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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dawn, by Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Dawn
+
+Author: Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
+
+Release Date: December, 2003  [EBook #4794]
+This file was first posted on March 22, 2002
+Last Updated: July 8, 2013
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAWN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DAWN
+
+By Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
+
+
+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, he 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.
+
+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 Aenead, 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 of Dawn, by Mrs. Harriet A. Adams
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