mood."
+
+"My companions would draw me into that state. When will you both be
+ready?" he asked, rising.
+
+"At nine o'clock."
+
+"Then be at the lower garden gate at that hour." Having give this
+direction, Basil went to give some orders for the day, while Dawn
+and Beatrice dressed themselves for the sail.
+
+"Wear something which you do not fear to soil, Miss Wyman; and have
+you a broad-brimmed hat to protect you from the sun?"
+
+"I have. It is one of the staple articles of my wardrobe. I never go
+from home without it."
+
+They were soon ready, and found Basil at the gate at the appointed
+hour. The lake lay calm and clear in its woodland setting. They
+glided for miles over its smooth surface, and each felt the other's
+need of silence. A gentle breeze just stirred the waters into
+ripples, breaking the stillness of the hour.
+
+"The correspondence of speech," said Basil, giving the boat a sudden
+turn, and displaying some drooping willows on the shore which were
+duplicating their graceful branches in the clear waters.
+
+"When we are passive, do not they of the upper world thus throw
+their image upon our minds?" he said, looking earnestly on the
+reflection of the branches.
+
+Dawn thrilled at the beautiful analogy, and thought of one unseen
+who might be, perhaps, at that time, enjoying the outer world
+through her tranquil state, if not through her senses.
+
+"I sailed once on this lake with Ralph. It was such a day as this,"
+said Basil. "O, how he enjoyed it. He loved the water, everything
+from brook to ocean."
+
+"I wonder if he is near us to day?" said Miss Bernard.
+
+Dawn wept. Her spirit was full of love and harmony, and the tears
+gushed forth like waters leaping from joyous cascades. They were not
+tears of sorrow or of loneliness, but crystal drops of emotion.
+
+  "There are harmonists whose fingers,
+    From the pulses of the air,
+  Call out melody that lingers
+    All along the golden stair
+  Of the spiral that ascendeth
+    To the paradise on high,
+  And arising there emblendeth
+    With the music of the sky."
+
+And there they were lifted, and dwelt.
+
+"We are approaching the lilies now," said Basil, feeling that he
+must break the deep spiritual atmosphere into which they were all
+passing. "We must keep on the earth-side a little longer," he said,
+playfully.
+
+"Long enough to gather some of these beautiful lilies at least,"
+said his sister, as she gazed lovingly into his deep, tender eyes.
+
+He swung the boat round, and gathering a handful, threw them at the
+feet of Dawn.
+
+"I will twine you a garland," said Beatrice, taking some of the
+lilies and weaving their long stems together.
+
+"No, no. There are but few who can wear lilies alone, Miss Bernard.
+Some may wear them, but not I."
+
+"You are not the best judge, perhaps, as to what becomes your
+spiritual and physical nature," said Basil.
+
+"I know my states, and that lilies are not suited to my present
+condition," answered Dawn.
+
+"Since you will not be crowned, Miss Wyman, will you please pass
+that basket? I think we all need to descend into more normal
+conditions; we are too sublimated." Following this suggestion he
+allowed the boat to float without guidance, while they partook of
+the delicate yet substantial repast.
+
+The evening carnation tinged the clouds about the setting sun as
+they sailed homeward, gathering lilies on their way. The bells from
+a village near by were ringing, and the sound came distinctly over
+the water, musical and sweet to the ear.
+
+"Do you remember the passage in Pilgrim's Progress, where the bells
+in heaven were ringing, over the river?" said Beatrice to them both.
+
+"I do," said Dawn, earnestly. "O, that we all were across that
+river. When shall we be there?"
+
+"I suppose when our usefulness is most needed here," said Basil, in
+a tone which caused them both to start.
+
+"Why, brother?"
+
+"Because that seems to be the law of life. All men and women go when
+most needed here; as the rose dies when its tinge is brightest, its
+blossom fullest."
+
+"And that is our time," said Dawn.
+
+"And God's," he answered.
+
+Dawn found on her dressing table that night a garland of lilies and
+red roses.
+
+"Passion and purity," she said. "O, this will do for human heads."
+She laid long that night wondering whether Basil or his sister
+twined it. It did not seem like Beatrice, and yet she scarce thought
+he would do it. It lay between them, however, and pondering on that,
+and the day's keen enjoyment, she fell asleep, nor woke till morn.
+
+Miss Bernard was very busy that day from necessity, she said, and
+partly to balance the state of the day previous.
+
+"I shall want your company this afternoon for a drive," she said to
+Dawn; "this morning the library, piano and garden are at your
+disposal, to use at your pleasure. I have domestic duties to
+perform, and hope you will make yourself as comfortable as
+possible."
+
+So little time, and so much to enjoy. First, Dawn went into the
+garden and gathered some flowers for the library; then she played an
+hour, she thought, but it proved to be two, on looking at the clock,
+and the remainder of the morning was passed with books. The bell
+rang for dinner long before she thought it could be time, so quickly
+and pleasantly had the hours passed away.
+
+After dinner and a little rest, they started on their drive.
+
+"I am going to take you to a little village, or cluster of houses,
+to see how its peculiar atmosphere affects you," remarked Miss
+Bernard.
+
+After a pleasant drive through shaded streets and roads, they came
+in sight of a church spire, then a few cottages here and there, and
+were soon in the centre of the village, when Miss Bernard looked
+inquiringly to her guest.
+
+"How frigid and cold it seems here. Why, there is such a desolate,
+unsocial feeling I should not live out half my days if I had to
+remain in such a place. Have I indicated its peculiarity?"
+
+"Perfectly."
+
+"But what is the cause of it? Surely the scenery, so lovely and
+calm, ought to inspire the deepest sentiments of social life in the
+hearts of the inhabitants."
+
+"One cause is too much wealth; another, too few people. The place
+needs the addition of two or three hundred families to give it life
+and impetus. Each family now here has settled into itself, and grown
+conventional and rusty. Most of the people have considerable mental
+ability, but lock and bar their souls and hearts so closely that
+their better feelings cannot flow at all, nor find their legitimate
+sphere of action. They are all nice, quiet people, read a good deal,
+adopt theories and fine drawn sentiments in profession, but never
+make them of any use to themselves or others. They have considerable
+mental sympathy, but none of heart and soul. They seem to live by
+rule. No spontaneous outgushes of their nature are ever seen, for
+they have dropped into a kind of polite externalism, and lost all
+the warm magnetic currents of life."
+
+"But are there not a few exceptions?"
+
+"A very few, but the cold is so severe that it soon freezes out
+their warm life, and the good that they would do is put far from
+their reach. They are a very pious, church-going people, and
+invariably as a class, look upon all forms of entertainment, such as
+assemblies and theatricals, as out of order, and sinful. Of course
+the young people grow old long before their time, and leave the
+place, and you know that one of the saddest sights on earth is a
+little village deserted of youth. All this might be remedied by an
+infusion of a strong social force; but, one or two families who have
+lived very different lives, and have taken up their abode in it, can
+do but little towards so desirable a change. The little hall which
+we are now passing should have a series of assemblies each winter,
+concerts, private theatricals, meetings for conversation, and the
+like, in which all, free of caste limitation, might take part. Now
+it is seldom lighted with gay and joyous faces. The young have no
+spirited life, consequently the old have none; for it's the merry
+beating of their hearts, and happy faces which enkindles and
+rejuvenates the joys of their elders. Everything joyous is looked
+upon as innovation, and frowned down. Those who reach out for a
+little more life, become frost-bitten, and gladly retire within
+themselves. I have given you a sad picture, I know, but it's true,
+not only of this but of many places."
+
+"It is sad, indeed, because 't is true."
+
+"Notice this little vine-clad cottage, which we are approaching,"
+said Miss Bernard.
+
+"It's a lovely spot; I hope the people are adapted to it."
+
+"They are not, or, rather, are not suited to their conditions. It is
+occupied by two maiden ladies, who do not know how to live and get
+the most out of life, and each other. They live too close, too
+enwrapped within themselves. They should have separate interests, or
+occupations; but instead of that, they live in each other's
+atmosphere every day, go together and return together, see the same
+people at the same time, when their interviews should be varied, and
+each at times alone. Thus their magnetisms have become so
+interblended, that one has nothing to give the other. Now, Miss
+Wyman, after such mutual exhaustion, what can they have for each
+other?"
+
+"Nothing but exhaustion; and how many live in the same way, plodding
+through life, growing old before their time, losing power, or
+magnetism, which is power, every day. Such persons close their eyes
+to any light one might throw upon their path, and I see no way, but
+for all such to remain where they are. It is lamentably true that
+comparatively few of the inhabitants of earth are growing people;
+most of them are content with a slow, dull routine of daily life.
+I'd rather see persons full of zeal and purpose, even though their
+impulsive nature might lead them to commit many mistakes, rather
+than one whose life seems purposeless."
+
+"So had I. Motion is life; and in that motion we do many things
+which we afterwards regret, yet find them to have been the
+legitimate results of life; so I suppose we should not regret
+anything."
+
+"Nothing which has occurred outside or independent of our will or
+design."
+
+"It is hard to tell where our own will commences to act; is it not,
+Miss Bernard?"
+
+"I sometimes question whether we can; yet in order for our lives to
+be individualized there must be some point where we lay aside our
+personal will, disengage it, as it were, from the causes or outside
+forces, which seem to be ever propelling us."
+
+"What do you consider the most quiescent state of the soul?"
+
+"That state in which the mind clearly perceives it could not have
+afforded to have dispensed with one personal experience, least of
+all, with one sorrow which formed a part of that experience."
+
+"How few can subscribe to that, save in theory, yet I know by the
+few years of my own life, that I could not lose one of my
+experiences, least of all, those that deepened the mind; or gave me
+higher, broader views of life. I hope I shall live many years, Miss
+Bernard, for the more we know of this life, the better prepared
+shall we be to live and enjoy the other."
+
+"They are so interwoven that one must really know both well in order
+to act and live well in either."
+
+"Have you ever seen with your interior perceptions the conditions of
+mortals who have passed beyond the vale? I have felt their states,
+but have never seen them. I think you also have, for I have heard
+from your friend, Miss Wyman, of your wondrous power to see at
+times, those who have thrown aside the mortal. I should be deeply
+interested in a relation of any of your experiences at some future
+time when you feel inclined to give them; for my faith in the
+ability of spirits to return to earth, and influence us, is as deep
+and strong as my trust in God."
+
+"In some quiet hour, I will tell you many of my personal
+experiences. It is a strange, dual life I live, and sometimes I feel
+myself in such mixed states, that I scarcely know my mooring, if,
+indeed, I have any."
+
+"Some do not, I think."
+
+"I am one, then, of that class; I seem to belong everywhere, and to
+everybody."
+
+"I am quite certain of two, to whom you belong-myself and
+brother-but here we are in sight of home, and Basil is waiting for
+us on the piazza."
+
+"It is pleasant to have a brother like yours, and to me to look upon
+the relation you bear to each other, for usually the relation of
+brother and sister is so ordinary and means so little."
+
+"He is a noble man and brother, and has done much toward developing
+my spirit. I want you to know him well, and learn what a friend and
+companion he can be to woman."
+
+At that moment they wound around the drive, and he came to meet
+them, his face full of kindness and affection, greeting his sister
+as though she had been gone weeks, instead of hours only; and
+bestowing a look of generous hospitality upon Dawn, whose thoughts
+seemed to grow richer every moment in his presence.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Gladly would Dawn have spent many days with Basil and his sister,
+but her life was too active to allow her to tarry long in one place.
+On the evening of the day, the events of which were narrated in our
+last chapter, a note was placed in her hand from Mrs. Austin,
+stating that she was ill and needed her presence.
+
+"You cannot go before to-morrow," broke in both sister and brother,
+at once.
+
+"We must make much of this evening," said Beatrice.
+
+"And spend it as though it was our last together; for life's
+conditions are so uncertain," remarked Basil, in that far-off tone,
+in which he often spoke.
+
+"We may have many experiences before another meeting, yet I hope we
+shall come together again soon."
+
+"How shall we spend our evening?" said Miss Bernard to her brother,
+yet looking at Dawn.
+
+"Naturally. Let it take its own course." Their eyes at that instant
+rested on Dawn, whose features glowed with a heavenly light and
+sweetness.
+
+"It is a trance symptom," said Basil. "Let us keep ourselves
+passive."
+
+The light of the room seemed to vibrate with life, and their bodies
+to be so charged with an electric current so etherial that it seemed
+that their spirits must be freed from all earthly hold. And then
+there came a calm over all. The features of Dawn seemed to change to
+those of one so familiar to them in their early days, that they
+started with surprise.
+
+"I was on earth known as Sybil Warner," said a voice which seemed
+not that of Dawn, and yet her vocal organs were employed to speak
+the name.
+
+"Sybil Warner!" exclaimed Basil, white with emotion, and turning to
+his sister, whose palor equaled his own, "Have you ever spoken that
+name to her?" he asked, pointing to the upturned face of Dawn.
+
+"Never! I am equally astonished and interested with yourself."
+
+"Shall we question her,--the spirit?" But before Basil could reply
+the spirit spoke:
+
+"You were not aware, I know, that I passed to the spirit-land a few
+years ago; and for that reason, and many others, I come to give you
+a test. The mention of my name must have been a surprise to you, for
+never in the earth-life, did I meet this lady whose organism I now
+employ to speak to you. You would know of my life, after I withdrew
+from the world of fashion. At some other time it shall be given you;
+enough for the present, that I became world-weary, and, possessing
+what is called second-sight, drifted through life, caring naught for
+the heartlessness around me. The life which makes up three-fourths
+of the so called happiness of humanity I could not adopt as my own;
+therefore I was alone, and a wanderer. I was, of course, called
+strange and weird. What cared I, when every-day glimpses of the
+larger life were given me,--that life which I was so soon to enter
+upon. One humble spirit stands by me here, whose name is Margaret,
+and sends love and gratitude to the beautiful being through whom I
+now address you.
+
+"Friends of my youth, always so good and true to me, I come to
+mingle my life with yours, and to grow strong with you in good and
+holy purposes. We of the upper air, do not live alone; we need your
+life, as well as you do ours. This communion is as ancient as time,
+and will endure throughout eternity. Volumes could not tell of the
+broken households united through this light. Search for its hidden
+treasures; they are worthy of untiring study. Its glory will not
+fall into your life; it must be worked out by your own efforts and
+found within your own experience. Thus it will become a part of your
+immortal self, and help you on your heavenly way. The skeptic cannot
+sit and call us who have thrown off the mortal, by words alone, for
+only in answer to deep and heartfelt desire do we come and hold
+communion with our earthly friends. They who seek shall find.
+
+"Of the spiritual condition of those who enter this state of
+existence, I can only say to you now that it is identically the same
+after what you call 'death,' as before; neither higher nor lower.
+Progress and happiness here, is as it is with you, dependent upon
+personal effort. We of the spirit-world have rest and unrest, hope
+and doubt, according as our states, conditions and surroundings
+vary. One of my strongest purposes has been to identify myself to
+you, my friends, to-night. I have succeeded beyond a doubt; none can
+exist in your minds of my identity-my self, for you have never
+breathed my name to this mortal. Again will I come to you and tell
+you of our lovely world which we enjoy, each according to individual
+development. I dwell in peace. Peace I leave with you. Farewell."
+
+Dawn passed her hand over her brow, as though trying to recall a
+vanished thought, and slowly came to her normal condition, while her
+face shone with a light most beautiful to behold.
+
+"Were you conscious of what has transpired?" asked Miss Bernard.
+
+"Yes; and yet so absorbed in another life, that my own spirit seemed
+floating, yielding to another's will and heart pulsations. This is
+imperfect, I know, as an explanation, but it is the best I can
+give."
+
+"It is something which cannot be explained," said Basil, and she
+knew by these words that he fully comprehended her.
+
+O, soul, how thou dost relieve the labor of the mind, seeing with
+finer vision into the centre of life, and there beholding the
+countless workings of the inner being. What an atom of our self do
+we exhibit in our little sojourn here. Those of limited sight say we
+are thus and so, and pass on. Others measure us by themselves, and
+call us dull, or lacking vital life, ignorant of the fact that
+they each take all they know how to appropriate, of our quality. A
+lifetime would give them no more, if their receptive states did not
+change.
+
+"This experience has given our life a new sweetness," said Basil,
+seating himself by Dawn. "We have long believed in these things, but
+have never had such proof of their truthfulness as to-night. We
+need not tell you how happy you have made us, or how much we shall
+always enjoy your coming; for we enjoy you personally, aside from
+this thrilling power which your organization embodies. I, too, have
+experienced this light, and know well the strange thrill which comes
+over us, when we meet those who are akin in soul, and assimilate
+with our mental and spiritual natures."
+
+"And how the depth is sounded, when we are brought in contact with
+those who are antagonistic," said Dawn.
+
+"I presume that those who disharmonize us, aid us to higher states,
+for they force us out in search of something better. The divine
+economy is at work in every phase of life, and our growth of soul is
+often greater in our night of sorrow than in our day of joy; or
+rather, we reach forth deeper and stronger after the true life, when
+the cloud is upon us, than when the sun shines brightly on our path,
+just as the tree extends its roots farther into the ground, when
+rocked and swayed by the tempest."
+
+"Yet the sunshine of happiness matures the leaves and branches. I
+have had much sunshine," said Dawn, speaking the words slowly and
+tenderly.
+
+"I would that the storms might pass over you, but in the human lot I
+know they must come."
+
+She looked into his eyes, and they appeared so like Ralph's just
+then that tears came to her own, and she could not force them back.
+
+"This emotion is not all your own," said Mr. Bernard.
+
+Dawn looked up inquiringly.
+
+"He is here-Ralph, and too often for your good and his own."
+
+A flush came over her face.
+
+"I mean no harm," he continued. "It is true that he will weaken you
+by too much emotion, which was ever a large component of his
+beautiful and trusting nature. Ralph must put aside his deep
+tenderness, and come less often, and then he will bring you more
+strength when he does come to you."
+
+"But what if he never left me, and never can, Mr. Bernard?"
+
+"Then you must mingle with those who are his opposite, those who can
+strengthen him through you."
+
+"I never thought of that before."
+
+"Nor I, Miss Wyman. It is the impression of the moment, but none the
+less true for that."
+
+"I feel its truth, and will act upon it; thus a portion of his
+development will come through my associations, be drawn up through
+the earthly conditions that surround me. How little we know of the
+other life, or of this."
+
+"The two are so conjoined that a knowedge of one cannot but bring
+with it some truth concerning the other."
+
+The conversation had been of so much interest that they had not
+noticed how far into the night it had been protracted, until a
+sudden glance at the clock led Beatrice to suggest that Dawn might
+wish for rest preparatory for her journey on the morrow.
+
+"How kind of you to come so soon, Dawn," said Mrs. Austin, excitedly
+clasping her to her heart. "I am so sad, and only you can relieve
+me."
+
+"What is it? Are you or any of your family ill?"
+
+"No, no. Something worse, much worse to me. Sit by me while I tell
+you."
+
+Dawn took the seat, while in hurried, trembling tones, her friend
+related her story.
+
+"You know my sister Emily, Mrs. Dalton. Well, two days ago I
+received a letter from her, stating that she had left her husband,
+and was coming to see me a few days to tell me all, and then go
+through the world alone."
+
+"Is that all? I thought something fearful had happened," said Dawn,
+looking calmly on her friend.
+
+"All? Can anything be worse than that? Think of the disgrace to us;"
+and Mrs. Austin burst into a flood of tears.
+
+"It's no disgrace if they could not harmonize, but the very highest
+and best thing they could do."
+
+"O, Dawn; but what will the world come to, if all the married people
+flare up at every little inharmony, and separate?"
+
+"You are not the judge of your sister's course. You do not know what
+she may have passed through. She knows best, and this is her work
+alone, her cross. I do not advocate that parties should separate,
+until all means for a harmonious life have been tried. Then, if they
+find there can be no assimilation, it is far better that they should
+part, rather than they should live a false life. The world in its
+different stages of progress, has been sustained thus far and will
+continue to be. We are in the midst of a social revolution, and
+there must be many separations, and changes innumerable in every
+form and condition of life. Truth and error must be divorced, and
+whatever does not affinitize in mind and matter, in the moral or
+spiritual world, must be separated. This is the inevitable result of
+God's law, and can no more be set aside than any other which he has
+ordained. You speak of 'disgrace,' but to me that would come only,
+when, after employing every possible means to live a full,
+harmonious life, united, and it is found an impossibility, the two
+continue to live together despite the decree of God, made manifest
+in their nature, that it is sinful for them to do so. This all is
+within the province of that 'higher law' which many profess to
+contemn, but to which all must sooner or later submit."
+
+"I wish you could talk with Edward; he holds nearly the same views.
+Will you stay with me a few days, until my sister comes, for I have
+not strength to bear this?"
+
+"I will; but would it be agreeable for her to see any one here? She
+naturally desires to see you alone."
+
+"She loves you, and said in her letter, 'if I could see Dawn, or Mr.
+Wyman, I think I could gain strength.'"
+
+Dawn had no opportunity to escape, for Mrs. Dalton arrived that
+afternoon, unexpectedly, and before night had opened her soul to
+her. It was while Mrs. Austin supposed she had retired for the
+night, that Mrs. Dalton sought the room of Dawn; for the heart,
+while passing ordeals, seeks another to share or to lessen its woe.
+
+"I will in a few words tell you all," she said to Dawn. "Twelve
+years ago I was married, to please my parents and friends, to one
+toward whom I never felt the thrill which should glow through all
+our being in the presence of one whom we take into so close a
+relation. Between us there never can exist the conjugal relation,
+for we are to each other but as brother and sister. Long have I
+struggled with my sense of duty and moral obligation, and the
+struggle has done me good. I have found that my life could not come
+into fulness, or my being unfold its powers while a relation not of
+my own choosing was maintained.
+
+"Henry has a good and fine nature, one worthy of the warmest love of
+some woman. We are both on the same mental plane, yet he has not the
+strength to brave the world's opinion. In my atmosphere he seems to
+see as I do, and to realize that we should be far better
+apart,--better physically and spiritually,--but when he leaves me he
+becomes weak and distrustful of himself. I cannot say that I regret
+my experience; but something within tells me that it has come to an
+end. We shall both suffer; I feel it; no ordeal of the soul is
+passed without it, but my life will be far better alone, far better.
+Now can you give me any strength or sympathy? for I know well that I
+must walk through life with but little of human friendship. My act
+is frowned upon by all my relatives, which, of course, only serves
+to raise my individuality to a higher point, and throws me still
+deeper into self. I have no children, and can easily take care of
+myself. Does my decision seem rash or impulsive to you?"
+
+"Far from it. My warmest sympathies are with you, and with all who,
+seeing the right, pursue it regardless of what the world may say or
+do. A deep, conscientious regard for the best interests of the two
+most intimately concerned in such a step, is all that is required.
+You are under inspiration now, and what you have done will be seen
+to be best for your individual lives. You have left him because
+there was wanting that heart reciprocity, which is the vital current
+of conjugal life. The experience was necessary for you, else it
+would not have been given you. Look on it as such, as no loss to you
+or to him, and life with its thousand harmonies will flow to you. If
+the married could but see that the moment they are not in spiritual
+harmony they are losing life and strength, and in order to avoid the
+loss would seek a change of some kind,--such change as their interior
+wisdom may determine,--earth would be a paradise to-day, and family
+relations what God designed they should be. But it is usually the
+case, that, instead of a mutual discernment of this truth, one only
+perceives it, and it follows that it is best the evil should for a
+time be borne, for the one of smaller vision would only be filled
+with jealousy and unrest at the suggestion even, of a change. There
+are innumerable families that this very moment should change their
+relations. Old elements should be superseded by new; conditions
+which have surrounded them so long that they have become powerless
+for good and powerful for evil, so far as physical and spiritual
+strength is concerned, should be radically changed. We need a
+revolution in social life, an amendment to the constitution which
+governs society. Have this right, and all will be right,--politics,
+religion, and all else. Slowly these truths are being unfolded to
+the comprehension of the human mind. Some have seen them for years;
+and they whose views of life have been broadened and deepened by the
+adoption of a spiritualistic faith, long since became familiar with
+them. Such are now catching glimpses of the coming light, and have
+the assurance that ere long will arise the perfect day."
+
+"You have done me good, Miss Wyman; and now there is but one person
+to whom I wish to speak my thoughts, and that is-"
+
+"My father."
+
+"You are right; for he can give me what I so much need-moral
+strength."
+
+"I think your next step will be to return with me," said Dawn, in
+that cordial and positive manner which made it seem as though there
+was really no other step, or at least that it was the first to be
+taken. The next day Mrs. Dalton and Dawn left together, and a
+feeling of relief came to Mrs. Austin, for outside of her own
+judgment and prejudice, she seemed to feel that it would do her
+sister good. Thus are we often obliged to leap mental barriers, lay
+aside preconceptions, and accept what does not strictly accord with
+our reason, for the soul has larger orbits than those of mere mental
+states.
+
+It was almost as though they had never met before, so delightful was
+the re-union between Dawn and her father. Would that all might learn
+how closely we may come together by bodily separation, paradoxical
+as this may seem at first thought.
+
+"I have been very happy, father, while away, and have brought a
+needy soul to you for life," said Dawn, nestling close to that
+strong, protecting form, and gazing into his eyes, as though she
+would infuse his being with her own life.
+
+"I am glad you have been happy, and that your happiness does not
+abate, but increase by change of states. Dawn, my own darling, I saw
+your mother last night in my dreams. She brought to you a blue
+mantle, which signifies rest and protection, a rest not of this
+world. She enfolded you in it, and as you passed through the dark,
+sunless places of earth, the mantle grew brighter and brighter,
+until its color almost dazzled the human eye. There were many who
+could not gaze upon it, and turned away. Others stood until the
+blinding effect passed, and then followed you with their gaze. This
+mantle of blue signifies inspiration, as well as rest. They whose
+inner light is strong, will look upon the truths you utter, and
+appreciate them, while others, less strong, will turn away, blinded
+by their brilliancy, and repair again to their old and worn ideas.
+Blue is of heaven; its quality is not of earth. May it never fade
+while this mantle enwraps my child." Mr. Wyman remained silent for
+some moments, and then remarked: "Now, if you will bring Mrs.
+Dalton, whom I have not seen for many years, I shall be happy to
+meet her."
+
+Dawn found her weeping bitterly, and folded her arms about her until
+the sobs ceased.
+
+"I am not presentable, had I not better wait and see him to-morrow?"
+she said, leaning her head upon Dawn's bosom.
+
+"No; go now. This is just the time for you. You need his counsel and
+sympathy most, now. Come," and she led her like a child into his
+presence.
+
+He did not meet her with formality, but took her hand, and led her
+to a seat, then sat beside her. Dawn left, and soon found her mental
+poise.
+
+Words grew into sentences, thought leaped after thought, and newly
+perceived truths came to the mind of Hugh with strange and wonderful
+rapidity, as he sought to calm and console the tempest-tossed mind.
+A blessing descended on the communion, and when they parted, one
+could not tell which face shone the brightest.
+
+Mrs. Dalton laid down that night with stronger purposes of life, and
+a deeper conviction that the step which she had taken was the right
+one, though all before her was dark and unknown.
+
+"Give all to her that she calls forth, and inspires in you, for that
+is her right," said Mrs. Wyman, when her husband told her of his
+interview with Mrs. Dalton.
+
+How many wives of the present day are deep and strong enough to
+utter such sentiments? It was no lip phrase, for it came from her
+heart-a true heart, which pulsated to human needs.
+
+"Noblest of women!" her husband was about to exclaim, but instead of
+speech, he pressed her to his heart, and then turned and wept.
+
+Why had woman so blest his life, and showered so many gifts upon it,
+when thousands were dying for one blessing? It was an orison which
+rose to heaven from his heart that night, and when he laid his head
+upon his pillow, a rich resolve stirred his being to its depths,
+that then and ever, his best self should be dedicated to the service
+of humanity. Pastors sounded the name of God, and proclaimed what
+they called, "his word," far and near over the land, and were paid
+in gold for their speech, but few men lived, acted and spoke like
+Hugh Wyman. Few reached the human heart so closely, or breathed more
+consolation into it than he. Old and young, rich and poor, received
+blessings from his hand and from his cultured mind, each according
+to his needs. He placed in the hands of those who groped in darkened
+ways, a light which guided them to the temple of truth, and going
+out into the highways and hedges of life, invited all to the feast
+which his heavenly father had spread out for every child of
+humanity.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"I met Howard Deane a few nights since. He appears to be sadly out
+of health and somewhat consumptive," remarked Mr. Wyman to his wife,
+a few evenings subsequent to Mrs. Dalton's departure.
+
+"And the reason is quite apparent. He lives too closely in one
+atmosphere. He needs a change of surroundings, mental and physical."
+
+"No one of our course of thinking can fail to perceive that the
+long, uninterrupted companionship of his wife, she being naturally
+weaker than himself, has so drawn upon his magnetism, that his
+vitality has become thoroughly exhausted," remarked Hugh.
+
+"I do not doubt that it is so. His nature is large and social, and
+he requires a circle of varied minds to keep him in a good, healthy
+condition of body and spirit, as we all do; for though they may be
+those who can unite with one alone, and lose nothing by such
+exclusiveness, yet generally, the larger the orbit of life, the
+better the results that accrue to both, and the greater the
+development of each.
+
+"You are right; yet how closely we have lived together, Arline,
+since we were married."
+
+"Because we both had large experiences and had mingled in many
+spheres, previous to our union."
+
+"Right again; ever right," and he gazed on her with tenderest
+emotion, while she wondered if the time would ever come when she
+should not hold him as she then did. The thought made her tremble,
+so deeply did she love this man who supplied her nature so richly
+every day with that element of manliness which all women need, but
+so few receive.
+
+"I will invite Howard here to spend an evening," said her husband,
+little knowing how tenderly the heart of his wife was going out to
+him, at that moment.
+
+The next evening Mr. Deane came with Hugh to tea. Mrs. Wyman was
+surprised to see how pale and care-worn he appeared, and longed to
+reach his mind, that she might give him that life which he so much
+needed.
+
+Mrs. Deane, after the recovery of their child, finding her husband's
+tenderness revived towards her, settled into her own ways of
+thinking and living more completely than ever. For a time she with
+her husband lived in a state of undivided love. When that passed
+away, she was the same exacting woman as before, allowing him no
+life but what he gathered from her; no thoughts but her own to live
+upon. In such an atmosphere he drooped, and would have died, but for
+the timely aid of Mr. Wyman and his wife; those truth-loving souls
+who cared not for the popular sentiment when principles were to be
+maintained, and who stood up courageously for the truth, regardless
+of those who turned sneeringly aside from them, or ridiculed and
+misrepresented their views.
+
+Mrs. Deane's course amply illustrated one of the evils of our
+present marriage system, the removal of which will cause confusion
+and perhaps some wrong doing. But we have confusion and wrongs at
+present, and all history testifies to the truth that revolutions in
+political, religious and social institutions, though seemingly
+disastrous for the time, have been followed by better conditions for
+humanity, and advanced mankind to higher states. In a relation so
+intimate, so holy, as the union of two souls, human law has but
+little to do. When it enters as an external agent, with its rites in
+conformity with custom, this human law is liable to err, but the
+divine law which governs internal relations can never err. Hence,
+marriage should be subject only to this divine or higher law. The
+questions which grow out of this statement are many, none of which
+are probably greater, or about which the public pulse is more
+sensitive than those relating to property. But they, too, may have
+had their day, and higher conditions as regards material wealth, be
+ready to descend upon us. Of woman's right to be paid according to
+her labor-of her right to the college and the various professions,
+her eternal right to follow her inspiration, and become just what
+she feels she is fitted for, and thus fulfil her destiny, we have
+been in the dark, and have groped and stumbled; and our theory and
+practice of marriage have been as imperfect as all others. Whatever
+has been, has been right and proper for its time, but now a change
+is called for. The advancement of the race demands it. No more shall
+one man amass great wealth, and in so doing leave thousands
+penniless; no more shall politicians, who twaddle and toady for
+offices, deprive themselves and others of manhood and all that is
+noble; no more shall the pastor love his money, his position, and
+the praise of men, better than an opportunity to speak the truth
+fearlessly.
+
+We are living in a great age, and the age demands great men and
+women, who dare brave the public voice and popular side, if that
+voice and side are wrong. We would not confound daring with heroism,
+or mistake boldness for bravery. Nor should we throw our truths away
+upon the dull and listless. There are seekers enough, who, when they
+receive these gems of truth, will value them. Let those who possess,
+learn to know when and where to utter them. Then will the darkness
+flee away, for every ray of light aids the advance of the golden
+age.
+
+Mrs. Wyman did not speak to Howard Deane of himself, but upon
+subjects of equal interest to both, until of his own accord, he
+alluded to his own state. Hugh left the room to write letters,
+leaving them to that close communion which is never perfect with a
+third person present.
+
+"I think disease often commences in the mind, and acts upon the body
+until that may succumb to its power," said Mrs. Wyman, in answer to
+a remark of Mr. Deane upon his bodily state.
+
+"Do you think mine is of the mental?" he inquired, looking at her so
+earnestly that he seemed to penetrate her very being.
+
+"I do."
+
+"What has caused it, can you tell me?"
+
+"I think the need of cheerful and varied society. Your nature is
+large, social in its proclivities, and has great needs. It is
+therefore wrong for one person to claim all of your society, and
+injurious to you to grant it."
+
+"I know it, and, feel the truth, but society allows me no communion
+or association with women. I need their society more than all else
+just now-their thought, their inspiration."
+
+"Take whatever comes in your way, when it is in order, and let
+society quibble. How is the world to be made any better, if each one
+goes on in the old way for fear of speech."
+
+"Yet we cannot explain our course to those who do not perceive these
+truths, and our innocent enjoyment may be misconstrued."
+
+"Can the higher ever be revealed to the lower? Can the less
+understand the greater? Never. Through the moral and natural worlds
+no recognition takes place, save when the lower comes up to a higher
+plane. The rose which needs more sunshine, more air, can never
+expect to reveal its need to, or be understood by one of the fungus
+order. We must work and wait, and expect to be misunderstood every
+day of our lives. We may be in order and in perfect harmony to some
+higher law, the relation of which to ourselves it is impossible to
+explain to our brother, our sister, or our friend. There would be no
+individual life, if there were no separate harmonies and methods of
+action. You need, my friend, more of woman's sphere to help you to
+live in strength and harmony with the one you are united to. She is
+mentally strong, and gives you of your own quality too much. Find
+your balance, your mental and spiritual poise, by mingling with
+those who supply your deficiency."
+
+"You have given me life, Mrs. Wyman, and hope. If I had your
+independent mind, I might be my own helper."
+
+"I may be the one to give you independence of thought and action,
+or, rather, to stimulate yours, for all have some independence."
+
+"I feel stronger, now, bodily, than I have for a long time," he
+said, looking at his watch, "and hope I shall have the pleasure of
+seeing you again soon."
+
+"Come whenever you feel to; you will always be welcome."
+
+They bade each other good night; he, refreshed and encouraged by her
+thoughts and words; she, happier, as all are, by extending their
+life.
+
+But we must turn another leaf, and look at life as it appears to the
+narrow-minded and opinionated.
+
+"You have been gone a long time, Howard; I'm very tired," were the
+words that came from the lips of Mrs. Deane, as she looked at the
+clock, which was just striking ten as her husband entered.
+
+"Not so very late, my dear. I am sorry your head aches; would you
+not feel better to go out a little oftener?"
+
+"Howard, you know I am not able. Besides, I'm weary of society. I do
+not find any congenial souls here; the most of them are growing so
+radical I feel heart-sick and weary whenever I think of mingling
+with them. No, Howard, I must be left to myself; my home and my
+husband are all on earth I care for. By the way," she said, a trifle
+brighter, "have you heard that Hugh Wyman and his wife have been the
+means of separating a Mrs. Dalton and husband? I do wish that man
+was at the bottom of the Red-"
+
+"Mabel!"
+
+"Why do you always flare up so when I mention his name? I do believe
+that in your soul you care more for him than all the good men in
+this village."
+
+"I do."
+
+"You do? Then you are no better than he, in my opinion, and others,
+Howard; you will ruin your reputation if you associate with him."
+
+"I wish I was half as good as he is; that I had one fraction of his
+independence and manhood to help me through life. O, Mabel, lay
+aside your prejudices, and learn to see life for yourself, with
+unclouded vision."
+
+"You would have me mingle, then, with people who have no respect for
+the holy law of marriage; and people who talk as coolly of
+separation of men and women as they would of parting animals?"
+
+"Who told you they were the cause of their separation?"
+
+"Mrs. Ford. She spent an hour with me this evening."
+
+"And you believe her, and think that she has all the facts of the
+case?"
+
+"I do. She is a christian woman, and leads a blameless life."
+
+Mr. Deane felt the peaceful state he had that evening gained, fast
+leaving him, and he sought his bed, hoping to lose in sleep the
+inharmony that swept over him. He did not, however, and morning
+found him unrefreshed and weak, the mind restless, seeking for
+something which it could not grasp, though within its reach.
+
+"I think I will not go to the office to-day," said he, after trying
+to swallow a little breakfast.
+
+"If you are too ill to work, you surely need a doctor. I shall send
+for Dr. Barrows when Charley goes to school," said his wife.
+
+"Do no such thing. I am not sick. I only need rest."
+
+"You would have your own way, Howard, if you were dying; but I
+really think you do look ill, and ought to have something done."
+
+That "something" she could not do. She could not reach the mind
+which needed ministering to, because she had kept her own so
+impoverished.
+
+Reader, did you ever have one attempt to do anything for you, and
+while the labor was being performed, have your nerves strained to
+their highest tension, and the assistance thus kindly and obligingly
+rendered, wearying you far more than to have done all yourself? Such
+was somewhat the way in which Mrs. Deane administered to her
+husband's needs that day. She made him realize every step she took.
+She called him a hundred times from his meditations into her sphere
+of thought, concerning some petty detail or minor question. She
+professed to take care of him, but kept him ever caring for her.
+
+"Howard, these blinds need new fastenings. Howard, the children's
+shoes are wearing out. Howard, I wonder if my new dress will fit; I
+fear it's spoiled. Howard, I must have fifty dollars to get the
+children's hats and dresses for next month, I'm behind-hand now. Now
+you are at home, do you suppose you could help me arrange some
+magazines I want bound?"
+
+"I'm tired to death. I've been up and down stairs twenty times, at
+least, this morning," she said, as she handed him some drink which
+he asked to have brought up when convenient. All these questions,
+suggestions and requests added to his weakness, so that by night, he
+concluded he would have been far better off at his office.
+
+When night came Mrs. Deane was too weary to bathe his aching head.
+They occupied, as they should not, the same room, and exhausted each
+other, and arose in the same debilitated state in the morning.
+
+"Yesterday was a most fatiguing day to me," said his wife. "Are you
+well enough to go to the office, to-day, Howard?" He thought he was,
+and thanked heaven that he had strength enough to get there.
+
+It was no wonder he sought what gave him life and strength. It was
+his right, and he followed the strong impulse of his being, and went
+often to the home of Hugh Wyman. He felt greatly relieved on
+learning that Hugh and his wife had no knowledge of the separation
+of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, until it was over; and could not realize
+that it made no difference to them what judgment public opinion
+passed upon them. They looked only to the right and justice of the
+movement; he had not sufficient strength thus to brave the
+opposition of popular error. His vital life, the real breath of his
+manhood came to him only in the inspiring presence of Hugh and
+Arline. In their atmosphere he grew, therefore he felt drawn to them
+by a power that he could not withstand, and would not if he could.
+
+The years swept on with majestic step. Many went over the silent
+stream; among them Mrs. Temple and her two children, leaving the
+home of Herbert desolate and cheerless. Dawn stood beside her to the
+last, and saw her go down to the valley, and then she could almost
+feel the pulsing of her new birth.
+
+"How fast they travel home," said Hugh, when the rosy lips were
+sealed forever, and the poor stricken husband looked on the form
+that would never more spring to greet his coming.
+
+"Where is she now?" Again and again the question would force itself
+upon Herbert's mind, until his heart so wearied with its long
+watching, and waiting, and hoping, sank overpowered with grief
+within him. Three days had worked a sad change in his family, by
+that disease which was laying parents and children in one grave, and
+left few households unvisited.
+
+We have been so poorly schooled in the past, that it is not strange
+when one passes from this world, or state of existence, to another,
+that we should speak of them as having gone away, little realizing
+that loving hearts can never be separated: that what we call spirit
+life is but a natural continuation of this, with no "river" running
+between.
+
+Words could not add to the impressiveness of the scene, when, as the
+friends met to look their last upon those they should know no more
+as of earth, the grief-stricken husband and father bowed himself and
+kissed the cold lips of the forms that once enshrined the spirits of
+his wife and children. Many mourners were there beneath the shadow
+of the cloud that had not as yet disclosed its silver lining; but
+when was read that beautiful psalm: "The Lord is my shepherd, I
+shall not want," every soul was lifted into the region of faith;
+that faith so calm and comforting to
+
+  "Hearts that are broken with losses,
+  And weary with dragging the crosses,
+  Too heavy for mortals to bear."
+
+It seemed to Herbert to be Florence that they placed in the earth;
+he could not separate her from that lovely form of clay. How could
+he see her lowered into the grave, and his two darlings beside her?
+How bear this great grief? Not alone. Only by the help of Him whose
+ways are not as ours, and who doeth all things well. Long was the
+night of sorrow; it seemed as though day would never dawn, so deep
+and chastening was his grief.
+
+"I would I had your faith to sustain me," he said to Hugh, a few
+weeks after the burial.
+
+"It's the only thing which takes the sting of death away, and makes
+the tomb but a passage to the skies," was the response. "I would not
+be without its blessed, consoling influence for all this world can
+give, aside from the light which we daily receive into our lives
+from those who have passed the vale."
+
+"Are they not about us the same, whether we believe in their
+presence or not?"
+
+"No, not the same. You are not the same to your friend who has
+little or no faith in your life, and your motives of action, as you
+are to one who has full trust and belief."
+
+"No, I am not. In order, therefore, that our unseen friends may
+fully aid us, we must believe in their presence and ability to do
+so. Christ could not help some because of their unbelief."
+
+"Even so. He who gives us no heed, has no communion with us. But the
+faith of which I speak, is not gained at once; it is of a slow and
+natural growth. Again and again must we thrust our hand through the
+darkness, ere we grasp the anchor. Often will the cloud envelope us,
+and all seem dark as night. There will be hours and days when
+Florence will come into your atmosphere, bringing her own state of
+loneliness and longing to be felt by you; days when you must both
+mourn that the veil is dropped between you; but above all, the sun
+of spiritual light will shine gloriously."
+
+"Then you think that they suffer after they have gone?"
+
+"I certainly do. It is perfectly reasonable to suppose that they
+mourn for us as we for them. Reverse the case. Suppose that you were
+where she now is, and that she were here, and that you made strong
+efforts to approach her, and having thus far succeeded, endeavored
+to impress her with the fact of your presence. If she recognized
+you, would you not feel rejoiced? and if she did not, would you not
+feel grieved, and all the more so, if instead of honestly admitting
+self-evident facts, she sought to evade them?"
+
+"True; all that would be most natural. I have never thought of it in
+that light before. Do you think I may sometime feel and know that
+Florence is with me?"
+
+"I trust, indeed, I know you will. In some unexpected manner some
+human instrument may be used to give your mind the test it needs."
+
+"Will it be real to me? O, tell me if I shall feel and know that it
+is really her?"
+
+"If genuine there will be no doubt in your mind. All this is
+something which must be experienced, and not told. A thrill will
+come to your heart and brain which you have never felt before, when
+you first realize the possibility of our departed friends communing
+with us, and this because the truth will be more intimately related
+to your inner self than anything you have before felt. Dawn is too
+much affected by the death of Florence, yet, to see her; too much in
+her own state. When she returns to herself-becomes disengaged from
+the anxious condition of Florence, she will see and bring her in
+communion with you; yet a stranger can do better, and give your mind
+more satisfactory evidence of her ability to speak to you."
+
+"One of the conditions of this communion has been, that we must
+receive it through strangers. This robs it of its sacredness to me."
+
+"You will never have that feeling after having once felt her
+presence through another. You will feel the blending of humanity
+more sensibly, and see how we are all conjoined, that there is very
+little that is yours or mine exclusively; yet we hold all things,
+and all hearts that inspire us. Human souls belong to God and
+humanity. It follows not, because one is near us, blessing us with
+her daily presence, that she is ours, wholly. She belongs to
+humanity, and becomes ours through dissemination. It is like a truth
+which we give unto others; it is more within us, the more we give it
+forth. Whatever thrills me with joy, is far more to me when I have
+told it to a multitude. It is the same with those we love; the more
+humanity claims them, the greater they are to mankind, the more they
+become to us. Florence was more to you, because she was beloved by
+Dawn and myself. If she was much to you here, how full and replete
+with love will be her ministration to you now. Her immortal spirit
+is with you each hour, and will act on you through all time. When
+you know that she is with you, you will feel the thrill of her joy,
+and your hours will be greatly relieved of their present loneliness.
+It is strange that for so many years we have laid our friends in the
+tomb and sat sorrowing at its door. But Spiritualism has rolled away
+the stone, as the angel did of old. It comes with its teachings and
+humble appeals to earnest, truthful souls. It reaches our daily
+wants, and is to us a life-book, not a musty, worthless creed. It is
+a stream of life, flowing from heart to heart; not for one only, not
+for a few, but for all. It winds by eternal habitations, and flows
+to the city of our God. Happy is he who drinks from this lowly
+stream, so untainted by the opinions of men, and clear and crystal.
+Herbert! happy will thy day be when thou hast tasted of its living
+waters."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Then you do not wholly ignore the church," said the village pastor
+to Hugh, after a long and earnest conversation upon religious and
+social topics.
+
+"I do not. But I deny that its limitations and its dogmas can
+control the growing mind, and believe it to be wrong for the church
+to assume or desire to do so. As a great, leading guidance to
+popular thought, I would combine the church with the theatre-."
+
+"The theatre!" exclaimed the minister, holding up both hands in holy
+surprise. "You don't mean that we should turn the sanctuary into a
+play-house? I tremble for the age, sir, indeed I do, if such views
+are to be tolerated."
+
+"Not turn the church into a theatre, but combine the two, and with
+the good that is to be derived from each, form a perfect temple."
+
+"But the theatre is a temple of evil," remarked the pastor.
+
+"Not so. Because it has at times been perverted and made to
+contribute to what we denominate 'evil,' is no reason why the
+theatre should be condemned. For the same reason we might condemn
+the church, for it, also, has in some periods of its history been
+made the means of base oppression and wrong-doing; it has drenched
+fields with blood, and slaughtered innocent beings by thousands."
+
+"But that was not the true church."
+
+"Neither in the former case, was it the true theatre; for the
+theatre, when confined to its legitimate purpose, is the greatest
+moral instructor the world has ever known. Were you accustomed to
+visit the theatre, as I know you are not, you would find that the
+triumph of the right is always applauded by the audience, while the
+tricks and momentary successes of evil-doers are invariably
+condemned. This proves more correctly the tendency of the theatre
+than all the homilies of those who spin fine-threaded arguments from
+the pulpit and the press. Why, my dear sir, the church itself is
+unconsciously passing to the theatre, and the theatre equally
+unconsciously passing to the church. Witness the fairs, the school
+exhibitions, the tableaux, and the private dramatic entertainments
+of the former, and the Sabbath evening services within the walls of
+the latter. Does not this condition point to the ultimate
+combination I have spoken of?"
+
+The pastor sat for a long time in deep thought. At length he looked
+up to Hugh, as though relenting from his inward desire to be true to
+what was obviously the right, though contrary to public opinion, and
+said:
+
+"I hope the day of its coming is far distant, Mr. Wyman; I fear your
+views would destroy all religious sentiment, and make us a godless
+people."
+
+"What do you consider 'religion' sir?" responded Hugh; "merely
+attending to the outer forms, or living an earnest life?"
+
+"Living a blameless life, to be sure, while attending to the outer
+forms; not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together."
+
+"Which is right, but which is the very smallest part of the
+christian's battle. What I call a religious life, is paying tribute
+to all the arts of living. Everything which contributes to the
+health and happiness of mankind, is to me of vital importance, and a
+chief part of my religion. My christianity leads me to build the
+best house I can with my means, and to furnish it in good taste,
+that the sentiment of its inmates may be uplifted. It extends to
+every department-to the food, the garden, the dress, the amusements,
+to every social want; in fact to everything which elevates the
+standard of life. Religion to me, is living in all that elevates,
+therefore I love the temple in which we all congregate, and believe
+it ought to be decked with every form of art."
+
+"I think you are right, thus far; I do not, myself, like the barren
+walls of the present style of churches."
+
+"That is one step; you have taken that; I have taken another, and
+see that the drama is as much a part of God's method of elevating
+mankind as flowers and music. Ere long you will see it as I do. The
+church of the present day is too cold for me; it does not call forth
+the deep sentiment of my being, therefore I come near to God through
+Nature. When the church is divested of theology, and has enshrined
+the beautiful within its walls, I shall be happy to be among those
+who 'assemble,' for all need the magnetic life of assemblies to
+complete the cycle of their existence. I do not like a fractional
+life, one which seizes some parts and discards others. In the
+present age of transition, the best minds are thrown out of the
+sanctuary, waiting for the perfect temple, where they can worship in
+fulness of soul and purpose."
+
+"Yet all are better for the assembling, are they not, even in its
+imperfect state, as you term it?"
+
+"It is well and good for all, but not so essential to some as to
+others. Some natures are so alive to sentiment and life, so infused
+with religious thought, that they live deeper and more prayerful,
+more Godly in one hour, than others do in a hundred years. Every
+emotion reveals to such the presence of the Deity. To them each hour
+is one of worship, and every object a shrine. No words of man can
+quicken their feeling to a brighter flame, for such commune with
+God. The dew and the flower, speak unto them of their father's
+protecting care. The manifestations of their daily lives, replete
+with heavenly indications, tell that God is nigh. 'Day unto day
+uttereth speech,' and to such all hours are holy. The heart which is
+attuned to life, is full of worship. Every manifestation, whether of
+joy or woe, brings God near; and the world becomes the temple.
+Religion should come through life and be lived. It is in the dress,
+in the kitchen, in the parlor, in books, in theatres, in fact in all
+forms of life. Theology is dead to the people. They want the living,
+vital present, with no dogmas nor sectarian limitations to keep
+their souls from growing."
+
+The pastor felt the force of Hugh's remarks, and the weakness of any
+argument he might bring to bear against them. The truth kept
+pressing upon his mind, and he felt that he might be obliged to
+relinquish his long-cherished opinions.
+
+Thus we lose, day by day, one opinion after another. They wear away,
+and we lay them aside like worn garments that have served their
+purpose. The greatest error of the past has been the belief that
+opinions and surroundings must be continuous and unchanging. When we
+look to Nature we learn a different lesson. She is ever changing and
+reproducing. The world's opinion holds too many back. One dare not
+go forward and live out his or her life, for fear of a neighbor or
+friend, and in this way is retarded the full flow of inspiration to
+all. Strength in one, is strength in many; and he who dares to
+strike out in an individual path, has the strength of all who admire
+the bravery of the act. Time is too precious to pattern; let each
+one seek to do his own peculiar work, for each soul has a separate
+mission upon earth, though we may all labor apparently in the same
+direction. Of a thousand persons taking the same journey, each would
+see something which none other would. Each soul we meet in life has
+a new voice, a new truth to utter, or a new method of presenting an
+already known truth to our minds. Each arouses a new sentiment
+within us, touches some tender emotion delicately, while another
+grates on our senses like harsh music, until we go searching for
+harmony and rest and we find treasures of thought within us which we
+should never have known had we not thus been driven to the depths of
+our being. All help us, then, to higher states; those who
+tranquilize us, and those who disharmonize us till we fain would
+withdraw to our soul's innermost for peace. We must look at life on
+the grandest scale, if we would find rest. A limited vision gives us
+nought but atoms, fragments floating in seeming disorder; but the
+mountain view gives the spirit all the vales and hills, and shows
+them as parts of an extensive landscape, a complete and perfect
+whole.
+
+"I think it will be a long time before I can see these things as you
+do," remarked the pastor, after a long period of thought. "I fear
+your radicalism on on this and some other questions, Mr. Wyman, will
+injure society, if broadly disseminated."
+
+"I do not think that you understand my views upon marriage, any more
+than you comprehend them on religious subjects."
+
+"I hear that you give the fullest license to men and women, to sever
+their bonds and unite themselves to others."
+
+"In one sense I do, sir; in another, nothing can be farther from me.
+I boldly assert everywhere, that men and women should not live
+together in daily inharmony, and give birth to children to inherit
+and perpetuate their angularities and discordances. You, yourself,
+if you spoke without prejudice and fear of the world, would say the
+same."
+
+"But ought they not to try to live in harmony?"
+
+"Most surely; but what if they cannot; if the magnetic life is
+consumed? If those whose union is so, merely in a legal sense, feel
+that in continuing that union they are daily losing life, power, and
+mental force, they should surely separate. I had much rather see
+such bonds severed than to witness the soul-harrowing sight I do
+every day of my life-parties fearing public opinion, and dragging
+each other down, living false and licentious lives-"
+
+"What, sir! Licentious lives?"
+
+"Certainly. Licentiousness is not all outside of wedlock. Every day
+and hour, children are being ushered into the world without love or
+true parentage-left in the hands of hired, and often vicious and
+ignorant servants, while those who should care for them, spend their
+time in folly and pleasure,--children undesired, enfeebled mentally
+and physically, with no love-sphere to enfold them-offspring of
+legalized prostitution, nothing more nor less."
+
+"I think myself, sir," said the pastor, deliberately, "that many
+children are born thus, but how does this evil affect the other form
+of licentiousness, which is so on the increase?"
+
+"It is very closely allied to it. Let married parties see that they
+give birth to pure, harmonious children, and the 'social evil' is
+blotted out forever. The evil of our life to-day is traceable to
+offspring, born of false and foolish mothers-of wild and reckless
+fathers."
+
+"It's a great evil, I own, but how can we avert it?"
+
+"By making our marriages pure and holy, and by changing our
+relations after the life of each is exhausted."
+
+"But what would become of the children?"
+
+"That is another question, and one which would settle itself. The
+order of all life is by steps; these we cannot overleap. One truth
+enfolds another. If the marriage system was perfect, or the relation
+between the sexes understood, we should not see, as we now do,
+manifestations which force us continually to question the existence
+of a God, and to be ever in search of the disturbing cause.
+Something is needed, sir, in our present social system to make us
+pure, and that something, is less restraint, and more personal
+freedom. We never become pure under restraint. All who know me, know
+that I seek to bring the sexes into pure and holy communion of
+spirit. Walls and partitions have ever produced clandestine
+movements. Boys and girls in schools should not be separated, but
+should meet each other daily; their studies, their sports be one as
+far as possible, thus blending their natures, not hividing them. If
+men lived more in the society of women they would be astonished to
+find how much purer and higher-toned their nature would become; how
+the mental assimilation was refining their wilder dispositions,
+their grosser passions. If such was your experience, you would tell
+me in one year that men and women do not mingle enough."
+
+"I think you mean well," said the pastor, "and if I had your faith
+in personal freedom, I should almost dare to hope the earth might
+see better days."
+
+"I wish you had my trust in man, and the God-life which is within
+him, waiting to be out-wrought through his deeds. But my faith
+cannot be transmitted to another; it is a matter of inward growth
+with each. It comes to us when our souls soar above the labarynthian
+forest of opinions and theories, high into the clearer atmosphere,
+untainted by the dust and smoke of our daily lives. Yes; on the
+mount must the vision ever come. We must ascend, if we would look
+beyond; but no words of ours can portray to another the glory of the
+scenes we there behold."
+
+Hugh paused, and his face seemed glowing with light. The pastor went
+home to think over the words and thoughts of an earnest soul-words
+which sank deep within him, and displaced many of his own opinions.
+
+"I do believe Hugh Wyman is a good man, after all that is said of
+him," he remarked to his wife as he opened his Bible that night for
+the closing service of the day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+
+
+
+
+The years passed by and left Dawn steadily and peacefully doing her
+work, giving men and women each day extended views of life and
+deeper consciousness of their own powers. By the aid of friends and
+her father, she had succeeded in establishing a home for orphans, of
+both sexes, in a wild and beautiful locality, where all the varied
+faculties of their minds could expand. All were required to work a
+certain number of hours each day; then study and recreation
+followed. She became daily firmer in her belief that bringing the
+sexes together was the only way to make them pure and refined. Their
+labors in the garden and field were together; as also were their
+studies and lessons. There was a large hall, decorated with wreaths
+and flowers, where they met every evening and sang, danced, and
+conversed, as they were disposed; while each day added to their
+number. The boys were trained in mechanical as well as in
+agricultural pursuits, and it was pleasing to witness their daily
+growing delicacy of deportment towards the other sex, as well as the
+tone of love and sympathy which was growing stronger between them.
+
+Dawn did not succeed in her effort at once; the majority laughed at
+and ridiculed her plan, but faithful to her inspiration, she
+continued on, and a few years witnessed the erection of a large,
+substantial building among the tall pines and spreading oaks.
+Parents who had passed "over the river," came and blest her labors
+for their children; and they who, though living on earth, had left
+their offspring uncared for, wept when they heard of the happy home
+among the verdant hills, where their children were being taught the
+only religion of life-the true art of living.
+
+The leading idea and aim was to educate these children into a
+harmonious life, and to preserve a proper balance of the physical
+and mental by an equal exercise of both. The result of her efforts
+was most gratifying and encouraging to Dawn. Her success was
+apparent to all, even to those who at first sneered at her course.
+The mutual respect which was manifest among them; the quick,
+discerning minds, and the physical activity; the well-cultured
+fields, the beautiful lawns, the gardens brilliant and fragrant with
+flowers, the neatly arranged rooms, the books, the pictures and the
+various means of study, amusement and exercise: and around all, the
+gentle and loving spirit of Dawn, hovering like a halo of heavenly
+protection, combined to form a scene which no one could fail to
+admire. It taught one lesson to all, and that was: make children
+useful and you will make them happy.
+
+Basil and his sister came often to the home, where Dawn seemed to
+preside like a guardian angel. It had been the wish of their lives
+to see such a home for orphans, a wish they never expected to see
+fulfilled. They gave largely to its support, and were never
+happier than when within its walls. Mrs. Dalton, whom the world
+pitied so generously, here found her sphere, as did many others who
+had felt long unbalanced. She taught the children music, drawing,
+and the languages, and extended her life and interest throughout the
+dwelling, to every heart therein. Thus the maternal was satisfied
+each day, and each hour she felt less need of a union which the wise
+world predicted she would enter into by the time her divorce was
+granted. Beatrice came and took Dawn's place whenever she wished to
+go to her home to refresh herself in the abiding love of her father
+and mother.
+
+"I never thought sich a beautiful thing could be on airth," said
+Aunt Polly Day, one of the eldest of the town's people, to Dawn, the
+first time that she met her after the "home" was established. "Seems
+as though the angels had a hand in't, child, and only ter think,
+you're at the head o'nt. Why, I remember the night, or it was
+e'en-a-most day though, that you was born. Beats all natur how time
+does fly. It may be I shan't get out ter see yer home fer them e'er
+little orphans, in this world, but may be I shall when I goes up
+above. Do you s'pose the Lord gives us sight of folks on airth, when
+we're there, Miss Wyman?"
+
+"I know he does. I feel that I have been helped by the angels to do
+this great work."
+
+"Well, it's a comfortin' faith, to say the least on 't; and I don't
+care how much you and your pa has been slandered. I believe yer good
+folks, and desarving of the kingdom."
+
+"I suppose no one ever feels worthy of the kingdom, Aunty; but we
+all know that if we seek the good and the true, that we shall find
+rest here and hereafter."
+
+"Them's my sentiment, and I don't see how folks make you out so
+ungodly, if livin' true, and bein' kind to the poor is
+unrighteousness, then give me the sinners to dwell among. Think of
+all the things yer pa has given me, all my life, and there's old
+Deacon Sims won't take one cent off of his wood he sells me, when
+the Lord has told him in the good book to be kind to the widow and
+fatherless. He makes long prayers 'nough, though. Well, I s'pose he
+has ter kinder reach out to heaven that way, and make up in words
+what he lacks in deeds."
+
+"He will make it all up, Aunty, when he has passed into the other
+life, and becomes conscious how little he has done here."
+
+"May be; but it's like puttin' all the week's work inter Sat'day
+night. I reckon he'll have to work smart to make up."
+
+Dawn could but smile at the quaint, but shrewd remark, and slipping
+a generous gift of money into the hand of the old lady, departed to
+spend her last evening with her father, and Herbert, who was now
+with them every evening, before going to her home among the hills.
+
+How still and white his face looks, thought Dawn, as Herbert, at
+their request, seated himself at the instrument to play. One long,
+rapt, upturned gaze, and then the fingers stole over the keys.
+
+Was it the music of the air, or some being of the upper realms
+breathing on him, infusing his soul with sound, that caused him to
+produce such searching tones, and send them quivering through the
+souls of the listeners? Now, moaning like the winds and waves; now,
+glad as though two beings long separated, had met. Then the song
+grew sweeter, softer, mellower, till every eye was flowing; on and
+on, more lovely and imploring till one could only think that
+
+  "The angels of Wind and of Fire
+  Chant only one hymn, and expire
+    With the song's irresistible stress;
+  Expire in their rapture and wonder,
+  As harp-strings are broken asunder
+    By music they throb to express."
+
+The strains died away. Herbert sank back and spoke not; but on the
+white, uplifted face they read that an angel had been with him, one
+of the upper air. No words broke the stillness of that atmosphere;
+not a breath stirred its heavenly spell.
+
+Without speech they separated, and the hallowed sweetness of that
+hour remained with them in their dreams, which came not to either
+until long after midnight.
+
+From her own experience, Dawn saw that Herbert must mingle more with
+people, and become interested in life. She knew that it would not be
+well for him to think too much of the one whom the world pronounced
+gone, but who had come nearer than any earthly relation known.
+
+"Come to my mountain home, and see my family," she said to him the
+next morning, at parting.
+
+He partly promised by words, but his air of abstraction indicated
+that he had no intention of so doing.
+
+What was that look which flashed over her features just then?
+Surely, the expression of his own dear Florence, pleading for
+something.
+
+"I will come, Dawn, and very soon," he said, this time decisively.
+
+Dawn's face lit up with another joy beside her own, as she pressed
+his hand and bade him good bye.
+
+Not many weeks elapsed before Herbert fulfilled his promise to visit
+the Home. A murmuring sound of voices fell upon his ears as he
+approached the dwelling, and as he came nearer, the beautiful air of
+"Home" touched his heart with a new sweetness. The children were
+singing their evening hymn. Just as he stepped upon the portico the
+song ceased, and Dawn came gliding from the hall.
+
+"Herbert! Welcome!" she exclaimed, with such an expression upon her
+face that no words were needed to tell him how glad she felt at his
+coming.
+
+In her own little sitting room she had his supper brought, which he
+seemed to enjoy greatly, and then they walked in the garden till the
+dew hung heavy on the grass.
+
+The days went by, and still he lingered. It was life to him to see
+so many children happy through labor and usefulness. Soon a desire
+to benefit them in some way took possession of his mind, and it was
+not long before he had so won their love by songs and stories of
+travel and history, that the evening group was not considered
+perfect without Mr. Temple, or "Uncle Herbert," as a few of the
+youngest ventured to call him.
+
+How childhood, youth, and age need each other's companionship. How
+perfect is the household group which includes them all, from the
+infant to the white-haired sire. Homes without children! Heaven help
+those who have not the sunshine of innocent childhood to keep them
+fresh-hearted.
+
+Through this sphere of life and love, he found his life revived.
+Gradually the sorrow-clouds passed away, fringed by the sunshine of
+hope which was rising in his breast.
+
+Dawn was his strength and counsellor every day. Through her he
+learned how closely we are related to the other life, and yet how
+firmly we must hold our relation to this, that we may become
+instruments for good, and not mere sensitives, feeling keenly human
+wants, but doing nothing to supply them.
+
+"I intend to devote myself to life, and help the human family in
+some way," he said to Dawn one evening, as the twilight was robing
+itself in purple clouds. "I have caught my inspiration from you, and
+will no longer moan my days away. My treasures lie beyond, and I
+will strive to make myself worthy of the union when I am permitted
+to go over the silent stream.
+
+"Do," answered Dawn, "and thus make her life richer and happier."
+
+"I make her happier? Has she not gone to rest?"
+
+"A kind of rest, I know; but does she not still live and mingle her
+life with yours each day? Therefore, whatever the quality of your
+thought and action is, she must partake of it, and for the time
+absorb it into her spirit. If your life is vague and full of unrest,
+her life will become so. On the contrary, if yours is strong and
+full of purpose, you give her strength and rest of soul."
+
+"Is it so? Are we so united after death?"
+
+"What part of Florence died, Herbert? The spirit passed out,
+carrying every faculty, every sense and emotion, to that land where
+many dream that we lose all consciousness of life, below, and remain
+in some blest state of dreamy ease. Not so. Our lives at death, so
+called, are made more sensitive to all we owe our friends on earth,
+and death is but the clasp that binds us closer."
+
+"Your words stimulate me to labor and make my dear ones happy
+through my life. O, that like you, I could know that they at times
+are with me; or, rather, that they could come and give me that
+evidence I so much need, of their presence and their power to
+commune with us."
+
+"I could not bring to you that evidence, because I know them and
+you, but I have a lovely girl who has just come to our Home, a
+stranger to you and to myself, who has this gift of second-sight,
+and if you wish, I will present her to you."
+
+"Do so, for nothing would give me more happiness."
+
+A young girl, with light hair, and blue eyes which ever seemed
+looking far away, was led into the sitting room by Dawn, and stood
+silent and speechless as soon as she had entered. Her outer senses
+seemed closed, as she spoke in a voice full of feeling these words:
+
+"Be comforted, I am here; thy wife, Florence, and thy little ones.
+The grave has nought of us you hold so dear. Believe, and we will
+come. I whispered a song to your soul one night, and your fingers
+gave it words. Farewell, I will come again; nay, I go not away from
+one I love so well. 'T is Florence speaks to Herbert, her husband,
+from over the river called Death."
+
+The child looked wonderingly around, then wistfully to Dawn, who
+motioned her to the door, that she might join her companions.
+
+"Is she always thus successful?" asked Herbert, after a long
+silence.
+
+"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes,
+it's invariably correct."
+
+"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain
+this strange gift?"
+
+"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She
+cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy
+lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically or mentally."
+
+"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful
+power."
+
+"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed
+and happy dreams."
+
+There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights"
+echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat
+by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its
+intimate connection with this life, so fraught with pain and
+pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+
+
+
+
+Tenderly Dawn looked upon her little group each day, and all the
+maternal instincts of her nature sprang to the surface, as she
+thought of their lives coming without their asking, forced upon them
+to be battled out through storm and fire. Would that all parents
+might feel the responsibility of maternity, as that pure being did,
+who gave the richest, warmest current of her life to bear those
+children on. "He who has most of heart, knows most of sorrow," and
+many were the moments of sadness that came to Dawn, as she saw
+beings who were recklessly brought into life to suffer for the want
+of love and care. But, though sorrowed, she never became morbid. She
+lived and worked by the light that was given her, earnestly, which
+is all a mortal can do.
+
+No season was complete to her which did not bring to her side Miss
+Bernard, who seemed the complement of her very self. One warm summer
+evening when the air was sweet with the breath of roses, they sat
+together; earnest words flowing from soul to soul, and their natures
+blending like the parts of a sweet melody; Dawn's high hope floating
+above the rich undertone of the deep life-tide on which the soul of
+her friend was borne.
+
+"I have often wondered," said Dawn, as she clasped the friendly palm
+more tenderly, "if my life will be as firmly rooted as your own; if
+the same rich calm will pervade my being."
+
+"If it be once full of agitation, it will surely be calm at last,"
+said Miss Bernard, in that firm tone which indicates that the storms
+of life are over, "for we are like the molten silver, which
+continues in a state of agitation until all impurities are thrown
+off, and then becomes still. We know no rest until the dross is
+burned away, and our Saviour's face is seen reflected in our own."
+
+The moonlight fell on her features just then, almost transfiguring
+the still, pale countenance. That holy moment brought them nearer
+than years of common-place emotions, or any of the external
+excitements of life. A tenderer revealing of their relation to each
+other flashed through their hearts-a relation which the silvery
+moon, and still summer night typified, as all our states find their
+analogies in the external world.
+
+"I often query," said Dawn, breaking the silence, "what portion of
+your being I respond to?"
+
+"I have often asked myself the same question. Dawn, of those whom I
+loved, and in my earlier years felt ambitious to become the
+counterpart of friends dear to my life. I have grown more humble
+now, and feel content to fill, as I know I only can, a portion of
+any soul. I can truly say, you touch and thrill every part of my
+being, if you do not fill it, and that just now you answer to every
+part. With some, my being stands still, I forget the past, and know
+no future. There is one who thus acts upon me now, though many
+others have stirred me to greater depths, and excited profounder
+sentiments,--this one calls forth the tenderest emotions of my heart
+and stimulates me to kindlier deeds. Thus do all in turn act and
+re-act upon each other, and what we need is to know just how to
+define this relation, for the emotions it calls forth are so often
+mistaken for those of love between the sexes, which marriage seals,
+and in few years reveals the painful fact, that what was supposed to
+be soul blending with soul, was only the union of a single thought
+and feeling, while the remainder of their nature was wholly
+unresponded to, its deepest and holiest aspirations unmated."
+
+"Do we not answer to each other now, because we are aglow with life,
+and each susceptible to the others emotion?" asked Dawn.
+
+"Something deeper," said her friend. "It is because we are both
+illumined by the divine essence which pervades all space and matter,
+as the air surrounds this globe. We are both full, and reflect each
+other's repletion. The theme is grand, and one which I would like to
+enlarge upon to-night, before our states are changed to those
+harsher ones, in which diviner truths are ever refracted."
+
+"I feel the force of your last assertion most thrillingly," said
+Dawn, "for I know that a purely mental condition is antagonistic to
+spiritual light. How beautiful life becomes as we grow into the
+recognition of its laws, and learn of Him, who is law itself, and
+whose daily revealings, are the protecting arms around us."
+
+"Fully realizing this fractional mating of which we have spoken, I
+am led to question if we ever find one soul who meets every want, or
+whether we wander, gathering from this one, and that one, until the
+soul has all its emotions sounded, all its sentiments aroused and
+responded to. In my deepest, most earnest questioning for truth,
+this answer seems to be the only one, which gives me rest. How is it
+with you, whose vision is clearer than my own?"
+
+"I feel that no one soul can meet all the wants of another. Yet
+seeing this principle, sufficient light does not dawn on the method
+of its application."
+
+"The light will come with the labor, as the fire flashes from the
+flint by strokes of the steel."
+
+"True," said Dawn, gathering inspiration from the words, "And I have
+often felt that the world would be better to-day, if people agreed
+to live together while life and harmony inflowed to each, and no
+longer. I think the whole moral atmosphere would be toned and
+uplifted, the physical and spiritual beauty of children increased,
+and purer, nobler beings take the place of the angular productions
+of the day, if our unions were founded on this principle. And yet no
+one mind can point out the defects of our present system, and apply
+the remedy. The united voices of all, and the efforts of every
+individual must be combined, to accomplish a change so urgently
+demanded. All men and women should fortify themselves, and see that
+no being comes through their life, unless they have health and
+harmony to transmit. Maternity should never be forced; woman's
+highest and most sacred mission should never be prostituted, and yet
+this sin is every where. When every woman feels this truth, she will
+purify man, for he rises through her ascension. He needs her
+thought, her inspiration, her influence, to keep him every hour; and
+when the world has risen to that point, where minds can mingle; when
+society grants to man the right, to pass an hour in communion with
+any one who inspires him, we shall have made an advance towards a
+purer state. To-day mankind are suffering for mental and spiritual
+association. Give to men and women their right to meet on high,
+intellectual, and sympathetic grounds, and each will become better.
+We should then have no clandestine interviews, and few, if any of
+the passional evils which now burden every community, for the
+restraints which the jealousies and selfishness of the married have
+established, in a great measure create these."
+
+She paused: and the tall trees waved their branches as though in
+benediction on her head. Beauty was every where. There, in that
+summer night, who could utter aught but truth. The soft and gentle
+light of the hour, silvering with heavenly charms every rock, and
+tree and singing brook, excited no sophistries, but rather inspired
+the soul with divinest truths. Their words died away, but the
+spirit, the influence of their thoughts, will live through ages, and
+bring, perhaps, to those who read them, states peaceful and calm.
+That the relation between men and women needs some new revelation,
+we all know, but the light comes very slowly to us. We must work
+with such as is vouchsafed to us. Revelation comes to but few, and
+such can only work and wait, for the multitude. He who has toiled up
+the mount of vision, cannot reveal to the pilgrim in the vale, the
+things his eyes behold. The landscape view cannot be handed down,
+nor the emotions of the beholder, imparted to another.
+
+The day is coming for true and earnest communion between the sexes,
+and the day is rapidly passing by when the glorious life which has
+been given us is misdirected and misapplied.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+
+
+
+
+Threads of silver shot through Dawn's silken hair, yet she grew more
+beautiful as the years matured her. The children under her care grew
+to be young men and women, and went out into the world qualified to
+live harmonious lives. She had taught them the true religion of
+life; had impressed upon their minds the importance of enjoying this
+life, that they might be prepared to enjoy the life that follows it;
+that to be happy now is to be happy forever, for the present is
+always ours, the future never.
+
+"I have one wish more," she said to her friend, Miss Bernard.
+
+"And pray tell me what modest ambition you have just now?"
+
+"It is one I have long cherished. I wish to see a hospital for
+invalids erected within sight of this Home."
+
+"You are so successful in seeing your wishes ultimated, I shall
+expect to see one in a few months."
+
+"I should be glad to see a good list of names with generous
+subscriptions by that time. I think if all the extra plate and
+jewelry of wealthy families, articles which do them no good, or
+rather the surplus (for the beautiful in moderation ever does us
+good) were sold, and the money given to such an object, very much
+might be done. I see, when I come in contact with people, the great
+need that exists for an institution where patients can be surrounded
+with all that is lovely and artistic, and their spiritual and
+physical needs attended to. Many need only change of magnetism and
+conditions, with the feeling that they have a protecting care around
+them, to change the whole tone of the system. Others are weak, have
+lost mental stamina, and need the tonic of stronger minds; while
+some need tenderness and love, and to be treated like weary
+children. Many would need no physical ministration direct, but
+spiritual uplifting, which would in time project its force through
+the mental, and harmonize the body. There are many such cases."
+
+"True, I know we need such an institution to meet those wants which
+you have so faithfully sketched; and if a few earnest men and women
+work for that end, may we not hope to see it accomplished, and the
+blue dome rising somewhere among these hills? I will contribute my
+part, and give a good portion of my time for its accomplishment."
+
+"If all felt as you do we might surely see it in our day; but we
+will hope that the need will develop such a place, for the need is
+but an index pointing to the establishment of such an institution."
+
+"I have often wondered if cases of insanity might not be treated
+more successfully than they are by scientific men."
+
+"I feel that they could be under pure inspiration, and in nine cases
+out of ten, the disharmonized mind be restored to harmony."
+
+"O, Dawn, let us work for this, and though we may never see it in
+our life, we shall have the consolation and happiness of knowing
+that we had a part in the beginning."
+
+"And the beginning is the noblest part, because the least
+appreciated. The ball in motion will have many following it, but the
+starting must be done by one or two."
+
+Their conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of a
+visitor, who proved to be Miss Weston, whom Dawn was delighted to
+see.
+
+"I had a singular feeling," she said, to Dawn "as I came up the
+steps of the portico, what do you suppose it was?"
+
+"I am not clairvoyant to-day. Be kind enough to tell me."
+
+"I felt as though I was coming to a home, one which I should never
+wish to leave."
+
+"And you need not, so long as you can be happy with me. I have long
+needed some one like yourself to help me. Will you stay?"
+
+"Dawn, may I?"
+
+"Nothing would give me more happiness, because you have come in this
+way; of your own spontaniety-simply gravitated to my life-and when
+the exhaustion of our mental and vital forces demands our separation
+we will part, and consider that as natural and agreeable to each as
+our present coming together."
+
+"O, if these principles could be understood and lived out, how
+happy, how natural we all should be; and happy because natural."
+
+"The world is slowly coming to an understanding of them, and you and
+I may help its advance by living what we feel to be true lives."
+
+"Dawn, you are life and light to every one, I shall stay here the
+rest of my life."
+
+With the clasp of true friendship about them, they lived and worked
+together. Winter came, and they sat at evening by the fire-side and
+talked of the past, and the golden future for mankind. The textures
+of their lives were fast weaving into one web of interest. Dawn's
+excess of spiritual life flowed into Edith's, who never forgot the
+hour upon the seashore, and the awakening there of her spiritual
+trust.
+
+Miss Weston proved to be one of those household angels who see
+things to do, and seeing, perform. Silently she slipped into her
+sphere of usefulness, and became Dawn's helper in the thousand ways
+which a woman of tact and delicacy can ever be.
+
+Silently the pines waved over the graves of Florence and her
+children. The snow of many winters fell on their tasselled boughs,
+while her husband learned through the beautiful philosophy, that our
+loved ones find death no barrier to the affections. Gradually he
+learned the great lesson of patience, which must be inwrought in
+every soul-that all our experiences of life are necessary, and in
+divinest order; that everything which happens is a part of the great
+whole, and that none of the bitter could have been left out of his
+cup. The unrest, produced by what he once considered his loss passed
+away, as the recognition of life's perfect discipline flowed unto
+his vision.
+
+The nearest person on earth, now, was his friend and sister Dawn,
+kin of spirit, heart and mind. Regardless of people's speech, he
+went often to her home, and received the sympathy he needed. To him,
+she was life and inspiration. Why should he not seek where he could
+find? It was her soul-life he needed, and long and earnestly they
+conversed of those interior principles which so few perceive.
+
+"I have learned by experience what true relationship may exist
+between men and women," said Dawn to Edith, one day when every
+moment had been given to Herbert, "and how God intended us for each
+other?"
+
+"And I see how your own life is increased by giving it to others, as
+you are every day doing. If I had a husband, Dawn, I should enjoy
+him most after he had been in your society. Uplifted and toned by
+the life of another, he could be far more to me,--far dearer and
+vital. I wonder women do not see this great truth."
+
+"They cannot on the merely human plane, which is ever selfish. Raise
+them out of that, place them on the mount of vision, and they would
+at once see it, and be glad to give their husbands the liberty of
+true women's society, knowing that they were extending their own
+lives in so doing. If men are unduly restrained, they take a lower
+form of freedom."
+
+"It is too true. I can now see that had I been allowed the earthly
+alliance, I might have been selfish and contracted. I almost know I
+should. O, Dawn, how much life is worth to us all; how much we have
+to thank our heavenly father for,--most of all for the clouds with
+silver linings."
+
+"I am glad that you see it thus, my friend, my sister. That is the
+soul's only sure position. Life is a great and glorious gift. If all
+its hours were mixed with pain, even to have lived is grand." Then
+with her eyes looking afar, as if discerning scenes invisible to
+others, she repeated these beautiful lines:
+
+  "Two eyes hath every soul:
+    One into Time shall see;
+  The other bend its gaze
+    Into Eternity.
+  In all eternity
+    No tone can be so sweet
+  As where man's heart with God,
+    In unison doth beat.
+  What'er thou lovest, Man,
+    That too become thou must;
+  God-if thou lovest God;
+    Dust-if thou lovest dust.
+  Let but thy heart, O man!
+    Become a valley low,
+  And God will rain on it
+    Till it will overflow."
+
+Golden bars of light lay in the room. The sun was sinking peacefully
+to rest, like a great soul who had been faithful to every duty, and
+rayed out its life on the barren places of earth. In that calm
+evening, in the greater calm of their lives they sat, gathering rest
+for the morrow, and peace for their midnight dreams-dreams which
+brought to them the forms of their loved ones who had gone but a
+little while before, and who loved them still, rippling the silent
+stream with memory-waves, till they broke on the shore and cooled
+their weary feet.
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, DAWN ***
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