Elsie's Kith and Kin by Martha Finley

M >> Martha Finley >> Elsie\'s Kith and Kin

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"Hungry!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Had you no supper?"

"No, sir, nor dinner either. I haven't had a bite to eat since
breakfast."

"Strange!" he said; "but I suppose you were forgotten in the excitement
and anxiety every one in the house has felt ever since the baby's sad
fall. And they may have felt it unnecessary to bring any thing to you,
as you were quite able to go to the dining-room for it."

"I couldn't bear to, papa," she said, with tears of shame and grief;
"and, indeed, I wasn't hungry till a little while ago; but now I feel
faint and sick for something to eat."

"You shall have it," he replied, and went hastily from the room, to
return in a few minutes, bringing a bowl of milk and a plentiful supply
of bread and butter.

He set them on the table, and bade her come and eat.

"Papa, you are very kind to me, ever so much kinder than I deserve," she
said tremulously, as she made haste to obey the order. "I think some
fathers would say I must go hungry for to-night."

"I have already punished you in what I consider a better way, because it
could not injure your health," he said; "while going a long time without
food would be almost sure to do so. It is not my intention ever to
punish my children in a way to do them injury. Present pain is all I am
at all willing to inflict, and that only for their good."

"Yes, papa, I know that," she said with a sob, setting down her bowl of
milk to wipe her eyes; "so, when you punish me, it doesn't make me quit
loving you."

"If I did not love you, if you were not my own dear child," he said,
laying his hand on her head as he stood by her side, "I don't think I
could be at the trouble and pain of disciplining you as I have to-night.
But eat your supper: I can't stay with you much longer, and I want to
see you in bed before I go."

As she laid her head on her pillow again, there was a flash of
lightning, followed instantly by a .crash of thunder and a heavy
downpour of rain.

"Do you hear that?" he asked. "Now, suppose I had let you go when I
caught you trying to run away, how would you feel, alone out of doors,
in the darkness and storm, no shelter, no home, no friends, no father to
take care of you, and provide for your wants?"

"O papa! it would be very, very dreadful!" she sobbed, putting her arm
round his neck as he bent over her. "I'm very glad you brought me back,
even to punish me so severely; and I don't think I'll ever want to run
away again."

"I trust not," he said, kissing her good-night; "and you must not leave
this room till I give you permission. I intend that you shall spend some
days in solitude,--except when I see fit to come to you,--that you may
have plenty of time and opportunity to think over your sinful conduct
and its dire consequences."

CHAPTER XIII.

"I'm on the rack;
For sure, the greatest evil man can know,
Bears no proportion to the dread suspense."

"Is there any change, doctor?" asked Capt. Raymond, meeting Arthur Conly
in the hall.

"Hardly," was the reply: "certainly none for the worse."

"Will she get over it, do you think?" The father's tones were unsteady
as he asked the question.

"My dear captain, it is impossible to tell yet," Arthur said feelingly;
"but we must try to hope for the best."

Their hands met in a warm clasp.

"I shall certainly do so," the captain said. "But you are not going to
leave us,--especially not in this storm?"

"No: I expect to pass the night in the house, ready to be summoned at a
moment's notice, should any change take place."

"Thank you: it will be a great satisfaction to us to know we have you
close at hand." And the captain turned and entered the nursery, which
Arthur had just left.

Violet, seated by the side of the crib where her baby lay, looked up on
her husband's entrance, greeting him with a smile of mingled love and
sadness.

"Your dear presence is such a comfort and support!" she murmured as he
drew near. "I don't like to lose sight of you for a single moment."

"Nor I of you, dearest," he answered, bending down to kiss her pale
cheek, then taking a seat close beside her; "but I had to seek solitude
for a time while fighting a battle with myself. Since that I have been
with Lulu."

He concluded with a heavy sigh, and for a moment both were silent; then
he said with grave tenderness,--

"I fear you will find it hard to forgive her: it has been no easy thing
for me to do so."

"I cannot yet," returned Violet, a hard look that he had never seen
there before stealing over her face; "and that is an added distress, for
'if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father
forgive your trespasses.' I think I can if my baby recovers; but should
it--be taken away--or--or, worse by far, live to be a constant
sufferer--oh, how can I ever forgive the author of that suffering! Pray
for me, my dear husband," she sobbed, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I will, I do, my darling," he whispered, passing his arm about her, and
drawing her closer; "and I know the help you need will be given.

"'Ask, and it shall be given you.'

"Perhaps it may aid the effort, if I tell you Lulu did not intentionally
harm her little sister, and is greatly distressed at her state. She
thought it was Rosie's dog pulling at her skirts; and I own that that
explanation makes the sad affair a little less heart-rending to me,
though I could not accept it as any excuse for an act done in a fury of
passion, and have punished her very severely for it; that is, for her
passion. I think it is right, under the circumstances, that you should
know that I have, and that it is my fixed purpose to keep her in
solitary confinement, at least so long as the baby continues in a
critical condition."

"Oh! I am glad to know it was not done purposely," Violet
exclaimed,--though in a tone hardly raised above a whisper,--lifting her
tearful eyes to his face with a look of something like relief: "knowing
that, I begin to feel that it may be possible to forgive and forget,
especially if the consequences do not prove lasting," she added with a
sob, and turning her eyes to the little wan face on the pillow. "But I
certainly take no delight in the severity of her punishment: in fact, I
fear it may destroy any little affection she has had for her baby
sister."

"No," he said, "I am not at all apprehensive of that. When she found I
was about to punish her, she said she almost wanted me to; that she felt
like beating herself for hurting the baby, then went on to explain her
mistake,--thinking it was the dog tugging at her dress,--and I then gave
her fully to understand, that the chastisement was not for hurting the
baby, but for indulging in such a fury of passion, a fault that I have
punished her for on more than one former occasion; telling her, too,
that I intended to chastise her every time I knew of her being guilty of
it."

The sound of a low sob caused the captain to turn his head, to find his
little Grace standing at the back of his chair, and crying bitterly,
though without much noise.

He took her hand, and drew her to his side. "What is the matter,
daughter?" he asked tenderly.

"O papa! I'm so sorry for Lulu," she sobbed; "please, mayn't I go to her
for a little while?"

"No, Gracie. I cannot allow her the pleasure of seeing you, either
to-night, or for some days."

"But, papa, you said--you told mamma just now--that you had already
punished her very severely; and must you keep on?"

"Yes, my child, so far as to keep her in solitude, that she may have
plenty of time to think about what she has brought upon herself and
others by the indulgence of an ungovernable temper. She needs to have
the lesson impressed upon her as deeply as possible."

"I'm so sorry for her, papa!" repeated the gentle little pleader.

"So am I, daughter," he said; "but I think, that to see that she has the
full benefit of this sad lesson, will be the greatest kindness I can do
her. And my little Grace must try to believe that papa knows best.

"Now, give me a good-night kiss, and go to your bed, for it is quite
time you were there."

As he spoke, he took her in his arms, and held her for a moment in a
close embrace. "Papa's dear little girl!" he said softly: "_you_ have
never given me a pang, except by your feeble health."

"I don't want to, papa: I hope I never, never shall!" she returned,
hugging him tight.

Leaving him, she went to Violet, put her arms about her neck, and said
in her sweet, childish treble, "Dear mamma, don't feel so dreadfully
about baby: I've been asking God to make her quite, quite well; and I do
believe he will."

When she had left the room, the captain found himself alone with his
young wife and their little one. Again her head was on his shoulder, his
arm about her waist.

"My husband, my dear, dear husband," she murmured, "I am so glad to have
you here! I cannot tell you how I longed for you when the children were
so ill. Oh, if we could only be together always, as Lester and Elsie,
Edward and Zoe, are!"

"My love, my life," he said in low tones, tremulous with feeling, "what
if I should tell you that your wish is already accomplished?"

She gave him a glance of astonishment and incredulity.

"It is even so: I mean all I have said," he answered to the look. "I
have sent in my resignation: it has been accepted, and I have come
home--no, I have come _here_ to _make_ a home for you and my children,
hoping to live in it with you and them for the rest of my days."

Her face had grown radiant. "Oh! can it be true?" she cried, half under
her breath; for even in her glad surprise, the thought of her suffering
babe and its critical condition was present with her: "are we not to be
forced apart again in a few days or weeks? not to go on spending more
than half our lives at a distance from each other?"

"It is quite true, my darling," he answered, then went on to tell, in a
few brief sentences, how it had come about.

"It cost me a struggle to give up the service," he said in conclusion;
"and perhaps I might not have decided as I did, but for the thought
that, if I should be needed by my country at some future day, I could
offer her my services; and the thought that, at present, wife and
children needed me more, probably, than she. I felt that Lulu, in
particular, needed my oversight and training; that the task of bringing
her up was too difficult, too trying, to be left to other hands than
those of her father; and I feel that still more sensibly since hearing
of this day's doings," he added in a tone of heartfelt sorrow.

"I think you are right," Violet said. "She is more willing to submit to
your authority than to that of anybody else; as, indeed, she ought to
be: and in a home that she will feel is really her own, her father's
house, and with him constantly at hand, to watch over, and help her to
correct her faults, there is hope, I think, that she may grow to be all
you desire."

"Thank you, love, for saying it," he responded with emotion. "I could
not blame you if now you thought her utterly irreclaimable."

"No, oh, no!" she answered earnestly. "I have great hopes of her, with
her father at hand to help her in the struggle with her temper; for I am
sure she does struggle against it; and I must acknowledge, that, for
months past, she has been as good and lovable a child as one could
desire. I don't know a more lovable one than she is when her temper does
not get the better of her; and, as Gracie says, whenever it does, 'she
gets sorry very soon.'"

"My darling," he said, pressing the hand he held, "you are most kind to
be so ready to see what is commendable in my wayward child. I cannot
reasonably expect even you to look at her with her father's partial
eyes. And dearly as I certainly do love her, I have been exceedingly
angry with her to-day; so angry, that, for a time, I dared not trust
myself to go near her, I, who ought to have unlimited patience with her,
knowing, as I do, that she inherits her temper from me."

"I don't know how to believe that, my dear, good husband," Violet said,
gazing up into his face with fond, admiring eyes; "for I have never seen
any evidence of it. If you have such a temper, you have certainly gained
complete mastery of it. And that may well give us hope for Lulu."

"I do not despair of her," he said; "though I was near doing so
to-day--for a time--after hearing a full account of her passionate
behavior--her savage assault, as it seemed to be, upon her baby sister."

"Oh!" moaned Violet, bending over the little one with fast-falling
tears,--for it was moaning as if in pain,--"my baby, my poor, precious
baby! how gladly mamma would bear all your suffering for you, if she
could! O Levis! what shall we do if she is taken from us?"

"Dear wife, I hope we may not be called to endure that trial," he said;
"but, in any case, we have the gracious promise, 'As thy days, so shall
thy strength be.' And that blessed assurance, for our consolation, in
regard to her, 'He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them
in his bosom.'"

"'Tis a very sweet promise; but, oh! I don't know how to resign her,
even to Him," she said, weeping bitterly.

"Nor I; but we will try to leave it all with Him. We will rejoice if she
is spared to us; and, if not, we will be glad to know that she is so
safe, so happy with Him--gathered with His arm, carried in His bosom."

"Yes, yes," she sobbed: "it would be only for ourselves we would need to
grieve, not for her, sweet pet."

Elsie, Violet's mother, came into the room at that moment.

"My dear Vi," she said tenderly, "you are looking sadly worn and weary.
I want you and the captain to take your rest to-night, while Arthur and
I will care for baby."

"Thank you, dearest mamma," Violet replied; "but rest and sleep are
quite as necessary to you as to me; and, besides, I could not bear to
leave her."

"I took a nap on purpose to be able to sit up to-night," Elsie said;
"also, I am less exhausted by mental distress than her mother is, dearly
as I love her. Can you not trust her to me, with the doctor sharing my
vigil?"

"I could trust your nursing sooner than my own, mother," Violet
answered; "it is not that; but I cannot tear myself away from my
darling, while she is in so critical a state."

"And I," said the captain, "while warmly thanking you and the doctor,
cannot consent to leave either wife or baby to-night."

So, finding they were not to be persuaded to rest, the others left them
to watch over the little one through that night.

The morning brought a slight change for the better, yet no certainty of
recovery; but even that barely perceptible improvement, joined to the
delightful prospect of always having her husband at home, cheered Violet
greatly.

They had talked much of that through the night, beguiling the long hours
of their tedium with many a bright plan for the future, always hoping
that "baby" would be a sharer in their realization.

The captain hoped to buy or build in the near neighborhood of Ion, that
Violet need not be separated from her mother,--a separation he was most
desirous to avoid on his own account, also; for he entertained a very
high regard and warm affection for his mother-in-law, averring that it
would be scarcely possible for him to love her better were he her own
son.

He had resigned to Violet the pleasure of telling the joyful news to her
mother and the whole family, except his children; reserving to himself
the right to communicate the glad tidings to them when, and in what way,
he should deem best.

Lulu, he said, was to be kept in ignorance of it till the time of her
imprisonment expired.

At a very early hour in the morning, Elsie and the doctor came to the
relief of the watchers. Arthur noted and announced the improvement,
thus reviving hope in the anxious hearts of the parents; and before
retiring for a few hours' rest and sleep, Violet whispered to them the
news that had gladdened her heart in spite of its heavy load of grief
and fear.

They both rejoiced with her, and bade her hope for the best in regard to
her babe.

Pain, mental and physical, kept Lulu awake a good while after her father
left her; but at length she fell into a deep sleep, which lasted far
beyond her customary hour for rising, the house being very still,
because of the baby's illness, and the blinds down in her room, so that
there was neither light nor noise to rouse her.

Her first thoughts on awaking were a little confused: then, as with a
flash, all the events of yesterday came to her remembrance, bringing
with them bitter upbraidings of conscience, and torturing anxieties and
fears.

Would the baby die? oh! perhaps it was already dead, and she a
murderess! the murderess of her own little sister--her father's child!

If that were so, how could she ever look him, or anybody else, in the
face again? And what would be done to her? was there any danger that she
would be put in prison? oh! that would be far worse than being sent to a
boarding-school, even where the people were as strict and as
disagreeable as possible!

And she would be sorry, oh, so sorry! to lose the baby sister, or to
have her a sufferer from what she had done, for life, or for years, even
could she herself escape all evil consequences.

All the time she was attending to the duties of the toilet, these
thoughts and feelings were in her mind and heart; and her fingers
trembled so that it was with difficulty she could manage buttons and
hooks and eyes, or stick in a pin.

She started at every sound, longing, yet dreading,--as she had done the
previous day,--to see her father; for who could tell what news he might
bring her from the nursery?

Glancing at the little clock on the mantel, when at last she was quite
dressed, and ready for her breakfast, she saw that it was more than an
hour past the usual time for that meal; yet no one had been near her,
and she was very hungry; but, even if her father had not forbidden her
to leave the room, she would have preferred the pangs of hunger to
showing her face in the dining-room.

Presently, however, footsteps--not those of her father--approached her
door.

"Miss Lu," said a voice she recognized as that of her mamma's maid,
"please open de doah: hyar's yo' breakfus."

The request was promptly complied with; and Agnes entered, carrying a
waiter laden with a bountiful supply of savory and toothsome viands.

"Dar it am," she remarked, when she had set it on the table. "I s'pose
mos' likely yo' kin eat ef de precious little darlin' is mos' killed by
means ob yo' bein' in a passion an' kickin' ob her--de sweet
honey!--down de steps."

And turning swiftly about, her head in the air, the girl swept from the
room, leaving Lulu standing in the middle of the floor, fairly struck
dumb with indignation, astonishment, and dismay.

"How dared Agnes--a mulatto servant-girl,--talk so to her! But was the
baby really dying? Would papa never come to tell her the truth about it?
She wouldn't believe any thing so dreadful till she heard it from him:
very likely Agnes was only trying to torment her, and make her as
miserable as possible."

She had sunk, trembling, into a chair, feeling as if she should never
want to eat again; but with that last thought, her hopes revived, hunger
once more asserted its sway, and she ate her breakfast with a good deal
of appetite and relish.

But, when hunger was appeased, fears and anxieties renewed their
assault: she grew half distracted with them, as hour after hour passed
on, and no one came near her except another maid, to take away the
breakfast-dishes and tidy the room.

On her, Lulu turned her back, holding an open book in her hand, and
pretending to be deeply absorbed in its contents, though not a word of
the sense was she taking in; for, intense as was her desire to learn
the baby's condition, she would not risk any more such stabs to her
sensitiveness and pride as had been given by Agnes.

This one came, did her work, and went away again in silence; but all the
time she was in the room, Lulu felt that she was casting glances of
disgust and disfavor at her. She could not breathe freely till the girl
had left the room.

She thought surely the dinner-hour would bring her father; but it did
not: her wants were again supplied by a servant.

CHAPTER XIV.

"The dread of evil is the worst of ill."

On leaving the breakfast-room, Violet hastened back to the nursery; but
the captain, calling Max and Grace into her boudoir, said, as he took
the little girl on his knee, and motioned Max to sit by his side,--

"I have some news for you, my children: can you guess what it is?"

"Something good, I hope, papa," said Max: "you look as if it was."

"I am very much pleased with my share of it," the captain said, smiling;
"and I shall know presently, I presume, what you two think of yours.
What would you like it to be, Gracie?"

"That my papa was never, never going away any more," she answered
promptly, lifting loving eyes to his face.

"There couldn't be better news than that," remarked Max; "but," with a
profound sigh, "of course it can't be that."

"Ah! don't be quite so sure, young man," laughed his father.

"Papa, you don't mean to say that that is it?" queried Max breathlessly.

"I do: I have resigned from the navy, and hope soon to have a home ready
for my wife and children, and to live in it with them as long as it
shall please God to spare our lives."

Tears of joy actually came into the boy's eyes; while Gracie threw her
arms round their father's neck, and half smothered him with kisses.

"O papa, papa!" she cried, "I'm so glad, I don't know what to do! I'm
the happiest girl in the world!--or should be, if only the dear baby was
well," she added, with springing tears.

"Yes," he sighed: "we cannot feel other than sad, while she is suffering
and in danger. But she is a trifle better this morning, and we will hope
the improvement may continue till she is entirely restored."

"She's such a darling!" said Max; "just the brightest, cutest baby that
ever was seen! Mamma Vi has taught her to know your photograph; and,
whenever she sees it, she says, 'Papa,' as plainly as I can. She calls
me too, and Lu. Oh! I don't know how Lulu could"--He broke off, without
finishing his sentence.

"Lu didn't do it on purpose," sobbed Gracie, pulling out her
handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

"No," sighed the captain: "I am quite sure she had no intention of
harming her little sister, yet she is responsible for it as the
consequence of indulging in a fit of rage; she feels that: and I hope
the distress of mind she is now suffering because of the dreadful deed
she has done in her passion, will be such a lesson to her, that she will
learn to rule her own spirit in future."

"Oh, I do hope so!" said Grace. "Papa, does Lulu know your good news?"

"No. I have not told her yet; and I intend to keep her in ignorance of
it for some days, as part of her deserved punishment. I do not want her
to have any thing to divert her mind from the consideration of the
great sin and danger of such indulgence of temper."

"You haven't quit loving her, papa? you won't?" Grace said, half
entreatingly, half inquiringly.

"No, daughter, oh, no!" he replied with emotion. "I don't know what
would ever make me quit loving any one of my dear children."

He drew her closer, and kissed her fondly as he spoke.

"I am very glad of that, papa," said Max feelingly; "for though I do
mean to be always a good son to you, if I ever should do any thing very,
very bad, I'd not be afraid to confess it to you. I could stand
punishment, you know; but I don't think I could bear to have you give up
being fond of me."

A warm pressure of the lad's hand was the captain's only reply at first;
but presently he said, "I trust you will always be perfectly open with
me, my dear boy. You don't think, do you, that you could have a
better--more disinterested--earthly friend than your father?"

"No, sir! oh, no, indeed!"

"Then make me your confidant," his father said, with a smile and look
that spoke volumes of fatherly pride and affection; "let me into all
your secrets. Now that I am to be with you constantly, I shall take a
deeper interest than ever in all that concerns you,--if that be
possible,--in your studies, your sports, your thoughts and feelings.
You may always be sure of my sympathy, and such help as I can give in
every right and wise undertaking."

"I'll do that, papa!" Max exclaimed with a sudden, glad, lighting-up of
the face. "Why, it'll be as good as having the brother I've often wished
for!" he added with a pleased laugh; "better, in some ways, anyhow; for
you'll be so much wiser than any boy, and keep me out of scrapes with
your good advice."

"Papa," queried Grace, with a little bashful hesitation, "mayn't I have
you for my friend too?"

"Yes, indeed, my darling little girl!" he answered with a hug and kiss.
"I should like to be quite as intimate with you as I hope to be with
Max."

"With Lulu too?" she asked.

"Yes; with every one of my children."

Max had averted his face to hide his amusement at his little sister's
question in regard to her father's friendship for herself, for the
timid, sensitive little girl could hardly bear to be laughed at; but now
he turned to his father again with the query,--

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16