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Tcus les autres exemplairec originaux sont ffilmte en commenr.ant par la premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la derniAre pege qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la derniire image de cheque microffiche. selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE". le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peiivent Atre filmfo A des taux de rMuction diffffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cfichA, il ist film6 A partir de Tangle supirieur gauche, do gauche it droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nicessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. irrata to pelure, n d D 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 / SOWING AND REAPING OR, RECORDS OF THE ELLISSON FAMILY. BY MRS. J. C. YULE INTRODUCTION BY W. H. VVirHROW, i).D., F.R.S.C. TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIOOS.- MONTREAL : C. W. COAXES. ! HALIFAX : S. F. HUESTIS. 1889. Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine. by Pamelia V.mng Yvle. at the Department of Agriculture. INTRODUCTION. HAVE much pleasure in complying with the request ^:^ of my esteemed friend, the accomplished authoress of this book, in writing a brief introduction thereto. Not that I think that it needs any introduction. 1 believe that the book will make its way by its own merits without any aid of r^ne. Its stor}- is so interesting, the subject is so important, the style is so attractive, and the spirit which it breathes will be so salutary in its eflects upon the mental tastes and moral character of those who shall read it, that 1 anticipate foi- it a very widely extended sphere of influence. •'HThis is unquestionably a book with a purpose. The interests of temperance and religion are kept constantly in view. The book strikingly illustrates the Scripture motto on which its teachings are based— " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." Moreover, this is no air- drawn picture of the fancy. Its chief incidents, I am informed, are, alas, too true. The traits of character of the IV INTRODUCTION. principal actors are drawn from life ; and the aim of t\[\ book has been to keep strictly within not only the possibij but the actual, without the least exaggeration. The lessons of a book of narrative interest, which give> as this book does, vivid impressions of the scenes describe and characters portrayed, are much more forcibly tixe^ upon the mind than those conveyed by a book of didact;;^ counsel. I, therefore, heartily commend this volume ki Sunday-school and family use, with the prayer that, by th blessing of God, its important teachings may be so indelibh^ engraved upon their hearts, that t.iey sow not to the wine lest they reap the whirlwind. W. H. VVITHROW. this volume t'ci! SOWING AND REAPING; OR, RECORDS OF THE ELLISSON FAMILY. WITHROW. CHAPTER I. " He that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life ever- lasting." HAT can those bells be ringing for, Inez ? They have been sounding for the last half "hour constantly, reminding me of Poe's ". . . mellow wedding bells — Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! " " And so they are wedding bells, Annie ; have you not heard — of course you must have — that Colonel EUisson and Miss Chapman are married this morning ? " " Colonel Ellisson and Miss Chapman ! Why, Inez, you amaze me ! It is only three or four months since Miss Chapman came to Weston an utter stranger. Surely she and Hugh Ell'sson are not making such a precipitate marriage as tnis ? " 6 SOWING AND REAPINf}. / I " Of course they are ; and those are their weeding chimes ! Why, Annie, how long does it take you sober Vermont folk to make up a match, that you open your eyes so wide at this that has dragged its tedious progress through three or four almost interminable months ? A wearisome time that, I assure you, for us Western people to take in consummating so trifling an afl'air as a marriage ' Love at first sight, marriage at second, and divorce in a fortnight- that is the pace at which we travel ! " " O Inez, you exaggerate, surely ! You cannot mean me to understand that such things are common ? " " My dear cousin, 1 really do not always mean quite all I say ; yet I assure you my irony is not so very far at fault in this matter. We are a fast-moving folk in this prairie land of ours ; and in nothing, perhaps, faster than in marrying and unmarrying." " Miss Chapman is very little known in these parts, I think." " Never even heard of until last summer, when Mrs. Stevens invited her home with her from Saratoga, where they had completed a ten-days' acquaintance. Shortly after their arrival, Mrs. S. gave a party in honor of her dear, particular friend ; she and Colonel Ellisson met then for the first time ; and the result is, as you are already made aware, that they are married to-day ! " " She is very pretty, Inez — is she wealthy ? " " So report says. Weston gossip has already in- formed the world that she is an orphan, sisterless and brotherless, and heiress to half a million ! She is cer- tainly very stylish, and that means wealthy, does it not, little cousin ? " " Not in the West, Inez, if I may judge by what I have observed. A stylish lady, using the words in their popular sense, may be very rich, and she may be carrying all she is worth upon her person." " You observe us Western people rather too closely, cousin Annie. Some of us live within our means just as carefully as you Green-mountain people!" " Yes, Inez, I make honorable exception of your dear ; j * I h I t: i \^ SOWINCJ AND REAPING. mother and yourself. 1 find, however, that you are exceptions to a very general rule. But what is the matter with Miss Leeds ?" " Miss Leeds ? — oh, yes, our little dressmaker ! We are so accustomed to calling her Amy, 1 ar, I am supposed not only to have a heart, but a very large one. I am speaking ■ now of what I know. Amy Leeds has a right to congratulate herself, if she was ever engaged to Colonel EUisson, that she is so no U)nger. He is not worthv of her ! " " What do you mean, Inez ? " " Simply what I say ; that, with all his wealth, little Amy Leeds is fortunate in losing him. He is a worldly man in every sense of the word — addicted to gaiety, to strong drink, to worliUy amusements, and conse- quently could never make her happj-." " 1 do not quite comprehend you, Inez. Many women marry men with all the objectionable traits you credit Colonel EUisson with, and yet are happy with them. What is there in Miss Leeds that con- stitutes her case such an exceptional one ? " " This one fact, Annie, since you press me so closely for an explanation. Miss Leeds is a Christian — at least, professes to be such — and that, if real, sets her and Colonel EUisson as wide apart — how wide ? — fur- nish me with a suitable comparison, will you ?" " Inez ! Inez ! " " Why, Annie, cousin there are tears in your eyes 1 — how have I wounded you ? " " Inez, there is one who is as much to me as Colonel EUisson ever w^as to Miss Leeds, who is not a Chris- tian ! I have thought the question all over, and studied the Bible ; and I don't think I will be doing wrong to follow my own heart in this matter. Still your words distress me. I hope I want to do right." " Well, dear, I did not suppose my words were hav ing any sharp edge for you ; but they are spoken now, : and I do not know that I regret saying them. It is a 1 question every Christian woman must settle before] C I b V* n h C li tl o tl itl Hfl p( ;a\ ^hi pi] sa so fai ho un SOWING AND REAPING. 9 an can do to 1 think, for to sliake ott" sed not only am speak inj; • ; a right to ed to Colonel i not worthy wealth, little ! is a worldly id to gaiety, I, and eonse- ^nez. Many onable traits it are happy ;ds that con- ne so closely iristian — at eai, sets her wide ? — fur- YpuV your eyes 1 — le as Colonel not a Chris- and studied ng wrong to your words is were hav- spoken now, Hem. It is a ettle before God for herself. But I would urge you to read and ? ponder well these words — I think I can repeat tlieni, I for I have rr isons away hack in the past for remem- bering them, which, sometinie, if you like to hear, I' will give you — 'Be ye not uruMjually yokershipping have you oking and silly bird bo reproof, trances of read the rself f loin to pore in hopes you " And now, when your butterfly has flitted away to another flower, when your idol has slipped from the hands that would never have relinquished their hold, had not that hold been broken by an irresistible fate, you solace yourself with the thought that it is because you are righteous that God has interfered ! " A terrified look came into the face of the suftering woman. The passionate idolatry of those eight almost wasted years of youthful vigor loomed up like a mountain between her soul and God, and seemed to hide His face forever from her ; while the upbraiding voice in the depths of, her own heart still cried out ajrainst her. " Righteous ! What hour of all those years has there been into which you have not brought this object of your vain worship ? Count, if you can, the days, the weeks, the months you have lavished upon him ; and then compare them with the paltry minutes you have devoted to God and His cause. What have you planned, what hoped for, what looked forward to, thah has not included him ? while the great consecra- tion to which you pledged yourself before God in your baptism has been ignored, forgotten ; and yet you dare think of yourself to-day as rif/hteoits ! " The poor girl groaned aloud, and dropping the book, fled to the farther corner of the room, and cowering dov Juried her face in her hands, while deep-drawn sobs attested the anguish that wrung her heart. At length the sobs ceased, the heavy sighs became less frequent, and after an hour she rose, washed her face, brushed her hair, and quietly returned to her work. That hour to Amy Leeds might have been the beginning of a deeper, sercner faith in God, a loftier purpose, and a holier walk than her life had previously known. It rpAght have been the dawn of a day from which to daxe, not only through this life, but through eternity, with ever-increasing satisfaction. Many Christians have reached such a crisis, and from that hour risen to closer communic:i and fellowship with God; while others, failing to profit by the precious 12 SOWING AND REAPING. lessons of chastisement, have drifted farther and farther from the sweet resting-place they might have found ; and in the end looked back, not upon a life rich in patient, submissive service, but upon the arid waste of a fruitless and unprofitable existence. CHAPTER II. Amy Leeds was the only daughter of a Christian minister who, in the early days of Western emigration, had left his home in New England, and with his young wife had settled over a small church scattered over a sparsely peopled territory in the vicinity of one of the rapidly rising towns of the West. Though earnest and devoted, and possessed of con- siderable culture, his income was always small, the people of his charge were poor, and changes, either by removal or death, so frequent, that the pastor, struggle as he might, had never possessed much beyond the commonest necessaries of life — a competence was some- thing he never enjoyed, or even hoped for. Little Amy grew up in her father's house a shy, thoughtful child, full of passionate longings for an education which poverty put forever beyond her reach, and aspirations for knowledge that were not likely ever to be gratified. Her father taught her what he could ; but the care of a small farm, in addition to his duties as a minister, left him very little time to bestow upon the education of his daughter whose four or five months' schooling out of the year was often broken in upon by the necessity there was for her help at home, and whose life, after the age of twelve or thirteen years, was passed in the almost unbroken monotony of household toil. In t^ e few pauses of work, and during the long evenings of winter. Amy studied diligently ; and, by the time she was fifteen, she had pretty well exhausted the small stock of books that composed her father's SOWING AND REAPING. 13 library, and having acquired a fair knowledge of reading and arithmetic, with a little grammar and geography, and some skill in penmanship, she was looked upon in the neighborhood as quite accom- plished ; and her parents congratulated themselves that her education was finished. There was one book — the Bible — with which from her early childhood she had been acquainted. Under the careful training of her parents, she had been accustomed to the daily study of the Scriptures, and when comparatively a child gave evidence of having received these truths into her heart ; and, being bap- tized by her father, she became a member of the church of which he was pastor. When she was sixteen her mother, who had always been delicate, died suddenly, leaving in the pastor's home a baby boy, sickly and ailing, toward whom it now devolved upon Amy to act the part, at once, of sister and mother. Four little brothers had one after another gladdened her humble home for a few brief weeks or months, and then the tiny hands had grown chill, and the waxen lids closed over the soft, bright eyes, and each in turn had been laid away among the flowers of the parsonage-garden There they were, four smooth little graves at the foot of the garden, and at the head of each Amy had placed a rose-bush and a tuft of violets, and then gone back uncomplainingly to her brother- less and sisterless lot. But one spring morning another baby brother was laid in her arms, and before she had time to kiss the little sleeping face a tearful cheek was laid against her own, and a voice whispered, " Come quickly, Amy, your mother wants you ! " " My darling, he is your own baby ! Should it please God to spare him, bring him up to know and love the Saviour ; make your poor father as happy as you can, and meet me by-and-by in Heaven ! " Then the lips faltered, the eye-lids drooped, and Amy Leeds was motherless. 14 SOWING AND REAPING. m A year passed — a year of unwearied watchfulness and care — before either Mr. Leeds or his daughter could believe that the motherless baby was not destined to follow the other little ones to a premature grave. But when the little fellow actually began to walk, they grew hopeful, and set themselves resolutely to the important duty of providing him with a name. "Give him your own name, father," said Amy. " It is a nice name, and it would be pleasant to me to hear it again in the house as I used to before dear mother left us." " No, my daughter," her father answered, sadly, " I prefer he should bear his mother's name. It is a very dear name to me, and one I always hoped to revive in my own family. His name shall be Gordon." And so Gordon became the baby's name from that day. " We are going to have new neighbors, Amy ; " said the minister to his daughter a few weeks after, as he returned one evening from a pastoral visit among his people. " Indeed, father 1 " "Yes — a wealthy man from the East has bought the large tract of land between here and town, known as the ' Wilson property,' and which has been leased in small sections for the last thirty years. The new proprietor is coming here to settle, and I am inexpres- sibly grieved about it, as it is going to necessitate the removal of some seven or eight families of our people. It will nearly break up our little church." " But the leases are not out, are they, father ? " " No ; but Mr. EUisson, the new comer, offers to pay the tenants liberally if they will give him possession at once, and they have all agreed to his terms. He has selected the site for his mansion, and the work of building will commence at once. The whole matter has been arranged within a few days — I did not have a hint of it until this evening. It is going to break us up altogether ; fully half of our membership will go ! " SOWING AND REAPING. 15 that " And more than half our Sunday-school, father ; what are we going to do ? " " It is very little we can do, I fear. If it were not for our farm, I would be inclined to pack up and go with our people. But the little boys and your mother, Amy, are all buried here on the place : and besides, if I should be taken from you before I could get another paid for, you and Gordon would be homeless. Per- haps, after all, I am not strong enough for the new country." " No, father, you are not. Our farm will keep us comfortably now, and we must stay with thu few of our people who will remain, and do what we can to keep our work moving on. Possibly Mr. and Mrs. Ellisson will be a help to us — I do hope they are Christian people." " From what I hear, I think Mr. Ellisson is a very worldly man. It is not likely, even though he should prove otherwise, that he would have much sympathy with us who are all poor, hard-working people." " All rich people are not proud, father ; and though he should not have much interest in us himself, yet his family may be different. Possibly we may have some compensation for all we lose. I am trying to be hope- ful, you see." " Which is all very well in itself, doubtless, but in this case quite groundless ; for he has no family except an invalid wife, an only son, and a throng of domes- tics. We can build no hope upon the Ellissons, Amy." A few months sufficed to confirm the pastor's fears. His flock was scattered, the pretty white cottages that had dotted the broad acres of the " Wilson property " had been removed or pulled down, the boundaries of the different farms had disappeared, and a stately mansion, already known as " Prairie House," from amid its tasteful and eleojant surroundings overlooked the beautiful domain thatJiad once afforded homes for so many happy families. 16 SOWING AND REAPINQ. " Can I assist you, Miss Leeds ? " Amy looked up from the useless baby-carriage in which she had been wheeling her little brother, and saw Hugh Ellisson standing near her. She was half a mile from home, and already the patter of rain-drops had commenced, when suddenly the frail axle of the little carriage snapped as she was hurrying with her precious charge to escape the shower, and the tiny vehicle became useless. Seeing that it must, for the time being, be aban- doned, she drew it to the roadside, took the cushions under one arm, and, clasping little Gordon closely with the other, was turning away when the young man addressed her. Without waiting for her answer, he stretched his hands for the child, who, attracted by the handsome, smiling face, extended his little arms, and the next minute was clinging to the young man's neck. " Here, take my arm, Miss Leeds ; my umbrella is sufficient for us all," and gladly accepting the proffered aid. Amy suffered herself to be hurried rapidly towards home. As young Ellisson opened the parsonage door, and placed the child safely within, the shower burst with sudden violence upon them. "Come in, Mr. Ellisson, till the shower is over,"sai(' Amy, tossing her hat upon a table ; and without wait- ing for a second bidding, he entered. " A sudden shower, Mr. Ellisson ! " said the pastor, emerging from his study, and shaking hands kindly witfi the young man, " Thanks for your timely escort of these young stragglers of mine ! But where is the child's carriage, Amy ? " " It was unreasonable enough to break down, father, just as the shower began," replied Amy, laughing at the recollection of her recent discomfiture : " and but for Mr. Ellisson's kindness, baby and I would have been well drenched ! " Then, le«ging her father to enter- tain their guest, she hastened out to prepare tea. In a few minutes it was ready, and as the rain still SOWING AND REAPING. 17 continued the young man accepted the urgent invita- tion of the pastor and his daughter to sit down with them. ' Amy Leeds looked very sweet that evening as, with flushed cheeks and bashful eyes she presided at the table, dividing her time between the tea urn and her baby brother, and listening with pleased interest to the conversation of her father and their guest who, to her inexperienced mind, seemed far more than all she had ever before dreamt of nianly grace and beauty. Nor was young EUisson unmindful of his pretty hostess, as the interest with which he listened to her few utterances and watched her tender, motherly ways with the child, abundantly testified. Before the meal was over the rain had ceased, the setting sun shone forth with unwonted brilliancy, and as Amy bade her guest good-night, and saw him go away in the evening sunshine, it seemed to her, though why she could not tell, that the glory of her young life had gone v/ith him, and that the world he left behind him had grown suddenly and strangely altered. From that hour the young girl's life was never more the same as it had been. The acquaintance so casually begun did not end with that evening's inter- view ; and in a few months the rich man's son had become an almost daily guest at the pastor's house. The grave, thoughtful father would gladly have had it otherwise ; for much as he admired the handsome, attractive youth, he saw much deeper beneath the sur- face than the dazzled eyes of his daughter could see ; and he felt sure that young Ellisson was not the man to give lasting happiness to his child. More than once he had been shocked by his flippant way of speaking of sacred things, and startled to detect upon his breath the smell of wine. At first he cautioned his daughter, then remonstrated, and finally entreated her to break off the dangerous intimacy, but in vain. Docile and compliant in most things, in this alone she steadily resisted hig ptwith- id her coining ich oc- l hope; , passed ing out carriage 3 death- nd con- she had 3ustling riage of ne most of the critical of the minute- •e, their is imme- ;rer upon led to be fore her interest the Old , intend- ing, when tired of travel, to rest for a few months in Florence, and then return to tlieir beautiful home in the West. CHAPTER V. Miss Leeds was missed for months from the few select families whom she had been accustomed to serve. Applicants invariably met the same reply — she would make no engagements during the winter — she was not quite strong, and felt the need of rest. But when the spring came again, she returned (juietly to her employment, a little slighter, a little paler than formerly, but otherwise, outwardly, un- changed. Her great sorrow had passed over her, leav- ing ineffaceable traces upon her character, but produc- ing less valuable spiritual results than might have been expected. For a few weeks, indeed, she had turned eagerly to the source of true consolation for rest and peace, and had found all she sought. But when she began truly to realize how much she had lost during those years of worldly ambition and self-seeking, how responsibilities had accumulated while spirituality had declined ; when she came to think of going back to the point in her religious life from which she had diverged so far, of lifting again the cross of obedience and self-sacrifice,' of subjecting all her aims, affections and desires to the standard set up for her in God's Word, the task seemed altogether too great, her aspirations toward God and holiness too weak, her long-cherished craving for wealth, position, and worldly consequence too strong to be overcome. While she sometimes prayed in secret tor strength to rise, she failed to put forth the effort i requisite to ensure self -conquest, and carry on the per- sistent fight of faith, by which alone any Christian can attain to the conscious possession of the strength [that may be his in Christ. 'T*" 30 SOWING AND REAPING. I *.' m i, .11 Another trouble, too, confronted her, of which, dur- ing those years of devotion to self and selfish aims, she had seldom given herself the trouble to think. The moral and religious training of her brother had been almost entirely neglected. For his worldly in- terests she had been unduly anxious. His manners and deportment she had most scrupulously guarded : but his spiritual nature had been like a neglected garden, and now she found it full of dispositions, tempers, and opinions that had grown too strong and deep-rooted for her hand either to remove or restrain. Had she been careful to retain the influence over him which she possessed when he was three or tour years old ; had she, in patient, prayerful teaching, and in humble, devout example been to him what her own mother had been to her, how different might have been the result! But those precious years of im- pressible childhood, when, like a tender twig, the boy- ish nature might have been bent almost as she willed, were gone ; the sapling had struck strong, deep roots ; the once flexible trunk had grown stiff' and unyield- ing, and too late, she woke to the bitter consciousness that her arm was too weak now to deal with the rank growths of evil that had sprung up in the sweet young life committed to her charge ; and that only God could avert the consequences of her long, perhaps fatal, neglect. Happy would it be if the experience of Amy Leeds were confined to herself. But, alas ! there are thou- sands of mothers who every year waken from spiritual sloth to the same dreadful discovery ! Their little boys — the bright, imperishable jewels that God placed in their bosoms to keep bright and pure for Him, have imperceptibly grown away from them ; while they have slept, the enemy has done his fatal work upon their sons ; and when at length they waken, it is only to shed vain tears, and pour vain prayers over the blighted youth and ruined manhood, before whose first years God set such glorious possi- bilities. SOWING AND REAPING. m 1, dur- aims, think, jr had lly in- anners arded : fleeted sitions, ng and estrain. ee over or tour ing, and ler own tit have of im- bhe boy- e willed, ip roots ; unyield- jiousness the rank et younj? od could ps fatal, ay Leeds i,re thou- spiritual le jewels :ight and v&y from done his gth they )Our vain manhood, ous possi- 1: The seed-time of childhood will not be lost. If mothers, if parents, do not improve it, there are dark, unseen foes that will. There are cruel tempters with- out and within that gloat with eager eyes over the young life. The seeds of ruin are dropping thick and fast around it and over it ; and the harvest, i* not of life, will be of death ! For a while after Colonel Ellisson's marriage, Amy felt that duty as well as self-respect demanded that she should leave the neighborhood, and go away to some distant town, and there endeavor, both for her own and her brother's sake, to begin life anew. It would be much easier, so her judgment told her, in some other locality to forget the past, to bury her sorrow, and enter upon a life of dignified, womanly independence, than there, where she would often have to see a face it was now her dutv and interest to for- get at once and forever. Besides, it would be much better for Gordon to start afresh, under new influences and among difterent asso- ciates, than remain longer among companions with whom he had already grown too intimate, and whose influence over him was daily becoming more and more objectionable. But while reason, judgment, and conscience all said go, her heart still pleaded, ostensibly, for the old home, but really — as she would have seen, had her self-blindness been less — for the neighborhood of Colonel Ellisson, for the possibility of an occasional gUmpse of his face, for the vague, undefined hope of sometimes hearing his voice. She knew well there was madness in all this — nay, guilt ; for was he not as truly lost to her as though death had set its icy barriers between them ? Sometimes she would struggle fiercely with her conscience ; but she had too long tampered with that faithful monitor, too often silenced it with sophistries, or bribed it with well-meant promises never fulfilled, because made in vain confidence in her own strength, and destined to fail in the moment of temptation or :t ij^ ■P; iii! SOWING AND REAPING. irresolution. So, at length, the farm, which could not be sold until Gordon was of age, was leased again for a term of years, the cottage was repaired, the flower- garden brightened up by the addition of a few choice plants and shrubs, a woman, recently widowed, and whose great want was a quiet home, was hired for a small consideration to take charge of the house ; and thus the early summer found Gordon still at school in Weston, and Amy again pursuing her accustomed work, and relapsing into a dreamy sort of submission ^;0 what was inevitable. There is, however, a kind of submission which is not acfiuiescence. ^my yielded to what she could not change ; but deep in her heart lurked sentiments and feelings which she seldom now attempted to analyze ; and which, had it been possible, would have reversed the whole history of those years. Her submission was only the quiet waiting of the unconquered will that would, were the opportunity given, grasp its object in defiance of chastisement or rebuke, and cling to it with unyielding determination. Gordon was not what is commonly considered a " bad boy;" but he was fast developing those traits of character which ultimately determine a boy's right to be placed in that list. Naturally warm-hearted and affectionate, and easily influenced by those he loved, he possessed, withal, a strong will ; and from being generally more successful in school than the majority of boys in his classes, he had grown not a little conceited and self-important, and inclined to look upon himself as a better judge of what was proper for him to do than almost any one else was supposed to be. Partly through having never known parental re- straint, and partly from being so much separated from his sister, he had acquired notions of independence and the right to choose his own course, not easy always for his sister either to control or direct. While he loved her very dearly, he was still growing more and i \' SOWING AND REAPING. 33 iild not ain f or tlower- r choice ed, and d for a se ; and ehool in astomed )mission isidered a e traits of 's right to and easily , withal, a successful classes, he •important, 3r judge of 3st any one arental re- irated from Ldependence easy always While he ig more and more impatient of her authority, and was beginning to show unmistakably that he did not consider it (juite a manly thing to obey a woman, or even to accept her advice unless it chanced to harmonize with his own wishes and plans. When his sister went with him to church, he usu- ally accompanied her cheerfully ; but when she ur^i^ed him, as she occasionally did, to attend Sunday-school, he very decidedly refused to go. " I am not going there, Amy! ' he said, one day, after she had been vainly striving to shake his resolution, "to say Bible verses among those little fellows! — I am getting rather too big ! " — and Gordon looked down upon himself with the complacency of the boy who begins to feel himself far up toward the coveted dignity of manhood. " If you had wanted me to go to Sunday-school and to like it, you should have got me used to it by tak- ing me there when I was little, and letting me grow up into it like the fellows in Mr. Harvey's class. You couldn't get one of them to stay away from Sunday- school, if you'd hire him. Of course they like it-— they've never known anything else ! " " But, Gordon, if you will only go, I will get you into Mr. Harvey's class, where the boys are all as big as you or bigger!" " The very thing I don't intend to do, though ! Wouldn't I make a fine show of myself ? Why those fellows know the Bible from end to end, while I hardly know the difference between the Bible and the Almanac ; and, for that matter, don't want to ! " — and Master Gordon Leeds walked to the window with the air and manner of one who feels that he has quite outgrown the Bible and the necessity for Bible know- ledge. " 0, Gordon, Gordon ! " cried his sister, tears spring- ling to her eyes, " what would our dear parents say if they could hear you speak in such an irreverent Imanner ! " " Well, they don't hear it, as it happens ! " and i I ^ 34 SOWING AND REAPING. \ ' III iili! Gordon commenced whistling in the most placid unconcern, " Gordon, dear ! I cannot hear you talk in this way ! " cried Amy coming to his side, and layin g her hand upon his shoulder. " If you do not care for my feelings, you must, at least, treat the memory of your parents with respect. 0, Gordon, if you ever become as good a man as dear papa, I shall have nothing higher to wish for you. It is, in part, I know, my fault that you know so little of the Bible ; and I want you now to make amends by beginning at once to read and study it for yourself." "/ make amends for yoitr fault, Amy ! Well, that's cool ! I guess you'll have to make amends for your own fault ! — that's what we boys are expected to do at school ! " — and, shaking his sister's hand from his shoulder, Gordon went on with his whistling, quite unconscious of the arrow with which he was piercing her heart. A long pause in the conversation ensued, during which Amy walked to the mantel- piece, and leaning her arm upon it was weeping silently, less on account of her brother's words than the bitter self- upbraiding of her own heart. "I'll tell you what it is, Amy," said Gordon at length, walking over to his sister's side, " I don't like either to go to church or to Sunday-school. Mr. Har- vey just talks me stupid. I can't understand ; and the first thing I know I am either nodding off to sleep, or else doing something that you punch me for ; and as for Sunday-school, as I said before, I shan't — but, Amy, you are crying ! What's the matter ? Am I really so awfully bad ? Oh, quit now ! I'd rather you'd scold me fifty times over ! " and seizing his pocket-handkerchief, he began vigorously brushing away his sister's tears. "There, now, if you won't cry, I'll make all the fires, and chop all the wood, and bring all the water, and by-and-by I shall be such a famous lawyer, or judge, or preacher, that you will be as proud as a duchess of your big, smart brother ! " ing or II '• ■ SOWINO AND UEAPINO. 3/ Amy lauglied, as she always did, at Gordon's " funny speeches," as she called them, and Gordon, who was very proud of his ability to make his sister laugh, went away full of that secret consciousness of power over her, which had of late become usual with him whenever their wills came in conflict. CHAPTER VI. Early in autumn, Weston was thrown into another fever of excitement and curiosity by the return of Colonel Ellisson and his bride from their year's so- journ in the Old World ; and all the particulars relat- ing to them and their movements, that could be gathered up, were again spread before the eager public. But notwithstanding all the newspaper patronage, and the fawning sycophancy of the few whose wealth or position placed them upon a footing of social equality with the Ellissons, they were little seen in Weston ; and the winter passed with none of the brilliant parties at Prairie House that had been looked for, and with very few glimpses of either Colonel Ellisson or his young wife, except when he visited Weston on business, or dropped into the "Metro- politan " for lunch with a friend. Miss Leeds had only seen his face twice as he passed her in his carriage, with no sign of recognition ; and the long winter brought her many a heart-ache, not unmixed with envy, as reports reached her almost daily of Mrs. Ellisson's beauty and grace. One bright evening, in the beginning of summer, as Amy was resting herself in her little parlor after a day of more than ordinary fatigue, she was startled by unusual sounds in the street, and before she could reach the window Gordon burst into the room. " Amy, Amy," he cried, " do come here ! some- body's horses have ran away, and upset the carriage almost at our gate ; and I guess there's a lady killed ! " J ■ m i i i;l ■r' III! 'I ■ ' i! i'^iliil 36 SOWING AND REAPINCi. Atny hastened to the scene of the disaster to find Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, already on the spot, vainly endeavoring to restore animation to the in- sensible lady who was lying by the roadside, while the terrified horses, with the remains of the broken vehicle Hying at their heels, were already scarcely discernible in the distance. Amy untied the lady's hat and loosened her gar- ments, and was chafing her hands while Mrs. Green ran to the house for restoratives, when a quick step startled her, and looking up she saw Colonel EUisson. " Eva, Eva ! " he cried, without noticing the white face of anguish that was lifted towards him, " Eva, my wife, speak to me ! " but no voice replied, and with an exclamation of horror he looked round for aid. " Amy, Miss Leeds, is this you ? — pardon my rude- ness ! — is there no one who can go for a doctor — here, my boy, cannot you go ? " " Run, Gordon, dear ! — but whom shall he bring, Colonel EUisson ? " " Bring Doctor Eberley, my boy — bring him quickly, and you shall not lose your reward," — and Gordon, seeming to fly rather than run, so great was his ex- citement and terror, was soon far on the way to Weston. "Bring her into the house, Colonel EUisson," said Amy, gathering up the scattered robes and cushions ; and, lifting the pp strate form as though she had been a child, Colonel EUisson followed. Amy led the way to the " spare room," turned back the snowy cover of the bed, threw up the windows to admit the fresh evening air, and then her head grew giddy, her sight darkened, and she sank senseless at the feet of the man who for years had trampled upon her heart-strings, and whose sudden appearance under her own roof, together with the terrible excitement of the occasion, had proved too much for her strength. Colonel EUisson stooped to raise her, but Mrs. Green waived him back. " It's only a faint — she ain't overly strong," said the SOWING AND REAPING. 37 tind spot, e in- wbile roken ircely ■ Sa^^- Green c step lisson. white " Eva, J with d. • rude- — here, bring, uickly, ordon, his ex- i^ay to said shions ; id been d back iows to grew ;s at the pon her der her o£ the it Mrs. said the woman ; and liftinj^ the slight form in her strong arms, she carried her to lior rouin, and laid heron a couch. With little more ado than one would make undress- ing a sleeping baby, Mrs. Green disrobed her charge, and placing her in hud poured a few drops of some- thing from a bottle, and as soon as Amy began to revive she placed a cup to her lips, exclaiming : " Here, dearie', you drink this, and then go right to .sleep ; you're just tired out ! " Amy swallowed the draught (juickly, and turning her white face wearily upon the pillow, was soon in a deep .sleep. Mrs. Green watched her closely for a few minutes, then brushing back the hair from her forehead, and smoothing and tucking up the (juiltn, she said softly to herself, as she paused to take another look : "Poor little dearie ! she's sound enough asleep now ; and I do hope they won't turn the house upside down, and raise bedlam all night; for if they get her waked up, as like as not .she won't sleep another wink ; and if she don't, she'll be down sick to-morrow !" and, with an increased sense of responsibility, Mrs. Green hur- ried away to look after " the spoons and things." " It's always best to keep on the .safe side; there's no knowin' what folks might do ! " she said softly, and with a satisfied air as she locked the last cupboard, and secured the kitchen against all intruders ; and then hastened to see if there was anything she could do for Mrs. Ellisson. "What time is it, Phoebe?" Amy had been awakened by the gentle opening of the door as Mrs. Green peeped in to see that she was all right, and starting up in bed with a confused sense of something unusual havipg taken place, she repeated the question in a louder tone. " Now you lie right down again, and git a nice long rest," replied Mrs. Green, drawing the window-cur- tains close to keep out the early sunshine; " there ain't no need of your gitting up for hours yet ! " and Amy i: 11 H 38 SOWING AND REAPING. r"li sank wearily back upon her pillow, and tried to recall her scattered thoughts. " Stay, Phoebe," she cried, calling the woman back, "what is it? — why yes — the Ellissons — are they gone? — how came I here in bed ? — did Mrs. Ellisson re- cover ? " There, now ! I knew just how 'twould be when you come to think of it ! why in the world didn't you stay asleep an hour or two longer ? " and Mrs. Green began vigorously tucking in the quilts again. " No, no, Phoebe, this will not do, I must rise ! " cried Amy, now recallinij everything. " Not just yet, Miss Amj^ you ain't wanted. There's been trouble here all nii^ht : but she's a very little better now, and the doctor thinks mebby she'll get round airain it' she has the best of care." " 0, Mrs. Green ! here I've slept all night when I should have been caring for her ! How came I here ? I've no recollection of coming to my room last night." " Of course you hain't, dearie ! — how could you have, when you was in a dead faint ? You just went down like a dead creetur right at Colonel Ellisson 's feet. He was goin' to pick you up, but 1 wouldn't let him touch you. Tliinks I, ' you've got trouble enough of your own without helpin' me in mine;' so I picked you up as though you had been a feather, and tucked you into bed, and when you come to a little I gave you a drop of perrygorric, to put you off to sleep. I knew there was goin' to be trouble enough in the house before morning, and I meant you shouldn't lose your night's rest for anybody. Now you lie still, and I'll be back in a minute or two — I've got something to show you that will do your eyes good ! " and Mrs. Green slipped away with a noiseless step, leaving Amy anxious and wondering. She had not long to wait, however, for in a few minutes the woman returned bringing in her arms a little white bundle which she laid carefully upon the pillow, and turning down a corner of the covering, displayed the face of a tiny, sleeping baby. , SOWING AND REAPING. me? /hen idn't Mrs. in. crie'l lere's little 11 get hen I here? light." I have, down feet. et bim igb of icked icked I gave eep. I in the n't lose ill, and ling to d Mrs. ig Amy li a few arms a pon the overing, "Now ain't that lovely, Miss Amy?" cried the woman, laying her fat palms together, and bending with a tender, motherly grace over the little sleeper ; ain't it just lovely ? — seems to me she's the perfect pictur' of my Caroline the first time I saw her pretty face ! However, she didn't stay long to comfort me ! I've got seven of 'em in heaven, dearie, just as pretty little creeturs as this, tho' they were mine ! but laws mercy, child ! what's the matter ? are you goin' to faint away again ? " " No, no, Phoebe, I'm not going to faint ! " and Amy took the baby tenderly in her arms, and gazed long and wistfully into the unconscious little face; then, handing it back to Mrs. Green, she said coldly, v/iiile her face grew almost rigid under the torturing pain that was gnawing at her heart : — " Of course it is Mrs. EUisson's baby ; has she seen it, Phoebe ? " " Oh, dear, no ! she's very low ; but the doctor thinks she may possibly get round again. The Colonel was goin' to send right off, as soon as it got daylight, for a nurse ; but I wouldn't hear a word oi it. I've taken cat e of dozens of the little tots, and know exactly what to do for them ; and besides, I don't want any- body in the house to wait on that ain't needed ! " " You are undertaking too great a charge, Phoebe ! — however we will see by-and-by what arrangements can be made. Is Colonel EUisson here yet ?" "Yes, Miss Amy; his wife dozed off awhile ago, and he's getting a bit of a nap on the sofa. So while the baby's asleep I'll run out and see about breakfast." Amy sat long with folded hands and bowed head, battling with torturing thoughts, and straggling to nerve herself for the ordeal that was awaiting her. But her conflict was not in the spirit of prayerful waiting upon God that it should have been. Prayer had been too long resorted to by her rather as a duty than as a pleasure, or from any special sense of need, and in seasons of distress rather than in those of per- vmt ' » iii! lii! Ilili! li m SOWING AND REAPING. plexity and doubt, when, perhaps, almost more than in any other, special guidance and grace are needed. At length, wearied with the conflict, she rose, dressed herself with scrupulous care, and proceeded to the dining-room, where she feund breakfast already wait- ing; and calling her brother, they took their meal almost in silence. " Lay the table carefully for Colonel Ellisson, Phoebe," said Amy, rising, " and I will sit with Mrs. Ellisson while he breakfasts. Tlien we will see what arrangements for the future can be made." Colonel Ellisson rose as Amy entered the room, and half-extendtd his hand, but she only bowed, and with- out speaking walked to the bedside, where sho acood for a few seconds looking down upon the white, sleep- ii:;^ face before her; then beckoning him to follow, she led the way into the adjoining room, and closed the door softly behind her. " Colonel Ellisson," she said when they were alone, " I deeply regret the sad trouble that has come to you so suddenly, and beg that you will rest assured of receiving all the sympathy and aid in my power to give. AH that my house affords is at your service until Mrs. Ellisson is able to be removed ; and I trust you will make both yourself and her as comfortabl' as possible while you remain. But before we consiii^; any plans, will you please walk out to breakfai;t , and without waiting for the thanks he was about to offer, she led the way to the breakfast-room. "Mrs. Green will serve you," she saiti pointing to a seat at the table ; " I will sit with Mrs. Ellisson in the meantime;" and turning quickly away, Amy has- tened to the sick-room. Mrs. Ellisson looked quickly up, as she entered the room, and her large biown eyes tilled with tears as Amy said, softly : " I hope you are comfortable, Mrs. Ellisson ? " "More so than I could expect. I suppose I am speaking to Miss Leeds ; Hughey — that is my husband j SOWING AND REAPING. M m, and 1 with- - blood !, sleep- follow, [ closed •e alone, ! to you ured of )Ower to service I trust fortaW' consiiK; ikfa^it about to ting to a on in the my has- tered the tears as ible, Mrs. —has been telling me wliere I am, and that you fainted last night. Are you better ? " The voice was singularly sweet, and Amy felt her heart suddenly yearn toward the speaker. Obeying the almost irresistible impulse of the moment, she stooped and kissed the white, shapely hand that was resting on the counterpane. " Yes, Mrs. Ellisson, I am better, and glad to see you so comfortable. Do not talk, however, it may weary you." " Dear Miss Leeds, you are very kind ! My husband told me he was sure you would not be angry with me for all the trouble I have made you. See, they have dressed me all in your nice things ; and — and — do you know, dear — " and motioning Amy to stoop lower, she whispered softly, " do you know, they say I have a little baby — a wee, sweet, little girl ! Wherever the nurse found clothes for it I don't know ; but Hughey says she has it all dressed up so sweetly in a pretty white dress, I do want to see it — please bring it to me for a little minute ! " Amy's heart gave a painful throb as she remembered the little trunk full of pretty, unused linen tlT|it had been made by her own mother's hands for little forms that had needed it for only so brief a space. " Oh, don't refuse me ! " pleaded the lady, touching Amy's cheek with the tips of her white tingers, " let me see my own little baby just for a minute, please, do!" Amy stepped quickly to Mrs. Green's room, lifted the still sleeping babe from its warm, little nest of pillows; and carrj'ing it to its mother, laid it in her arms. "Oh, my own baby ! — my sweet, dear, pretty baby ! — let me kiss it ! " Amy lifted the little face to its mother's lips, and she kissed it fondly. The babe, wakened by her caresses, began to cry. " Now let me take it to its nurse," said Amy, gently removing the child, but she had scarcely reached the hall when Mrs. Green made her appearance. !*■ m SOWING AND REAPING. " You hain't showed her that baby, have you ? " " Yes, I have, Phoebe, and it will do her no harm ! " Mrs. Green was about to enter a vigorous protect, but the sudden appearance of Colonel Ellisson pre- vented, and she hastened to quiet the babe, while he followed Amy into the parlor. CHAPTER VII. U ' > " Miss Leeds," said Colonel Ellisson, without taking the chair she placed for him, " I trust you will allow me to send for our own servants; and also employ special nurses for Mrs. Ellisson and the child. I can- not think of allowing either yourself or your house- keeper to be burdened." " If you would permit me to suggest. Colonel Ellisson, I would advise that you secure a competent nurse for Mrs. Ellisson, and leave the child to Mrs. Green. She is experienced in the care of children, and will do well. I know of a suitable person who will gladly take her place in the house as long as she is needed ; and these will be all the help we require. The house, as you are aware, is small, and will only accommodate a limited number, " In the meantime you will please consider yourself free to come and go, or to stay constantly as you think best." " Then, Miss Leeds, with your permission, I shall take upon myself the responsibility of providing for the house." " Please act your pleasure in that matter," said Amy, a little stiffly, " in everything pertaining to yourself and Mrs. Ellison ; at the same time, whatever my house aftbrds is at your disposal, and you can command my own service at any moment," Colonel Ellisson bit his lip. He was not prepared for this touch of hauteur in Amy. He had known her only as the gentle, compliant little maid of the par- sonage, as artless and unsophisticated almost as a survey none will dj when might I — no^ to the I box, s^ years his tag SOWING AND REAPING. 43 child ; he suddenly woke to the consciousness that he was dealing with a proud, self-reliant woman who, though poor, was not to be patronized, nor yet out- done in those stately courtesies that bespeak good breeding. But Colonel Ellisson was in nc position to reply. It only remained for him to respect her inde- pendence, and accept her kindness, with the best pos- sible grace. In a few hours everything was satisfactorily arranged. A competent nurse for Mrs. Ellisson was secured, the little parlor adjoining her room was turned into a general rec ption room for Colonel Ellisson, his friends, and the physician ; and Mrs. Green, with the baby as her special charge, willingly resigned the kitchen to the new housekeeper. When all was settled. Amy withdrew to her own room ; and taking up a piece of unfinished work, was endeavoring to compose her thoughts and quiet the painful throbbing of her heart, when Mrs. Green sud- denly appeared at the door. " If you please. Miss Amy, can't you come in and try and quiet her down a little ? " " Mrs. Ellisson, do you mean, Phoebe ? " " Yes, Miss Amy, she's feverish, and, I guess, a little flighty like. She keeps asking for you, and I thought if you'd come, mebby she get kinder quiet." " Yes, I'll be there soon ; " and Amy hastened to make her afternoon toilet which, in her weariness and despondency, she had neglected until an unusual hour. " There," she said, mentally, when it was finished, surveying herself from head to foot, to be certain that none of the details had been omitted, " I think that will do. But what should I care, after all ? Tim.e was when I did all this for hifi sake. The belief that he might be pleased was sufficient motive for any effort — now I have no one to please but myself. She walked to the door, hesitated, turned back, and, opening a little box, selected a small red rose that had been purchased years before in deference to what she then knew was his taste, but which she had never worn, and, fastening !i If 1(1 11 f ■ i' ;' t -■! 'iM T I 44 SOWING AND REAPING. immii it among the rich braids of chestnut hair, loosely arranged round an elegant comb, purchased, also, ex- pressly for his eye, with another gratified look at her own image, reflected in the mirror, she hurried away to the sick-room. Self-deceived as ever, Amy did not allow herself to suppose for a moment that the desire even then to be pleasing in Colonel Ellisson's sight, had had anything to do with all this careful attention to the details of dress ; but deep in her heart lurked still the unacknow- ledged motive, as the look of disappointment that crossed her face on entering the robm, and seeing only the nurse and the physician there, abundantly testified. " Did Mrs. Ellisson ask for me ? " she inquired, turn- ing to the nurse. " Yes, Miss Leeds," replied the doctor, coming for- ward from a little tfiblo where he had been writinjj a prescription, " she has been feverish this afternoon, and is fretting for you. She says you will bring her her baby, an indulgence that is not safe for her at present ; so, if you please, divert her mind from it if po.ssible. She is in very imminent dann^er ; and excite- ment of any kind may hasten the crisis which I am strivins to avert." " I shall see that you are obeyed, sir ; " and enter- ing the room. Amy softly approached the bed. " Oh ! you have come !" cried Mrs. Ellisson eagerly, her eyes bright and glittering ; " how sweet you look ! — ^w^on't you stay with me always ? I keep thinking, somehow, you are my own, own sister; though, indeed, I never had a sister, and ray mother died when I was no older than my own little baby. Oh, I have ]i)nged so, do you know, for a mother and a sister ! — and you have no mother or sister either, so Hughey says. Won't you be my sister, and let me be yours, and stay with me always ? " " Yes, dear, I will ; but you must try and not talk, it tires you very mucV " " Well, kiss me then, and I'll be quiet. Oh, that's a dear ! " she sighed, as Amy kissed her poor, parched SOWING AND REAPING. lips, and turnin^y her face upon the pillow, closed her eyes wearily. Amy walked to a window to hide the sudden tears that were raining from her eyes. She knew not why, but those half delirious words awakened yearnings in her heart, of which, till that hour, she had been scarcely conscious. " A mother ! — a sister ! " — thought Amy. " Oh, had not a greater, stronger love come so early, I might have felt that craving too! But all 'esser longings and cravings have been swallowed up in that one strong passion of my life — and now, what is left me ! Eva — Eva EUisson ! — how gladly would I change places with you, if so I might realize, even though it were in death, that this cruel heart-hunger was appeased ! " Then, with a strong effort. Amy dried her tears ; and seating herself by the bedside of the poor sufierer, watched with her long and patiently. Sometimes the hot hands would cling to her own with a convulsive pressure ; sometimes in her fitful slumbers she was tossing on the ocean ; now she was toiling along the rugged Alpine passes ; again, resting in Florence, or Naples ; and again, gathering grapes among the vineyards of France. But through all, her "sister" was a sharer in all her perils, and all her pleasures; and she would bend upon Amy's face looks of such unutterable affection as would bring tears to her eyes, and send her again and again to the window to weep unobserved. And so the evening and the night wore on. Colonel Ellisson came and went, and came again ; the physician sat till the night was fai spent, watching the varying symptoms of the sufferer, and finally stretched himself upon a sofa for a little rest ; Mrs. Green retired with the baby ; the nurse dozed in her chair ; and at length Colonel Ellisson and Amy were left alone by the bed- side, listening to the delirious utterances of the sick wife, listening to the almost audible beating of their own hearts, till the long, slow dawn lighted up with ever-deepening splendors the eastern sky, and the ; ;i 46 SOWING AND REAPING. ■i 1 1 1 : ! 1 1 ■; m world grew brighter and brighter in the increasing glories of the day. At length, just as the sun lifted his face above the level bosom of the prairie, Mrs. EUisson opened her eyes, and in a full, strong voice, asked for her babe. The doctor was at her side in a moment, and with anxious scrutiny scanned the Bushed face and the bright, eager eyes, and carefully no^ed the hurried beating of the unsteady pulse. " O, doctor ! " she exclaimed, " I am so much better ! I seem to be almost well — cannot I see my baby now ? " " I think you had better try and rest a little longer ; here, take a few drops of this," but Mrs. EUisson shook her head. " No, doctor, please. I know it is intended to make me sleep, but I am quite comfortable and refreshed, and more sleep would do me no good. Miss Leeds, please ask nurse to bring baby to me, and then go and lie down. I am sure I have tired you all out — the doctor and all. But I think I shall be well very soon — indeed, I feel almost like sitting up now ! " The doctor hesitated a moment, then touching Colonel Ellisson's arm, the two left the room together. " She seems greatly improved now, doctor ; do you not think she is really better — out of danger ? " " So far from that, ray dear sir, I am obliged to tell you she is in imminent danger ; nay, I may as well tell the whole truth ; she is dying ! " The stronor man stajjiyered to the window with a groan ; then, clasping his hands over his eyes, he stood for several minutes like one stunned. " It's a hard case, EUisson ! " said the doctor, at lenjyth, " but it's turnins: out as I feared from the tirst. I hoped for awhile yesterday that the danger might be averted, but there is no longer any room for hope. If you have anything to say to her, you must say it at once. Shall I tell her the true state of things ? " " Why, no, doctor ; of what earthly use would it be ? It would only frighten her ! " momer is not right." "No am not Hughe urged and no^ Oh ! ca you ? " But of pra}' self, pn " Mis- surely dying ! Amy kneel — pray he; "Whi '1> SOWING AND REAPING. 47 "But you surely don't mean to allow her to go oft without letting her know ? I don't thii;k it would be right." " No, doctor, I shall not consent to it. She's all right for this world or any other. If she must die, she shall die in peace." " Doctor — Colonel Ellisson — come here ! — come quickly !" It was Amy's voice that spoke, and in an instant they were at the bedside. " I feel a change coming over me," said Mrs. Ellisson, looking from one to the other ; " what does it mean ? Doctor, can it be that I am — am dying ? " " Yes, Mrs. Ellisson," said the doctor, regardless of her husband's prohibition ; " is your mind at rest ? " " At rest, at rest ? Why no, doctor, I am not pre- pared to die ! Hugh, Hugh ! hold my hands, hold me back ; I must not die now ! " " Eva, my wife, be composed. Death is only a change of physical condition; it will be over in a moment, and then you will be past all trouble. There is nothing to fear, Eva ; be composed ; you are all right." " No, no ; I am not right, Huj^h ; I feel, I know, I am not. Your philosophy may do to live by, but 0, Hughey, it fails now ! I have often and often been urged to come to Christ, but I have never done it ; and now I am dying, and it is so sudden, so sudden! Oh ! cannot some of you pray for me ? doctor, will not you?" But the doctor shook his head — he was not a man of prayer. How could he, who never prayed for him- self, pray for another ? " Miss Leeds, dear Miss Leeds, you will pray for me ! surely you will pray for me ! I am unsaved, and I am dying ! " Amy looked helplessly at the doctor, but she did not kneel — how could she, who so seldom pra3'^ed alone, pray here and Ids eyes upon her ? " Why ! " ejaculated Mrs. Green, who had entered ,1 v. v. 1:1 : '! t f 1 " ' 1 • I !". ' ' ■ *' i ■ ■: ■ 'J. ;-«P u ll ' i:\it 'l 48 SOWING AND REAPING. the room unobserverl, " ain'fc any of you goin' to pray for her ? I should think you'd all of you be on your knees — let me come to the poor child ! " The tone was one of authority, and they all drew back in amazement. " See here, you poor darlin' ! " she cried, stooping over Mrs. Ellisson. tears rolling down her cheeks; " don't you );now that Jesus died to save you — died to save all that come and cast themselves upon His mercy ? Why, dearie, He died on the cross for you! just for you ! and nobody that comes to Him will ever perish, of course, they won't ! He won't cast out any that come to Him ! He says so His own blessed self, and what He says He means. " Think of the poor sick woman that only touched the hem of his garment, and she was saved ! Think of the thief on the cross. He just said, * Lord, re- member me!' and he was forgiven — even in his dying moments ! Look to Him, dearie ; look to Him with all your heart and soul ; ask Him to save you, and He will, He must, He says He will, and He will — you needn't be a bit afraid ! " Mrs. Ellisson looked at her eagerly, greedily devour- ing every word that fell with breathless rapidity from the woman's lips. " Pray for me, nurse ! pray for me, and I will pray for myself ! " " Yes, dearie, do ! — ask Him — ask Him your own self ! All that ask receive — He says they shall receive !" — and, dropping upon her knees, Mrs. Green, forgetful of everything but the overwhelming urgency of her plea, poured out her soul in a great cry for her who was passing unprepared into the presence of God. When she rose to her feet, Mrs. Ellisson's eyes were closed, and her lips moved as if in silent prayer. Presently she opened her eyes, and asked for her child. It was brought, and she kissed it tenderly ; then look- ing up pleadingly into the nurse's face, she whispered : " Love my baby ! — won't you love my baby always?" " Yes, dearie ! I'll love your baby as long as ever I live ! " SOWING AND REAPING. H " Will you teach her to love Jesus ?" " Yes ; I will, if God gives me the opportunity ! " " Thanks ! — thanks ! Hughey, Hughey ! you will not neglect, as 1 have, to prepare to die, will you ? Oh, promise me, dear, you will not ! " Colonel Ellisson stood pale and motionless for a moment, then, stooping, he kissed her tenderly, but he did not promise. She did not ask him again — she did not seem to notice that he had failed to do so ; for her eyes had taken on the far-away-look of the dying, and in a few seconds the spirit of Eva Ellisson had passed away. Whether the prayer of the nurse was answered— whether her own whispered petition was the prayer of fa.bh or the cry of fear, none can say — none shall ever say till the judgment day reveals it — but whatever we may think of the possibility of being saved in the last moment of a wasted life, the awful risk of neglected opportunities remains the same. "Be not deceived; God 18 not mocked ; for luhats'iever a man soweth, that sh'dl he also reap. For he that soiveth to kisfiesh shall of the flesh reap corruption ; hut he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting." . CHAPTER VIII. Sunrise found the inmates of Amy Leeds' cottage in consternation and tears. Sunset saw few traces throughout the quiet house of what had just transpired beneath its roof. That room alone from which Mrs. EUisson's spirit passed just as his beams were kindling earth into beauty and flushing the skies with glorious light, was dreary, dismantled, dark Wrapped in costly burial robes, and laid in a rich, dark casket, with her white hands folded upon her bosom, and her eyes closed to all the light and beauty of earth and skies, she had been borne to her darkened home, and laid in costly state in the richly f urmshed i ', 50 SOWING AND REAPING. )i : <■■ clrawinf,'-room that had so lately been brij^htened by her beauty, and jjjladdened by her voice. Weston had its sensation, but it was too awful to admit of noisy connnent. Men spoke in subdued tones of the terrible event ; and women looked with tearful eyes upon their household treasures, as a consciousness of the frail tenure l>y which ever^'thin;^ earthly is held forced itself upon their thoughts, and for the time beinof would not be put away. The cottage of Amy Leeds was set in order by other hands than hers. The moment the hearse left her door, bearing the remains of Mrs. Ellisson to her late home, Amy tied to her room, and was seen no more by the two women who, with almost noiseless steps, moved through the lonely dwelling, bringing order out of the confusion that prevailed, until all was done, and, but for the occasional plaint of the motherless babe, the house seemed fully restored to s usual quiet and repose. ♦ But outward appearances often very inadequately represent things as they are. There are pain, and pas- sion, and heart-aching, and disappointment frequently where the outward seeming is fairest and most peace- ful ; and thus it was that sunset hour in Amy's cottage. Alone in her own room, she paci^d the floor in an agony of conflicting emotions which she neither sought to analyze nor to control. Past and present were each a chaos of disjointed fragments, among which thought ran riot and found no resting place; while the future — hs ; and then, with no prayerful retrospect, and no cry for present tjrace or future j:fui(hince, she laid her head upon her pillow and was soon asleep. Ah, those prayerless Christians ! — they are neither few nor far between. They are found in countless homes, where anxious, fretted mothers easily persuade themselves, amid the toil and moil in which they pass their lives, that they have no time for prayer. They are found in the haunts of business, where men, who would be displeased were their Christianity called in question, fiml time to banter, and bicker, and calculate, and plan for some good bargain or some triHing advan- tage in trade, but who find, when Mie midnight hour is almost reached, and they are jaded, and worn, and dis- satisfied with the day's results, that they have no time for family prayer, no heart for bedside prayer, and so drop into prayerless sleep, in a few hours to go forth again to prayerless toil. Prayerless Christians ! i-fow they retard the pro- gress of the cause they profess to love ! How they hang as dead weights at the skirts of those who do pray ! How they clog the wheels of religious pro- gress ! How they lie as stumbling-blocks in the high- ways of sin, while the infidel, the scorner, and the careless, stumble over them into hell ! How many sons of prayerless Christians are reeling down to death under the drunkard's curse ! How many daughters of such parents are dancing the giddy reel of fashionable dissipation along the flowery path that ends in ruin ! ' The funeral of Mrs. Ellisson came in due time. It was full of the pomp and parade of yealth — stately, solemn, impressive — and then the busy little world of Weston settled again into its old ways ; the social machinery clacked on again noisily and glibly as ever ; I It! I '; SOWING AND REAPING. and in a few months the idle and excitable were ready for any new sensation. But in one house, at least, the events just narrated left enduring traces. Amy's cottage was no longer what it had been. The pretty baby, little Hope, as her father had named her in honor of his own mother, under Mrs. Green's careful nursing, was growing rapidly, and each day winning a larger place in the hearts and affections of all. From the day of her coming, a new light seemed to have sprung up in the life of Gordon ; and he watched her growth and the development of her powers with untiring interest. It was an entirely new experience to him having a baby in the house to watch, to tend, to carry in his arms ; and as she grew old enough to notice him, and give evidence of reciprocal attachment, his delight knew no bounds. Hope was not long learning to watch for his return from school, '\nd flutter her little hands, and coo in b'.rd-like gladness when, as was his daily custom, he prepared her for the afternoon ride in her little car- riage. Amy, too, felt the influence of the sweet baby. The icy chill, that had for years been settling around her heart, gave way in the sunshine of its smiles ; and she often felt something like the old gladness of her van- ished years coming over her, as she opened her heart to the little one, and felt the exhilarating effect of her brother's new-found happiness enliv^ening the vdntry dreariness of her own life. For several months after his wife's death, Colonel Ellisson came nearly every day to inquire after his child; and Amy, who had gradually laid aside her stateliness ot manner, met him with a quiet reserve which but illy concealed the unalloyed pleasure his visits afforded her. SOWING AND REAPING. 53 " I am about to leav^e Weston for a few months, Miss Leeds," he said, one evening, after a longer stay than usual, "and I want a little talk with you in reference to my child. " 1 do not like to take her from Mrs. Green, if it can be avoided ; for I am certain it will be impossible to find any one that can fill her place. On the other hand, I can hardly ask you to let Mrs. Green go with the child, as I am sure you would feel it very hard to part with so honest and faithful a servant. Yet I know I am burdening you by leaving baby here so long. "Will you please advise me in the matter ? " It was well for Amy that the light was so shaded away from her face that its rapid changes of color and expression were not noticed. She felc her breathing quick and painful, but she controlled her voice as she answered : " I would not like to part with Mrs. Green ; but if you prefer taking Hope away, Mrs. Green must go with her ; it will never do to separate the child from its nursef * Do you then care so much for my baby. Amy ? I have not deserved this." Amy felt her heart throb violently. The old tone, the old address, the deep pathos of his voice ! She clenched her hands hard as if to crush the pain ; but in a moment her pride came to her aid, and she an- swered with cool politeness : " I could not be a woman, and not feel for a mother- less babe. If you choose to leave Hope with us, we shall be only too happy to have her remain ; if not, I shall send Mrs. Green with her. They must not be parted." " Thanks, Amy, thanks ! I appreciate your kind- ness, and shall leave my child with a much lighter heart, since you give me permission to let her still remain with you. " And now I have another favor to ask. Will you write me sometimes to let me know how she is getting along ? " 6 i' I ' i 54 SOWING AND REAPING. It was well, while lacking that higher, better source of strength to which the tried spirit may always fly, and be safe, but to which Amy noW so seldom resorted, that she had summoned her pride to her aid ; and very bravely it stood the shock. " I cannot. Colonel Ellisson," she answered, firmly. " I should compromise my self-respect by doing so. But I will see that nurse faithfully attends to that duty. You shall receive regular information in regard to the child." " You are right. Amy — quite right," Colonel EUisson replied, after a moment's silence. " You have con- ceded far more* than I had any right to expect, I have wronged you too deeply in the past ever to merit your confidence or esteem again ; and, therefore, I appreciate all the more deeply your noble forbearance and sisterly kindness, both to my family and myself. I will write in a few days, letting you know where I may be reached by letter. 1 shall probably see you again in a few months ; till then, farewdll." Colonel EUisson bowed, but did not offer his hand ; the next moment the click of the little gatS told her he was gone. A giddy sensation came over her ; her breath came quick and gasping, and leaning back in her chair, the lights danced before her for a moment, then faded, and she heard no more till the clear voice of Mrs. Green brought her back again to recollection and consciousness. " Why, child alive ! you must be dreadful tired when you can sleep here in your chair for a whole long hour, with all the windows and doors open, as you've done. Dear me ! how cold your hands be — they're just like lumps of ice. If you hain't catchedi your death o' cold this time, I'll miss my guess. Come right along to bed, this very minute" and hurrying her awaj, Mrs, Green would not leave her till she had seen her safe in bed ; then,*after two or three vigorous tucks at the quilts, she bustled away to look after the baby, and Amy was left alone, with darkness around | her and deeper darkness within. SOWING AND REAPING. 00 The light that had sometimes shot lurid gleams down the future of her clouded life seemed suddenly- blotted out forever* and heaven seemed so far, far away that she had no heart to look toward it ; so she only wept softly and silently until sleep came, and shut her up in sweet oblivion of sorrow. CHAPTER IX. 11 she had' vigorous I : after the ss around] A FEW days after Colonel Ellisson's departure, the express from Weston halted at Amy's door, and delivered two heavy parcels — one directed to Miss Leeds, and one to Master Gordon Leeds. " Whatever can they be, Amy ? And who could have sent them to us ? " cried Gordon, his eyes big with wonder, for it was the first time in his history that such an event had occurred. "If it was only Christmas or New Year's, we might fancy that old Santa Claus had been seized with a generous fit in our favor ; but now, when holidays of that sort are half a year away, we can't suppose he has done it ! " " Well, Gordon, we shall soon see ! " said his sister, cutting the cords that bound his parcel, too impatient, herself, to think of untying them, and removing the wrappings displayed a pile of books such as Gordon had never seen before, or ever, even in his highest flights of imagination, dreamt of possessing. One after another he held them up to the light, ex- [amined the tit'es, admired the elegant bindings; and many were the exclamations of delight and boyish satisfaction as books of science, of natural history, of [travels, romance and adventure, were examined and laid aside; while his sister, scarcely less delighted than 18, looked on with smiles and congratulations. When the last one had been examined and com- iiented on, Amy turned to her own parcel with a trepidation she could not well conceal, for she felt S •!■ 56 SOWING AND REAPING. that such a gift could only come from one, and that one, Colonel Ellisson. "Oh, books, books!" cried Gordon, as the wrap- pings were laid back, "and a letter, too!" he continued, as Amy lifted a sealed envelope, and glancing hur- riedly at the address turned quickly away, saying, as she left the room : — " You and Mrs. Green can look them over, while I go and read this note." Amy closed tlie door of her room, and drawing a seat to the window laid the letter on her lap, and gazed long and intently at the superscription, while her hands were pressed hard over her heart, to still its tumultuous throbbinjj. At length she grew more composed, atid opening the letter read : " Will Miss Leeds accept, for herself and her brother, the accompanying v^olumos, as a small token of t le lasting esteem and gratitude of — " Hugh Ellisson." And that was all. The tiny sheet dropped from her hand, and fluttered to the floor ; and Amy's gaze wandered through the open window, far away over the green- bosomed prairie, while a look of unutterable sadness settled upon the pale, worn face. She looked so old, and tired, and hopeless — so changed in the few minutes since she stood at the table rejoicing in her brother's joy. " Amy, Amy, do come here ! You've got the loveli- est lot of books you ever set eyes on ! — green, and gold, and all sorts of beautiful bindings and pictures — do come and see them ! " It was Gordon's voice, and recollecting herself, Amy hastened to obey the summons. It was indeed a beautiful and costly gift — the crhme de la ci'hme of the most popular authors in fiction, poetry and art, bound and embellished as if in utter disregard of expenditure; and Amy half forgot, while admiring the treasures spread before her, the bitter heart-ache with which she had returned to the room. " V thrus his b( about perfo] "W sharp] "VV for th ward ? "Sh such a "Go fellow said so "Thi said M dissatis such iil not a t someth ing, lik . "Wh library " Bles some of put in believe they m times." "You How do "Don' say not! SOWING AND REAPING. 67 Amy " Who are they from, Amy ? " Gordon asked several times before his sister was sufficiently disengaged to answer him. "They are from Colonel Ellisson, Gordon, and he begs we will accept them ' as a small token of his last- ing gratitude and esteem.'" " Well, now, that's what I call decent '. " said Gordon, thrusting his ham Is into his pockets, and surveying his beautiful present with dignitied complacency. " I'd about concluded he found it easier to promise than perform ! " " What do you mean, Gordon ? " said his sister, sharply. " Why, don't you remember, that night he sent me for the doctor, he said, ' you shall not lose your re- ward ? '" " Shame, Gordon, shame ! to think of reward for such an act ! " " Goodness, Amy ! don't be so awfully down on a fellow ! I shouldn't have thought of it, if he hadn't said so ; but after I'd said a thing, I'd do it." " There ain't a single reli'aous book amonj* 'em all !" said Mrs. Green, laying down the last one, with evident dissatisfaction ; " nothing but novels, and poetry, and such like; good enough in their place, I suppose, but not a thing fit for Sunday reading. 1 do hanker for something to read Sundays. Since I can't go to meet- ing, like I used to, the days seem terribly long! " " Why, Phcebe, there are religious books in the library that were papa's ; why do you not read them ? " " Bless your heart ! I've read the whole of 'em, and some of 'em twice over; seems to me he might have put in something of the kind, even though he don't believe in religion ; for I do, and I hope you do ; and they might have been a comfort to us both some- times." " You have no right to speak in that way, Phcebe ! How do you know he does not believe in religion ? " "Don't I know. Miss Amy, that a man that can't say nothing to comfort his poor dyin' wife in her ' '■; '(i' 1 :M 1. •■ ' ' i. ; I ili' III iii SOWING AND REAPING. trouble and terror, only to tell her she's all right when she knows she ain't ; who caa't even offdr up a prayer for the poor pleadin' creetur who sees herself goin' un- prepared into the eternal world, can't have much religion ? " " Vou're right there, Aunty ! " said Gordon. " I tell you you wouldn't think the Colonel had any too much of it, if you'd heard how he didn't skip the hard words, one day, while talking to a fellow down at the Metro- politan. My ! but didn't he give it to him ? — though," added Gordon, apologetically, " I guess he was the least little bit mellow at the time." " Gordon, how long is it since I told you I would not tolerate slang ? Your memory does you poor service, I think ! " " I beg your pardon, Amy ! but I thought ' mellow ' sounded a little softer than 'tipsy;' next time, I'll say what I mean in plain English, and then you'll not scold me ; " and Gordon fell to whistling, his usual resort when he saw his sister was displeased with him. " Lay away your books for the present, Gordon, and go to your lessons. I do not think the present con- versation is either very polite or very edifying ! " and Amy commenced gathering up her own books, and removing them to her room. Mrs. Green looked grieved and mortified, for she rightly judged that Amy's rebuke was pointed at her- self even more than at Gordon. In her honest warmth she had dreamt of no disrespect to Miss Leeds ; while, as regarded Colonel Ellisson, she had only uttered what she felt was true. Gordon's chagrin vented itself in a good deal of pretty boisterous whistling while ranging his books in a showy procession on an old-fashioned case of drawers, that had, for years, done duty in the room in the double capacity of bureau and side-board; and long before his arrangements were complete, his sister had finished hers, wheeled the table to its place, set the chairs in order, and retired to the quiet of her own room. times with them, sophis length sea re SOWING AND REAPING. 59 Amy threw herself into a chair, and coverinj:^ her face with her hands, sat long absorbed in painfully disturbed thoughts. Mrs. Green's comments upon Colonel Ellisson's reli- gious character were a two-edged sword, cutting both ways. If he, who made no pretensions to being re.igious, in the sense in which she had been taught to regard religion, was exposed to such reproach, what should be said of her who had never laid aside her profession ; yet who, on that sorrowful occasion, had as signally failed as he to minister comfort or point out the way of life to one trembling on the verge of ruin, and cry- ing in vain for help / Every stricture passed upon him recoiled with double force upon herself ; and turn it whichever way she would, she met a sting. But Gordon's words hurt her almost more than those of Mrs. Green. More than once she had suspected all that his remarks implied ; but, with her old, blind obstinacy of heart, she had put away the ugly suspicion, or resorted to the worn- out apologies of by-gone years. It was Vain for her to ask herself, what was all this to her ? why should she concern herself about him or his habits ? That she did concern herself, she knew ; why she concerned herself, was a question she did not attempii to answer. Perhaps the most desperate and persistent — certainly the most fatal — dishonesty that people practise is prac- tised upon themselves. They feel the writhings and misgivings of conscience, whose protest they cannot at times evade ; but instead of sitting down face to face with this faithful monitor and letting it speak to them, they bribe it, or stupefy it, or silence it with sophistry, or utterly refuse to listen to it, until at length its unwelcome monitions cease ; and that which was once so quick to perceive and so faithful to reprove, becomes, in the expressive language of Scripture, " seared with a hot iron." Amy's meditations were suddenly interrupted by a i < I iii l||!l{ !«■ ' - ! i l' . ! 'i,. llii 60 SOWING AND REAPING. little tap at the door, and, in response to her call, Mrs. Green entered with the baby in her arms, and drop- pinjT into a chair in a doubtful and hesitating manner, said : " I thought, dearie, I'd come and apologize for what I said a little while ago. I don't want you to feel hard towards me — I'm sure I didn't mean no offence to you — though, of course, you know as well as I do that what 1 said about Colonel Ellisson's not believing in religion is true ; you ain't so short-sighted as not to see that, brought up as you have been with the Bible in your hands. But, however that may be, I needn't *a set Gordon a-goin' by sayin' anything about it. I hope. Miss Amy, you'll overlook it, won't you ? " " yes, Phcebe ! " said Amy, wearily, and her lips quivered as she saw the grieved look of the honest- hearted woman. " Perhaps I spoke witlr unnecessary sharpness, but I think I am not quite myself to-night. Bring Hope to me, Phoebe, and think no more about it — I am not in the least offended." As she spoke she stretched her hands towards the little one who, with a face radiant with smiles, sprang to her arms. "Darling baby Hope!" cried Amy, pressing the child with sudden passion to her heart, and with a low, moaning cry that would not be repressed, she leaned her face upon that of the little one, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. "Why, dearie, what's the matter? don't cry so! pray don't ! " and Mrs. Green stood by her in trouble and alarm, while Amy's feelings, once beyond her con- trol, burst forth in irrepressible sobs. " Here, Phoebe, take her away," she said, at length, handing the frightened child back to its nurse, " and don't think anything about me. I am tired, possibly a little hysterical," and Mrs. Green went away to quiet the child, leaving Amy to regain her self-posse.>sion alone and unobserved. An hour or so later. Amy stole out to bid Gordon good-night and kiss little Hope, now wrapt in rosy summ ning papa, the he child. Am Colone hinted that u weeks But SOWING AND REAPING. 61 slumbers, and then went quietly away to seek repose for herself. "She's as pale as a ghost — just as pale as any ghost ! " soliloquised Mrs. Green, tucking up the baby for about the twentieth time during the last hour, " and now I know the cause of it. I've kind o' guessed it for a good while, but now it's perfectly plain." "Anybody can see what them books are for; — widowers knows what they're about — let 'em alone for that! It'll be a bad thing for her, however! a bad thing for her if it ever is, and it will be, I'm next thing to certain of it ! Dear me ! if I was sure she was all right, I think I'd rather put her into her grave- clothes as I did poor Evy ! " and Mrs. Green tucked up the baby again, turned up the light, read a chapter, and dropping upon her knees remained long in silence, unbroken save by now and then a deep-drawn sigh. When she arose, her face was wet with tears. Steal- ing on tip-toe to Amy's room, she satisfied herself that the object of her solicitude was asleep, then returning, gave the baby a final tucking up, put out her light, and murmuring " Poor dear ! poor dear ! " composed herself for the night. CHAPTER X. Autumn and winter passed away ; spring returned, and brought, as its closing days were deepening into summer, the birthday of little Hope. She was begin- ning to talk ; and her nurse had taught her to say papa, as the sweetest surprise she could prepare for the heart of the father so long separated from his only child. Amy had expected that that day would bring Colonel Ellisson, as his letters to Mrs. Green had hinted as much ; but a telegram came instead, saying that unexpected business would detain him for several weeks. But the weeks lengthened into months, and autumn, e2 SOWING AND REAPING. ' I . 'i with all her changeful loveliness, had again settled down upon the bf.'autiful meadows of the west, when one evening as Goidon returned from school, he tossed a letter into his sister's lap, saying, as he did so : " I gaess it's from the Colonel. I'll bet he's coming to take Hope away ! 1 only wish he'd stay away for- ever ! " " Gordon ! " exclaimed his sister ; but Gordon was too far away to hear the rebuke she was about to administer, and Amy glanced furtively at the letter, to satisfy herself if indeed it was, as Gordon had divined, from Colonel Ellisson. It was the first time since he left, except when he sent the books, that he had addressed anything to her ; and with trembling eagerness she broke the seal and read : . " Amv : — I expect to be in Weston in a few days, and then I am coming to j ;k you, as I did nearly twelve years age, to be my wife. I make no apology for my unwortiiy treatment of you, for it was too unmanly to admit of the least extenuation. I make no professions of regard ; for, having given the lie to past protestations, you can have no guaranty that I will be more truthful now. You know what I have been, and you have some idea of what I am now ; and we are both old enoufjh to choose in the liojht of sober reason. I have made my choice ; should yours corres- pond to mine, as it did then, I should wish that our marriage take place immediately. Should it not, I shall honor your decision, and bow to it as just. " Sincerely, Hugh Ellisson." There are crises in most lives when the great joy or the great anguish must be met, and realized, and taken up as the soul's actual possession — alone. Too sacred, or too awful for any human eye to witness or any human heart to share, the soul must wrestle with its agony, or open its most sacred, secret recesses to the unutterable joy, in solitude and secrecy. And thus it was with Amy Leeds that night. For and whe she's "J "Ibi came Ijus< cars "D they Besid You very every SOWING AND REAPING. 68 r " nearly twelve long years, through doubt, estrange- ment and utter loss she had chin'.,^ to Hugh El'.sson with the madness of unreasoning, idolizing devotion; and now he had only to stretch out his hand to her; and falsehood, neglect, abandonment, were alik'j for- gotten. His faults, his vices, his inconsistency — the dangerous paths in which she must follow him, her father's warning protest, her early vows of fealty to Christ and Him alone, all faded before the ov^ermaster- ing joy of knowing that yet, after all, he would be irrevocably her own. Is it too much to say that God sometimes gives men all they want in this life — feeils them to the full with the dainties they covet — that He sometimes makes the treasures they will not resign the chasteners of their hearts ; and the possessions unblest by Him, the rod with which He often scourges His people back to re- pentance and humiliation before Him ? Happy they with whom God condescends so to deal ! Better to return to Him, though with broken bones, than having gained all and enjoyed all, to hear Him say in the end, " he is joined to his idols ; let him alone ! " Amy was seen no more till a late hour that evening, giving the one quiet answer to all — that she was busy, and did not wish to be disturbed. " What can have come over her ? " said Mrs. Green, when Amy refused to come to her tea ; " I wonder if she's sick ! " "I guess not," said Gordon, tossing aside his slate, " I brouojht her a letter trom Colonel Ellisson when I came from school, and it's likely she's answering it. I just hope, if he's coming to take Hope away, that the cars will run — " "Don't wish no bad wishes, Gordy ; 'taint right — they might come back on your own head some day ! Besides, you hain't no right to say it's from him. You don't know nolhing about it; and 'twouldn't be very nice for you to be telling such a thing as that to everybody ! " i| i u SOWING AND REAPING. li " I've told nobody but you, and you aren't ' every- body ! ' You needn't tell me either that I don't know, for I do know. Do you suppose I can't tell a fellow's writing when I've seen it dozens and dozens of times ? Think of the loads of letters I've brought you from him ! " " Well, never mind, Gordy, dear ; 'taint for you nor me — particularly me — to be talkin' about Miss Amy's letters, and who they re from !" " Perhaps not ; but see here ! Supposing he should come to take Hope away — what would you do ? " " Why, let him take her, of course, Gordy ; she's his, not ours, you know. I always knew he'd take her away some day. " She's more ours than his — we've had her ever since the day she was born ! He's never done a thing for her only send money to pay for her clothes and things. He's been away for a year and more, and now coming to take her away from us ! He don't love her half as well as we do — not half ! " "It's very likely he don't, Gordy; but that don't make no dili'erence as to his rights. Of course, when he gets married again he'll want his baby, but it wuU e'en a'most break my hea: v when he takes her!" " He isn't going to get married again, is he ?" " I'm sure I don't know, Gordy — most likely he will ; most of 'em do." " Most of whom ? " " Why, widowers, Gordy, of course ! " " He shan't take Hope away to give her to an old step-mother ! " cried Gordon, fiercely. " Don't be foolish, Gordy ! — a man will do what he likes with his own, and 'taint for us to say yea or nay; but you'd better have your tea, and done with it. Jf Miss Amy ain't a comin', there's no need for you to go without;" and Gordon seated himself at the table in a very resentful humor. He had come to consider himself and Mrs. Green as the sole proprietors of Hope ; and the thought of losing her seemed to him the greatest possible affliction. • 4'i SOWING AND REAPING. 65 old ,he >pe; the But he was too much of a boy to dwell long on any prospective trouble ; and in a few minutes his thoughts were occupied with other things. " Ph(ebe, will you come to the study — I want a few minutes' conversation with you." Colonel Ellisson had been about a week in Weston ; and though he had paid but one visit to the cottage, Phoebe had made up htr mind what to expect. Amy's pre-occupied mannv , her unwonted cheerfulness, taken in connection with sundry mysterious household ar- rancjement^, had a sii>:niticance to the shrewd and sagacious woman that Amy had not suspected. But, with her habitual caution in regard to things she deemed private, she had quietly attended to her own affairs, neither asking questions nor seeming to notice any unusual movements. " Phcebe," said Amy, when they were alone, " I pre- sume you will be a good deal surprised to learn that I expect to be married this evening to Colonel Ellisson. Our marriage will be strictly private — no one being present but ourselves -and the officiating minister. You will please tell Norah ; and yourselves and the baby will be ready so that there shall be no delay. We shall leave at once, to be absent for a few weeks ; and I shall leave everything in your charge. I do so with the fullest confidence that everything will be as faithfully attended to in my absence as though I were present. I am sure I need not say ' take good care of Gordon ; ' and as for Hope, she is too much your own to make it needful that I say a word. We have settled upon nothing special for the future ; you may, however, rest assured that you will not be separated from your baby, unless at your own choice. But Phoebe, you are weeping — are you not glad of my great happiness ? " " Don't ask me no questions, dearie — -pray don't. I don't want to say a single word to make your happiness any less, and especially at such a time as this ; for it's too late to say anything, if I felt it ever so much my 'W ^A\ i.J ■I i ! m li:i':l'MJ|i: 1 ll r .' .■ li i 66 SOWING AND REAPING. duty. Of course, I can't help wishin' he was a Chris- tian — riches, nor nothin!:^ else, can't make up for the want of that, you know — but I hope it'll all turn out well — I'm sure I do ! ''' " I, too, wish Colonel Ellisson were a Christian, Phoebe; and I trust my influence over him may lead to that result. I have strong hopes that it may not be long before he becomes one." " Have you, now ! has he said anything encouraging ?" " No, Phf]eV)e, I have had no religious conversation with him since his return." " No ? — well, I wish you had — it might 'a been a satisfaction to you in after years. I know w^hat it is, dearie, to do just as you're adoin' ; but then, 1 was a young, silly thing — only just turned seventeen — a mere child, you know. However, I did know better even then — 'taint no use to say I didn't. I kept a, savin' to myself 'it'll all come right;' but it never did — no, never! Mother talked to me enough, dear knows ! told me I was doin' evil in hopes good might come ; but I was set in my own way, and 1 found out in the end that mother was ri!T;ht and I wrong — it most always turns out so ! " " Will you send Gordon to me, Phoebe ? " said Amy, cutting short a conversation she felt she could endure no longer. " Yes, I'll send him ; and I'll see that everything is attended to. Don't you give yourselr a bit of worry." " What do you w^ant of me. Amy ? I'm in an awful old hurry about my lessons ; examinations begin to- morrow^ and — " " Yes, I know, Gordon, and I shall only detain you a few minutes. I expect, dear, to be married to-night to Colonel Ellisson." "No, Amy!" " It is true, Gordon, I should have told you sooner, but it was definitely arranged only two days ago ; though, of course, [ have been expecting it for several weeks." SOWING AND REAPING. 67 IS to- " Well, if that's the case, of course we'll always have Hope ; yes, I consent. Amy. Hurrah for the Pilo-rim Fathers ! Hurrah for the Constitution of the United States ! " - and Gordon proceeded to execute certain favorite gymnastics over the chairs and around the room, much to his own edification, and much to his sister's discomfort. " Gordon, dear, don't be so boisterous, but listen to me. We expect to be married at eight o'clock ; and as we wish to leave immediately after, it is necessary you should be ready Ijefore the hour, so that there be no delay. Do you hear what I say ? " " Oh, wait till after examinations, Amy ; just think of the disgrace I'll be in if I fail, and let those Weston fellows take my prize awaj'^ from me. Really, Amy, I don't think I can give time to this little affair of yours." " Gordon, will you be serious while I speak to you ? I am going to leave you for some time, and I want to .say a few words to you that I cannot say this evening. Will you be a good boy, Gordon, and mind Mrs. Green, and attend to your studies, and — " " Don't pile up the questions so, Amy ; give me a chance to answer some of them, as you go along. Let's see : Will I be a good boy ? Of course ; I'm always that, as you know already ; will I mind Mrs. Green ? that's to be considered ; will I stick to my studies ? it's likely I may. Amy ; anything else ? " "Gordon, you distress me very much. Promise me you will be a good boy, or I shall leave home very unhappy." " Where are you going, Amy ? " " Did you hear what 1 asked you, Gordon ? " " Yes, Amy ; but it's not certain that I shall approve of your going to the place you think of visiting. It makes a great difference — " " Gordon, this trifling is very offensive to me ; now listen, and do not speak at all. I wanted a good, serious talk with you ; but, as usual, I see that I am not likely to get it. I expect you, in my absence, to ! ^'i; f 1 • ■ I. n iji" i k 68 ■ , be obe l! '■> \ SOWING AND REAPING. be obedient to Mrs. Green, and follow her advice ; and be good and kind to Hope. When we return we shall decide upon some plan in reference to your future pursuits ; in the meantime, be studious and attentive to all your duties. I shall write to you often, and shall expect you to send me nice long letters in return. Now kiss me, darling, and be a good boy, and remem- ber all I have said." Gordon gave the required kiss, seeing that any more trifling would seriously displease his sister, and with a demure face withdrew, pleased that he had, as usual, succeded in not committing himself by any promises, and in laughing^ her out of much he knew she wished to say. CHAPTER XL Amy's liltle parlor looked very bright and attractive that night, with its cheerful lights, its tasteful decora- tions, wrought by her own hands, its pretty knots of bright autumn flowers effectively arranged among the snowy drapery of the windows, and hung in graceful festoons above the plain mantel- piece. There was no attempt at finery or display. Even in her own attire Amy was severely plain ; yet when she stood up beside the man who was so soon to be her husband, in that sweet simplicity of studied plain- ness, few would have regretted the absence of those embellishments which, while adding to the showiness, detract from the modest dignity which is at all times a woman's best and richest adorning. She was very proud and happy when Colonel Ellis- son placed the massive wedding-ring upon her hand, and in a firm, clear voice uttered the irrevocable words which bound him to lasting fealty to her and her alone ; and when, the marriage rite ended, he took his pretty babe from its nurse's arms, and placing it in hers whis- pered, as he kissed them both, " Love her. Amy, for my sake!" happy tears filled her eyes, and she answered firmly and proudly, " I will ! " SOWING AND REAPING. 69 And Amy meant what she said. She had always loved little Hope for her own sake and for the sake of the young mother who, in her delirious wanderings, had clung to her hand, and called her "sister;" but when to all this was added the stronger motive — for his sake — she felt that from that moment the mother- less little one was bound to her heart by a threefold tie, that could never be broken. In a few minutes the carriage was at the door; hasty good-byes were exchanged ; and Amy was borne rapidly away from her girlhood's home — away from the graves of her kindred, out into that world of wealth, fashion, and pomp, towards wliich her eyes had so long been turned, careless of all, heedless of all, save the happy present, whose halo of delight seemed gilding all her future with the glow of unimagined felicities. ven when ,0 be Dlain- hose iness, times Ellis- hand, words lone ; 3retty whis- "jormy Iwered Twelve ! one ! two ! One by one the clocks of a great city had sent their reverberating call far over and beyond its towers, its temples, and its domes, while the intermingling sounds that for hours had gone up from its thronged streets and noisy thorough- fares had gradually been diminished as the night wore on, and silence had at length settled down upon the vast, unquiet sea of human life. The bustle and conf usioi . of a great hotel, the sounds of music, men iment and conversation, the echoes of many feet and o'' many voices, had slowly died away; and only now an then a far-olF murmur of confused sounds came wai lering up to the richly-furnished apartments where Amy still sat, weary and anxious, keeping her solitary vigil till her husband, sated with the amusements and dissipation of the club-room, should return to her. It was the first time during the short two weeks of her married life that her husband had left her except for a few minutes at a time, nnd his prolonged stay was tilling her with apprehension and dread. She had seen, with increasing anxiety, that at all 70 SOWING AND REAPING. m ,|i 4 'W' I ;■:' his meals the costliest wines were set down for him, and many times he had urged her to partake with him. Nor had she always declined. Unwilling to disoblige him, and fearing by the constant protest of example to seem to reproach him, she had more than once allowed him to fill her glass ; and, by sometimes tasting in defer- ence to his wish, she had at once destroyed her power to utter any effective protest against his ruinous habit, and given — more plainly than she could have given it in words — her sanction to his course. At length, just as the little clock on the marble mantel-piece uttered its sharp warning for three, the sound of footsteps was heard ; and Amy saw down the now dimly-lighted passage two forms approaching, and it needed no second glance to assure her that the tall, strong man, who was leaning heavily upon his com- panion, was her husband. A creeping faintness came over her, and she stag- gered to a sofa. The waiter opened the door, and, admitting Colonel Ellisson, closed it again and walked rapidly away, while the latter shuffled with unsteady steps across the room, and sank heavily upon the sofa beside his wife before he noticed her presence. "Why Eva — ah. Amy, are you up yet — rather late, eh ? — the boys were very entertaining — very ! " he maundered thickly, with a stupid stare at the shrink- ing form and white face at his side. " Seems to mc you look sick, little girl — hadn't you better go to bed ?" " Yes, dear," said Amy, suddenly summoning her fortitude to her aid, for she saw he must soon sink down in a drunken stupor, " come away at once ; you are tired and sleepy, and I will help you to your room. ' "No, I'm not in the least tired myself, Eva — ah, Amy ; but I'll assist you ! " — and giving her his hand, under the supposition that he was assisting her, he suffered her to lead him to his room and help him to I bed, where almost instantly he sank into the "stupor ofj inebriation. And there he lay before her — her idolized husbanc — the strong, proud form upon which for a little while I she woi V/]l( her AJaf of tl all, I and ir)en< until of de low 1 hand' estrar her; i iniagii hody i from i seemec And 'iwaKenj opening] her. \ Hedi he reali;i ^^^ arms) "pon a sf SOWING AND REAPING. n m. ige to i^ed [er- her LOUS lave brble s, the 1 the r, and B tall, com- staf?- , and, talked teady e sofa msband ble while she had leaned so securely ; the man for whom she would have saerifl. : ^ home, friends, even life itself — whose smile had sometimes seemed more to her than her hopes of heaven — he lay there before her, drank ! Alas ! hers was no new experience — no new agony. Tens of thousands as loving and as devoted wives have felt it all, borne it all, not once alone, nor twice ; but over and over h,gain, while weary years of poverty, debase- ment and crime have dragged on in uncheered misery, until at last the sickening scene has closed in ^^ doafh of degradation — not unfrequently of crime. With a low wail, Amy cast herself on the floor at her hus- band's bedside, and wept such tears as years of estrangement and faithfulness had never wrung from her; for at that moment the black portents of un- imagined misery for herself, and of ruin — ruin of both body and soul for him, seemed scowling out upon her from that future which but a few hours before had seemed so full of bliss. And thus, !*)metimes standing at his bedside, her face white and ghastly in the flickering gaslights, sometimes pacing the floor, and sometimes weeping in solitary anguish, while his heavy breathing smote upon her heart as the death-knell of her hopes. Amy saw the slow, sad hours drag on, saw the gray dawn creep over the slumbering city, saw the red autumnal sun climb the east, and send his Hery arrows into cot- tage and palace, and abroad over hill and dale, heard the increasing hum of life and activity rising again from the thronged streets beneath, until at length exhausted nature gave way, and she slept. How long she slept she knew not ; it might have been minutes, and it might have been hours; but at length she was awakened by a hot hand laid upon her forehead, and opening her eyes, she saw her husband bending over her. He did not speak, but his countenance showed that he realized all, felt all ; and lifting the slight form in his arms as though she had been a babe, he sat down upon a sofa and wept. |!.,i||:;;i: 72 SOWING AND REAPING. i-ifiLr,! Amy buried her face in his bosom ; she felt her own tears (gathering under the heavy, swollen lids, but, with a woman's will, she crushed them back, and waited with enforced cahnness till he should speak. " Amy, my poor, patient little wife, why do you not speak to me ? tell me I am a brute, tell me you hate me . I think I could endure that better than this silence, which may mean all that and more, and yet which may mean only despair. To think that only two weeks after our marriage I should outrage your feelings as I have, that you should have been left to watch over my drunken stupor through hours and hours of solitary misery until you fell asleep from sheer exhaustion here, while I was slowly recovering from last night's indulgence. Look up, and reproach me as you like, but don't kill me with your silence." " No, Hugh," said Amy, sitting up, and looking sadly in her husband's face, " were I ever so much inclined to be severe, the reproaches you have cast upon your- self would etfectualiy silence mine. True, 1 w^as not looking for what occurred last night, and it has dis- tressed me more than I can tell you ; but, since it has occurred, let me take this opportunity to urge you to go at once and sign the pledge of total abstinence, and thus interpose your truthfulness and your honor in the way of another such occurrence. I will go with you, and thus I, who have no habit formed, shall be able to help you to overcome yours." " No, Amy, I cannot do that. My position, and my associations make it an impossibility ; nor is it at all necessary. There were several of our number present last night whom I had not seen for years ; and in the exhilaration of meeting old friends, I indulged a little too freely, that's all." " But, Hugh, there can be nothing really worth con- sidering, in the way of your signing a total -abstinence pledge, and then if you do so, you will always feel safe." " Excuse me, Amy, but there is so much in the way that it is quite out of the question ; and, as I said before, SOWING AND REAPING. 73 it is not necessary. I can take care of myself well enough, and shitll do so in the future — never fear; — indeed, I cannot see how it is I failed to do so last nii^ht. Why, Amy, it would never do for people in our position to be bound by a pledge of total absti- nence ! It would look as though we had utterly lost confidence in ourselves, and were willing to acknow- ledge the disgraceful fact to others. Try and forget this humiliating episode in your husband's history, and trust him for the future. I think he will be able to prove to you that he deserves it. Alas, those well-meant but deceitful proinifses made in the vain confidence of a strength that is not in man ! They have always failed in the hour of trial, and they always will. The soul needs a stronger anchor than any resolutions or purposes of its own ; if it have it not, once out upon the wild sea of appetite and passion, it will drift on to ruin. Doubtless Colonel Ellisson believed what he uttered. Thousands have said the same in all sincerity of pur- pose, who, in a little while, have sunk in utter help- lessness beneath the power of an irresistible appetite. The indulgence they could regard as quite safe — the habit that, in the beginning, they could look upon as the merest trifle, has become at length an armed foe, in whose ever-tightening grasp they may have strug- gled for a time ; but the struggle has been unequal, and defeat sure. In the light of her husband's recovered smile, and in the soothing assurances he poured into her ears, Amy's fears subsided, her cheerfulness returned ; and in a few days she could almost have smiled at the terrors she endured that night, so secure and safe she felt. The wine-cup, which had so lately been a source of so much anxiety, gradually ceased to trouble her. She saw that her husband was able to drink — often to drink freely — and yet exhibit no injurious effects, and she found no difficulty in persuading herself it would always be the same ; so easy is it to believe in the possibility of what we ardently desire. I, If 74 SOWING AND REAPING. With strange perverseness of judgment she even laid aside the strong resolution she formed that night when she first saw unmistakably the brutalizing effect of drink upon her husband, never again by her own example to seem to sanction his course ; and, blindl}^ accepting his assurance that it was due to their posi- tion to conform to social usage in regard to wine, again allowed herself to taste ; thus, at once, destroy- ing the influence for good she might have exerted over him, and yielding sinful conformity to a usage whose fatal tendency she well knew. Thus are the poet's words too often verified in actual experience : " Vice is a monster of such hideous mien That, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; Yet seen too oft, familiar with its face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace." i i N' r 1. 1 ■ CHAPTER XII. " Good S'ociety " in Weston was greatly scandalized by the marriage of Colonel Ellisson with Amy Leeds. " it was such a shame ! " so it said, through one of its oracular mouth-pieces, " for a gentleman like him to stoop to a girl in her position — one who was obliged to earn her own living ! " Why, no respectable young man in Weston, who had any regard to social standing, would have stooped to such a marriage ! a needle-woman — a mere country girl who had probably never been a dozen miles from the place where she was born ! it was positively out- rageous " Good Society " was inexpressiblj' shocked — dis- gusted even ! it could never stoop to call on her — not it ! and as to ever inviting her within the magic circle wliere it presided, the thing couldn't be thought of ! She would find herself cut by all who regarded their place in society ; and it would be no more than what she ought to expect. She would soon be made to feel Amj had p the bl notwit to fee «o narr small, ^mi. '} SOWING AND REAPING. To her anomalous position, and the experience would, doubtless, be anything but pleasant. " Good Society " even dropped vague hints that it would not be long before Colonel EUisson would so far regret the step he had taken as gladly to avail himself of the privilege of divorce, in order to set him- self free from the consequences of his rashness, and secure a wife better suited to his exalted station. It was really no wonder he had had a private mar- riage, and slipped away in the night ! Why, there was not a soul in Weston that had even suspected his intention till he was married and gone ! Doubtless he would stay away until the popular indignation had subsided a little ; but return when he would, he would find that he could not impose a dressmaker upon it ! and " Good Society's " aforesaid oracular mouth-piece elevated its aristocratic head in dignified scorn. But when in about a month it came to be known that Colonel Ellisson and his bride had really returned, and, after spending a night at the " Metropolitan," had been driven to Mrs. EUisson's late home, intending to take immediate possession of Prairie-House, " Good Society " became greatly exercised to obtain all avail- able particulars in regard to the bride — her appear- ance — the degree" of stylishness to which she had attained since becoming Mrs. Ellisson — and whether really, after all, it might not so far compromise matters as to call on her. Amy was again at home. That month of absence had passed like a fairy dream darkened only by the black shadow of that one night which would, notwithstanding all the careless security she had come to feel, sometimes send a shiver of apprehension through her frame. She was at home again ; but how strangely things had chanored in that short month ! The low-roofed cottage had never before seemed so low — the door- way so narrow — the windows so scant — the apartments so small, and poor, and unfurnished. ;r l^ 1 i i ! r:i IWF 76 SOWING AND HEAPING. ■ili' il She had looked upon luxury — had tasted its sweets; and the simple, rural charms of her girlhood's home were faded and dull — they had power to delight no longer. But in Amy's heart were changes sadder and more to be regretted than those. She had looked upon the naked deformity of the vice her father had warned her of, and, the first horror once past, she had learned to regard it in its genteel beginnings, first, with toler- ance, then, with complacency, and at length had dared to set unwary feet in the dangerous pathway her husband had long been treading. Fashion, to which she had for years been a votary, had gained additional importance in her eyes; and In that short month it had become the shrine at which she lavished precious time and anxious thought which in the far-off' years she wo 'd not have hesitated t(» say rightfully belonged to C^od and His service. The flippant jest at sacred things, irreverent words that she would then have pronounced profane, these, carelessly uttered by lips beloved, had lost much of their odiousness, and when coupled with a lively wit- ticism, could even elicit a smile ; so easily are the soul's delicate perceptions of what is sacred, and holy, and pure, dulled by familiarity with the world's ways and acquaintance with its maxims. Never too steadfast in her adherence to what she knew to be right, because it was right, nor too con- stant in her loyalty to principle for its own sake. Amy had rushed fearlessly into the fascinating scenes of worldly gaiety and frivolity where her husband had been only too willing to introduce her, and the first contact had chilled and blighted much that was still wearing somowhat of the freshness and bloom of her early faith. Hope stretched her little arms eagerly towards the elegantly dressed lady who extended her jewelled hands to receive her, and who was henceforth to be her mother. Nurse Green gave her the cordial grasp of honest, homely welcome, and Gordon returned her old b now to he; her ei Co] cause. "I SOWING AND REAl'ING. 77 she con- Amy es of had hrst still her jrasp her sisterly kiss with a touch of shy reserve, as liis quick eye took in at a glance her changed appearance. " Well, little brother," said Colonel Ellisson, shaking Gordon warmly by the hand, "how are you ? Why, you have done nothitig but grow since I saw you ! 'Pun iiiy word, Am3^ he'll soon be as tall as I am;" and laying an arm over the boy's shoulder, lif drew him to his side, to compare their respective heights. " It will be a few days yet," said Gordon, disengag- ing himself with a kind of bashful shrinking from such close contact with his new relative; " but I intend to be taller some day, if I have good luck."" "I think your luck will fail you, then," said his sister, laughing, " for you did not come of a tall race, and you see you are comparing 3'ourself with a stately man ; " and Amy looked proudly up at the handsome face that towered so far above her own. Norah, who had been expecting her mistress, had done her best in preparing dinner, and the little din- ing-room certainly looked very inviting in the scrupu- lous cleanliness that everywhere prevailed, from the simple muslin curtains at the windows, and the daz- zlingly white table-cloth that shone with the ])olish of its careful ironing, down to the newly scoured strip of floor that showed its honest face all around the little square of carpet that covered the centre of the room. As Amy took her old seat at the head of the table, with Hope at her right hand, and the same bright little tea-urn before her that had done duty under her hand for so many years, her thoughts went swiftly back to that far-ofi' summer day when Hugh Ellisson first sat down at that table, when her father occupied the place her husband now filled, and Gordon, a year- old baby, in the same little high chair, filled the seat now graced by Hope ; and as old memories came back to her with a .sudden rush, she bent her head to hide her emotion. Colonel Ellisson noticed it, and rightly divined the cause. " I see, Amy," he said, " you are running back in ■ ; , ;|: li.! \'\ 78 SOWING AND KE APING. thought to the time when we first nat h(5re together. It is all very fresh to me, as doubtless it is to you. We are both older, and wiser, and, I believe, happier in some respeets then we were then ;" and without wait- ing for the reply Amy was unable to give, he proceeded to serve out the simple viands that made up Norah's " lovely dinner ; " and in a few miinites they were all engaged in pleasant chat, while doing ami)le justice to what had been prepared for them with such pains- taking anxiety. " I suppose," said Colonel Ellistson, when dinner was over, settling himself comfortably in the chair Amy had placed for him before the fire that Norah had kindled in the parlor — " I suppose we had better be settling our domestic plans and getting away home as soon as possible — may I ask if you have any definite plans in reference to the cottage ? " " Yes," said Amy, seating herself upon an ottoman at her husband's feet; " 1 have thought of having Thompson — the man who works on the farm — move in, and take charge of everything. His wife is care- ful and thrifty ; and the use of the house and the things I shall leave will be a boon to them after living so long in the poor little place they now occupy." " A good idea. Amy ; and what of Green and Norah ? You would like to take them with you, I presume." " Hope will need her nurse for a long time yet ; as for Norah, is there any place for her at Prairie House ? " " I'm sure I don't know — Hale looks after all such matters — but if there's none you can easily make one; take her for your own maid, Amy, she's nice and quiet — just the one to suit you, I should think. " Gordon will have a little longer walk to school than he has been used to ; but I suppose that will not matter — a smart walk night and morning will do him good." Amy's heart gave a heavy throb, for she had not for a moment entertained the idea of taking Gordon to her new home. Her father's protest against such a SOWING AND REAHING. 79 lOOl not him not don 3h a step had recurred aj^ain and again to her mind a.s the time grew near for the matter to be decided. She saw before her the two-fold difficulty of either dLsoboying her father's injunction, or else of devising some excuse for not takint^ him that would satisfy her brother (m the one hand, and her husband on the otlier. As regarded Gordon, she felt that she could not bring herself to admit to him that it was in view of Hugh's already well-known habit of drinking, that her father's prohibition had been made ; and as regarded her husband, she felt it still more difficult to satisfy him without explanations which she liad resolved never to make. " What is it, Amy ? " said Colonel Ellisson at length, noticing her hesitation, " you are not afraid the boy is going to be injured by the long walk are you ? — if so, I will send him whenever the weather is unfavorable." " Oh, no ! " replied Amy, recollecting herself, " but I have thought that it might be better for Gordon to remain here, and board with Thompson. They have no children, and I know they will be glad to have him ; and then I shall be near to look after him, you know." " What an idea, Amy ; to leave the boy here in this old, poky place ; and we in that big house with oceans of room that we don't know what to do with ! are you crazy ? " " But, dear, Gordon has never been used to any home but this ; he will be very comfortable here ; and as this place is to be his when he is of age, he will naturally feel a special interest in everything con- nected with it. He will, doubtless, be a little lonely at first, but he will soon be all right. I really think it will be best for him to remain here." " Well, I don't, Amy. I have taken a liking to the boy, and I am resolved to have him home with me. I want to teach him the use of fire-arms, and how to walk like a soldier — give him a military air. Amy — your special admiration, you know. I expect to be at > ' HI .11 i.:^^ ■ j :||'i: I 80 SOWING AND REAPING. home mostly this winter, and I want the youngster for company. But really, now, you look as thous^h this was a matter of immense importance ! Speak out, little girl, and make your trouble known ! " Colonel Ellisson drew his wife to his knee, and tak- insx her face between his hands, burst into a heartv laugh at its doleful expression. " Promise me, then, Hugh," said Amy, taking both his hands in hers, " that you will never allow the boy to drink wine. It was papa's abhoiTence, and I — " "Ha, ha! — now, really. Amy, is that the cause of your distress ? Well, well — what a struggle you must have endured over this ! I suppose, in imagination, you have seen Gordon dozens of times lying under the table in the enviable condition in which you saw a certain military chieftain of your acquaintance not long since. 'Pon my word, Amy, that is rich ! Hallo, Gordon ! " he continued, as Gordon entered with Hope perched upon his shoulder, " we are all going over ^o the big house in a couple of hours or so ; so pack up your books, my boy, and be ready for the flitting." " All right ! " said Gordon, depositing Hope in his sister's arms, and the next minute he was rushing aAvay to carry the news to Mrs. Green and Norali, whose united services he supposed himself fully en- titled to in the responsible work of packing. But Norah was busy ; and Mrs Green must needs hasten to Hope, who, disappointed at losing her ride on Gordon's shoulder, was wailing piteously over the affliction ; and as Gordon did not feel quite free to summon his sister to his assistance, he was soon upset- ting things generally in his own room, and turning Norah's orderly arrangements into the wildest confu- sion. Amy found herself even less able to resist her hus- band's badinage than she had been her brother's ; and without attempting to finish the sentence he had cut short, or to urge her request, she weakiy yielded with 'a laugh, and withdrew to prepare Mrs. Green and Norah for their speedy change ol' residence, and indi- SOWING AND REAPING. 81 cate to the latter the few things she wished to have removed to Prairie House. In less time than Colonel P^llisson had named, his carriage was at the door ; and himself and Amy, with Gordon. Hope, and her nurse, were driven rapidly away from the old parsonage home, leaving Norah behind to superintend all further matters connected with the removal. i I y ■ CHAPTER XIII. A FEW days sufficed tor the settling of all the new relations at Prairie House, and for making the new mistress ac tliat hour it bt'ciinin olin of liis Ideal folicities, to be able, witliont restraint, to imitato to the fullest extent tlio luxurious liahits ol' Ids br tobacco, as well as the deadly 7 . H i • 86 SOWING AND REAPING. sickness he underwent whenever he indulged in tlie pleasant recreation of smoking it. He was careful, however, to discipline himself in the acquisition of this valuable accomplishment out of sight of his sister and also of Mrs. Green, whose sturdy rehukes he felt particularly unwilling to encounter; " she mixes up so much religion witli them," he would often say to himself, while striving to escape her remonstrances. In all his .sickness and di.scomfort, however, which, like too many other aspirants for the same enviable attainment, Gordon was forced to endure without sympathy or succor, he was sustained by the thought that in a few months, at the very furthest, he would be able to surprise his brother-in-law by showing him that he could manage a cigar almost as well as him- self; and this, Gordon felt, was about as high an accomplishment as could be acquired, unless, possibly, it might be the Colonel's graceful management of the w^ine-glass, which he daily watched with admiring envy. Thus the winter passed over Prairie House ; a win- ter eventful for very little in the outward aspect of things, yet one fraught with momentous consequences to at least two of its inmates — Amy and her brother. The former, instead of rising to the measure of the responsibilities she had assumed, instead of striving in prayerful earnestness to cast around her husband and brother the restraints which a steadfast Chris- tianity would have enabled her to cast, was weakly closing her eyes to the faults of the boy — faults which she had neglected to correct until they had grown too strong for her to grapple with — and, what was even more deplorable, was settling down to the moral level of her husband, instead of striving by the almost irre- .sistil)le power of a prayerful life and a holy example to draw^ him up to what should have been her own. The wine -cup was no longer a source of anxiety, since, as she believed, it was being successfully with- ^•!ll^ SOWING AND HEAPING. 87 held from Gordon, except when its ett'ect was observ- able upon her husband ; and as such oc'*asions were rare, and those effects slight, she came in a short time to rejjard the use ot* wine as one of tbose <»enteel cus- toms that must necessarily be adopted by genteel people ; and concerning which it was prudent to say very little. The Sabbath, which slie had been brought up to revere as a holy day. sacred to the worshij) and service of God, and which, during the years that had inter- vened between her father's death and her own mar- riage, she had observed with some show of regard for its sanctities, had no higher sin;nificance in Prairie House than simply that of being a day of rest from the ordinary avocations of the week. Colonel Ellisson occupied the time in reading the papers, smoking, eating and sleeping, interspersed with a variety of social jjames with Gordon, whom he was especially anxious should become an expert player. And in this he was not disappointed, for before the spring came round he had the gratification of seeing his pupil nearly as expert in the use of the cards, dice, etc., as he was himself. Amy, who at first felt a little inclined to object to this item in the list of Gordon's polite accomplish- ments, as usual suffered the protest to be laughed down; and in a short time she not only ceased to remonstrate, but allowed herself to look on with un- disguised interest. Church -going was out of the (juestion, except as the appearance of stMne distinguished s])eaker at one of tlie more fashionable churclu's gav(^ th(i affair more than usual interest ; otherwise, the master of Prairie House never attended ; and (Jordon, whose inclinations set in the sanie directicm, was ovcm joyed in having secured the sanction of such a high exam})le for his own already established practice: and as Amy found it easier to yield than to resist, she made but a faint show of opposition. The church, of which she had been so long a mem- ^^ii m I ^ M ;tt 88 SOWINO ANT) REAPING. ber, liad borne for many years with her neglect of its services and ordinances ; but at leno^th tliey gave up the hope of her return to duty an his wife, and stooping to the bright upturned faces, I'x^- stowed a greeting kiss upon each, shook hands with I ! 90 SOWTNr, AND REAPING. I I : I I r ; I a tall, I'uddy-t'aced ycjuth wlio, with a stnilo of undis- jruisoe happy either to retire to my room, or meet your friends as you may prefer." It seemed to Amy that there was a slight touch of irony in her uncle's tones, and she answered hastily : " Then I shall have great pleasure in introducing you ; but first of all allow me to call my husband and brother. It will be pleasanter for both you and them to meet here than among strangers." Amy .soon returned with Colonel Elli.sson and Gonion, whom she presented to her uncle, and after a few minutes' conversation they all proceeded to the draw- ing-room, and soon after supper was announced. Mrs. Ellis.son had spared neither pains nor expense to make the entertainment a grand success ; and nothing that either wealth or taste could contribute to gratify the eye or tempt the appetite was wanting. Colonel Eilisson was in the best of spirits, the guests w.re charmed with the lavi.sh hospitality of their entertainers ; toasts were drank in the costliest of li(|Uors in honor of the happy return of the host ; and then the company withdrew, and nnisic, dancing, and other amusements filled up the remaining time until a late hour, when the guests dispersed, and Mrs. Ellis- son was left alone amid the solitary magnificence of her deserted rooms. Mr. Leeds had retired an hour after supper, Gordon, as soon as the company began to break up ; and as the last carriage rolled away, Colonel Eilisson, w^ho had drunk more freely than usual, made haste, while he was yet able, to gain the privacy of his own room. Amy seated her.self for a little while in her deserted drawing-room, weary and dissatisfied. The evening had brought her little pleasure, and a great deal of pain. Thoughts that for years she had succeeded in banishing crowded fast upon her, and would not be turned away. The sight of that brother of her buried father, so many of who?e lineaments she had been able to trace in him, called up recollections of that lii !*t 'l ■^ ■ ! 100 SOWINCi AND 1{EAI»IN(J. father from whicli she would gladly have escaped : while those old words of warning, of caution ami advice which he had uttered in the far-away years seemed again ringing thinr earnest, pleading protest in her ears. She liad furtively watched her uncle's face during supper, and had not failed to notice his look of surprise and piitn as the wine went round ; and especially wlien she had raised the cup to her lips in response to a toast in honor of her husband, that had been given. She had observed the pallor that overspread his face as Gordon lifted and drained his glass ; and now, as she sat there alone, she seemed again to hear the voice of her father crying to her from tlie past like the wail of a breaking heart : " O Amy ! as you love youi* mother's memory, as you value your father's blessing, keep my boy out of the path of this terrible tempta- tion 1 " With a suppressed groan she sprang to her feet and hurried to her room. As she passed her uncle's door she saw that his light was still burning ; and, pausing for a moment, she heard him pacing the Hoor with the slow, measured step of one too sorely disquieted to think of seeking repose in sleep. Passing on, she glanced into Hope's room, and there, kneeling by the bed-side of the sleeping child, was the humble woman, who had never since she came to reside under her roof faltered in her Christian integrity, wrestling in prayer for the child — doubtless for the children — for whom she, the mother, had no prayer. Entering the nursery, she saw her four little ones nestled down in the sweetness of their innocent repose; and the sight seemed to smite as with an iron hand upon her heart, as the unbidden thought forced itself upon her, that a few years might mar it all. She fled to her own room only to encounter a worse pang ; for there, in the heavy slumber of partial in- ebriation lay her husband, his face ablaze with the fiery imprino of the cruel appetite thrt was destroying him. M reck drap soft haste slo ep, Mr. the so dres.se< upon a to wat( Mrs. tlie chi early t( Jioon hi slipped! I^eli suil " Th J her har run, or ring in and in i winding " Gool from be] out, so rested." "Quit) too, reli^ fJeJights bright yl exercise 1 the previj I ll^ll III'" SOWING AND REAPING. 103 " Please, sir," said a sweet voice at bis side, "nurse said I should come and walk with vou, for she said she was afraid >ou were feelin«i; lonely ; wouhl you like to have nie ? " "Yes, my darling, I should like it very much indeed ! Nurse is very kind ; l)Ut are you nofc afraid you will feel it dull to h>ave your hrotht^rs and sisters, and walk with an old man like me i " " You are not an old man, you are nice ! " and the little <(irl looked up at the kindly face with "rcnuine admiration — " besides, I like to he with hi<^ folks better than with children. Alanniia says 1 am a little old woman ; and 1 «j;uess I must he, for Jacky always minds me ! " "Indexed!" said Mr. Leeds, smiling; "and doesn't Jacky mind any one else?" " Not if he can help it, sir ; hut here comes Ijee — I guess he wants to help keep you company, too ; " and, giving up to her brother the hand she held, Hope walked (juietly to the other side. Listening to the prattle of the children, Mr. Leeds soon half forgot the bunlen at his heart, and the time slipped away almost unnoticed until the ringing of a bell summoned the little ones to their breakfast. " That is our bell ! " exclaimed Hope, withdrawing her hand and snatching her brother's, " and we must run, or Norah will be calling us lazy ; your bell will ring in half an hour ! " she added, over her shoulder, and in a minute they were lost from sight among the winding paths of the garden. " Good morning, uncle ! " said Gordon, emerging from behind a clump of lilacs. " 1 discovered you were out, so I set off in search of you. I hope you are rested." " Quite so, thank you. I am glad to see that you, too, relish the morning air, it is one of my special delights ; " and Mr. Leeds gazed admiringly at the bright young face, so fresh and rosy with health and exercise ; but the smile faded quickly as he remembered the previous evening and its dissipe.ting pleasures. till ?* •'S^l ill IHIM'i r 104 SOV/ING AND KEAPINa. " Yes, I always liked the morning ; it's glorious to be out just when the sun is rising and the birds waking up. How do you like our prairies, uncle ? 1 presume they are new to you." " Their vastness oppresses me a little. 1 soon tire of boundlessnes,s, and begin to wish for variety ; a forest, a river, jtretch of breezy upland sinking away into a green, quiet valley among hills, with here and there glimpses of distant waters — or a broad table-land outlined with blue and purple mountains. 1 think, Gordon, if 1 lived on the ^M'airie, I should be always craving — craving — for something to rest the eye and the mind upon." " Well, uncle, I never have seen anything but prairie, and 1 like it*; it suits me splendidly. Still, I think, too, I'd like to see mountains ; it must be grand to got up six or eight thousand feet, and look off over the surrounding country I " " Would you like to visit New England, Gordon '' " " Wouldn't I, though ! 1 mean to travel some by- and-by, when I get through njy studies, if I can scrape together enough money." ' How much longer have you to study, Gordon ? " " That depends, of course, upon what I do. The Colonel and Amy are anxious I should take a college- course, and 1 rather like the idea myself ^ though it seems, after all, like niaking a big hole in a fellow's life — taking four or more solid years out of it." " Are you quite prepared for college ? " '• I think so ; if I go at all, I suppose I'll niake a sta rt this fall." " Where do you intend to go ? " " I've no idea, uncle ; Amy says Harvard or Yale ; but I guess our western colleges are good enough for me. That's the breakfast-bell, uncle, but I'm sure 1 don't want any ;. last night's foolery has taken the appetite all out of me, and given me a furious hoau- ache ! ' Mr. Leeds looked at him sjxdly Could it be, that bright, young creature standing thus upon the thres'h- The; upon V Hfe, bu little h in the ■see all denly, in an •suits, ll H^*^»iy • UpvvaiYJ often h ruin ! Afr. the har feeling, periloud but, wil •strong (Irawini the hou3 " Thii " think SOWING AND RE\PING. 105 old of manhood — neither boy nor man — gazing out upon the vast sea of life with all the restless activi- ties of the one, yet without the settled purposes of the other; could it be, that that young, buoyant life should be wrecked in the outset of its perilous voyage hy the demon of drink ? He stopped short under the pressure of the over- \vheln)ing thouglit, and, without pausing to give the second thought to what he was about to say, ex- claimed : " Come home with me, Gonlon, tc New England, and be my son ! I will educate you ! I will be a father to you : come with me ! " In the intenseness of his eiDotion he held out his hand ; and Gordon, bewildered by the suddenness of the appeal, laid his hand in that of his uncle, with a strange yearning to say Yes, but the word did not come. There are moments replete with destiny — moments upon which hinge, not alone the whole future of this life, but the eternity beyond. They come and pass, little heeded at the time, perhaps, but from every step in the individual's after-course he may look back and see all his paths radiating from that one point. Sud- denly, unperceived, it may be, his path broke off; and in an instant he stood face to face with scenes, pur- suits, lines of thought and action before undreamt of. Hp*^ny they whose life-course thus reversed takes an upvvt*i*d direction, tending ever higher; but alas, too often it is not .so ; and from that moment dates eternal ruin ! . Mr. Leeds tightened his grasp for a moment upon the hand, and his strong frame shook with suppressed feeling, as the longing to drag the boy away from his perilous surroundings swept over him like a tempest ; but, with an effort at self-control of which only a strong nature is capable, he relaxed his grasp, and drawing Gordon's hand within his arm turned toward the house. " Think of it, my boy," he said, after a brief silence ; " think the matter over carefully, and tell me by-and- :A s i ;: in :' 106 SOWING AND REAPING. by. I spoke just now under the pressure of emotions that you cannot understand, and which I cannot at present explain to you ; but believe me, Gordon, I meant it, and mean it still. I want you to go home with me ; I am not willinor to leave you behind ; but, as I said, think of it, and when you have had time for reflection we will talk of it again." Mrs. EUisson met her uncle, as he entered the break- fast-room, with a show of cordiality that took him a little by surprise; so different was it from the con- strained politeness of the previous evening. The ordeal she had so much dreaded was past; and with her usual facility for casting ofi' impressions, she had dismissed the thoughts that appalled her amidst the solitary dreariness of night ; and the morning found her calm, placid, unconcerned. " I hope, ancle, you find yourself rested this morn- ing," she said, showing him a seat. " You will have the goodness to excuse Colonel EUisson from break- fast, if you please. He is not quite rested yet from the fatiorue of his journev, and after the late hour of retiring last night, he is inclined to sleep." Mrs. EUisson seated herself at the head of the table, and was proceeding to pour the coffee, when, suddenly recollecting herself, she looked up and met her uncle's eye. She reddened, and would have apologized, but he did not \vait for her to do so. Raising his right hand with an impressive gesture, he bowed his head, and in a few, solemn and well-chosen words, invoked God's blessing upon the food. Mr. Leeds did not look up at either his niece or Gordon. He felt certain he had done what was an unusual thing at Mrs. Eilisson's table, but he did not wish to seem conscious of it. He, therefore, waited qu etly until he was served, and then, with ready tact, dr w them both into conversation ; and thus the half- hour, which had threatened to be one of awkwardness and constraint, passed pleasantly away. When breakfast* was over, Mr. Leeds withdrew to eveni for a the d house Hope had hi and G " Wi upon i| to my " Ye; of littl it seem "Ho "W I mio aught disgraci matter " Tru want J several <^f prop »»y own educatic shall ob " Wei of a fel I- SOWING AND REAPING. 107 the library to write some letters, Gordon had errands to do in town for his sister, and Mrs. EUisson went away to spend an hour with the children. After dinner. Colonel EUisson ordered the carriage, and his wife and himself accompanied their guest for a drive around their beautiful estate, while Gordon remained to give Hope a ride on the back of a pony which her father had sent her as a birthday gift. At evening, accompanied by the children, they all went for a walk through the garden and grounds ; and as the dew began to fall, Mrs.. EUisson returned to the house with the little ones. Colonel EUisson allowed Hope to coax him away to see some birds' nests she had had the extraordinary good fortune to discover, and Gordon and his uncle were left alone. CHAPTER XVII. " Well, Gordon," said his uncle, after a little talk upon indifferent topics, " have you given any thought to my proposal of this morning ? " " Yes, uncle, ever so much. The truth is, I've thought of little else ; and the more I think about it, the funnier it seems ! " " How so, Gordon ? " ' " Why, uncle, you don't know anything about me ! I might be the biggest scapegrace in the West for aught you know; you can't say but that I would disgrace you in a month, or half the time, for that matter i " "True, Gordon, I have thought of all that; but I want you to go with me notwithstanding. I have several daughters, but no son — a pleasant home, plenty of property for all of us, and if, for special reasons of my own, I wish to assume the responsibility of your education, and run my own risk in the matter, who shall object, provided you are willing ?" " Well, Uncle Leeds, you see I am not a goodish sort of a fellow, such as you have been used to ; and I'm i^ W^~\ I ! l\ 108 SOWING AND REAPING. not going to pretend 1 am. Father died before I could remember him ; and the fact is, I've grown up a pretty lawless youth. Amy did what she could for me ; but, as soon as I got up a little, I concluded not to be con- trolled by a girl ; boys don't like that sort of thing, you know ; and I very soon learned the trick of managing her a good deal better than she did me. Not but that I liked her well enough ; but of course, when I found I could get my own way by teasing her or laughing at her, I did it ; and so managed to have my own way pretty generally. " When she married and came here, of course I came with her ; and the Colonel, a jollj-, good fellow, just made a companion of me, and 1 liked him, and copied him to the utmost of my ability. I had no restraints of any kind placed upon me ; and having ^i idea 1 was ' uncommonly smart, I put on airs accordingly. That's the way I've come up, uncle ; and now it isn't likely that, with my lawless fashions, and your strict notions of things, you and I would hitch at all ! " and Gordon struck his heel into the gravel path with as much decision as though the clash had come, and he were preparing to face it. " You see, uncle, I am not going to try and hide the truth. 1 am not one of your proper people. I have habits and fashions that would shock you a dozen times a day. We're none of us religious here, unless it's Green, and she is — no mistake about that. Of course, father was ; he was one of your kind, you know ; and Amy used to be, but she got over all that long ago. Ever since she married the Colonel she's con- formed to him in everything — he's religion, and law, and everything else to her. Why, uncle, I never go to church, nor read the Bible ; but I can smoke, and play cards, and tip the glass when it suits me, as you saw me do last night; think of that, and you a preachc! and Gordon reddened in spite of his in- tended bravado. " I am certainly obliged to you for your candor, Gor- don. I do not understand you as intending to boast of ill' SOWING AND REAPING. 109 these things, but as merely stating them in order that there be no misconception on my part ; and your hon- esty in the matter makes me the more coniident that, when you come to soe — as of course you will — that those habits must all prove fatal barriers to your suc- cess in life, you will be equally honest with yourself in breaking them off. Your father was a brave, strong man; it is not for a moment to be supposed you will be less so than he ! " Gordon winced under his uncle's eyes ; he had given a turn to the thought Gordon neither expected nor intended. He had begun his speech witU a measure of self-importance that had, somehow, grown smaller as he went on ; and while his uncle was speakin^; he had felt himself rapidly dwarf- ing down immeasurably below anything he had felt himself to be for many a day. " But, leaving all this personal matter out of the question," continued Mr. Leeds, " how do you feel about going ? are you unwilling to try it ?" " I can't quite say that, uncle ; but I don't like the idea of being dependent. I've told the Colonel more than once that I won't be dependent upon him for an education ; and I don't like the notion any better of being dependent upon you. The fact is, I am rather old to be adopted ! I'd like to paddle my ow^n canoe ; but the trouble is, I am worth nothing but the farm that was my father's, and that 1 can't get possession of for some time to come; and even if I could, I wouldn't like to sell it, for it is rising rapidly in value, and in a few years will be worth twice what it is now. Besides father and mother, and all the children but Amy and I are buried there, which makes me feel as though I'd like to keep it always. Amy says she has some money saved up for me to begin upon ; but I know part of it, at least, is money she herself worked for and earned years ago ; and I don't want to touch it. She brought me up and that is enough for her to do, I think." " Well, Gordon, if you want to be independent in those matters — a very laudable ambition, indeed — I ii !■: I m 110 SOWING AND REAPING. can put you in the way of it. I will advance money for your education, and you shall, when of age, give the farm in security, until you are able to redeem it by paying back the money. There is a first-class col- lege in the town where I reside ; you can board in my family upon easy terms, and when you have com- pleted the course there, a year or two at Yale will make you a finished scholar." " That all sounds well, uncle, and I am ever so much obliged for your kind interest in me • but there's this in the way, and you don't seem to see it at all," — and Gordon again struck his heel impatiently into the gravel ; " I am not of your .sort — you are religious, and I am not ; what's more, don't want to be. You would be trying to make a Christian of me, and that would make me contrary. You wouldn't like me, and I shouldn't like you, if you teased me about religion ; that's just how it is, uncle. Excuse me, but I think it's best we should understand each other ! " " I understand you, Gordon, perfectly. Your feel- ing is much what I should expect ; and your frank avowal of it has a ring of honcst-heartedness in it that I esteem very highly. And now I will not be less candid with you. 1 shall certainly feel very anxious to see you a Christian; I could not be a Christian myself, and not desire to see you one. But as for making you one, that is out of the questio. i — God alone can do that. We have certain household regulations — such as having every member of the family present at worship, punctual at meals, regularly in bed at the established hours, all which regulations we deem important to health or morality ; and it will certainly please me very much to have you comply with them. " It will gratify me, too, to have you adopt the rule of being always at church, either where I minister, or at some other place of worship which I might advise. There are certain habits, too, Gordon — I need not name them, your own mind will readily suggest what I mean — that I should long intensely to see you break SOWING AND REAPING. Ill off. But I shall neither command nor insist. You are of an age to see clearly what is for your interest and what is not ; and I trust your desire to please me, and to do what is right, simply because it is right — not to say for your own best interests — will be amply suffi- cient without any wordy interference on my part- " I shall desire your confidence in everything. I shall wish to advise you as I would my son, and have you defer to me as though I were your father ; but I would like it all to be for love's sake, Gordon, and not of constraint. Does all this seem hard — unreason- able ? " " No, uncle, nothing of the kind ; and if I could only believe it possible for you ever to like such a fellow as I am, I wouldn't hesitate to say Yes to your kind offer ! " " What if I were to tell you I like you now, not- withstanding your frank admissions concerning your- self?" " I should say you were out of your head ! " said Gordon, laughing. " Well, ' out of my head ' or not, Gordon, believe me honest when I say I do like you, and want you to go with me, and see whether it is not possil)!e for you to like me — to put me, to a certain extent, in the place of the father whom you have lost. • "If you want to be placed upon an independent footing in respect to means, it shall be done ; and if, affcer you have tried it, you are not content to remain in New England, you shall return West whenever you choose. " And now, think the matter over carefully, and, if possible, let me know in the morning, as I do not wish to remain more than one more day, unless it be to wait for you to get ready. Act freely, Gordon, so that you may have nothing to regret ; at the same time, be guided by judgment and not by feeling ; " and, taking his nephew's arm, Mr. Leeds walked slowly to the house, and in a short time retired to his own room. Gordon communicated his uncle's proposal to his ■ 1 M 1 ' 1 t ) 1 ,i ■ : 'a ■'1 % ; III' ! I ! •i> i'^' 112 SOVVIN(J AND UEAI'INC;. sister and (^olofiol Kllisson ; ami, meot-in^ no sorious opposition from tluMii, n'tinvl to his own room to think the matter over. In the morniu with you were all a hideous dream. Surely 1 neoil not remind you of the social amusements, so called which you both tolerated and participated in ; amuse- ments, if such a term may be allowed, which I am satisfied you once looked upon, in the light of a higher religious experience, as utterly opposed to the spirit of Christianity. " But, when to all that is added the unrestrained use of intoxicating drinks, not alone by the majority of your guests, but by every member of your family who was present, yourself included, what can I think llfH; I- ! SOWING AND REAPING. 121 but that you have departed very far both from the teaching and example of your father, and from what wa3 once your own rule in life ? " What will be the direful consequences to your family of those two vicious indulgences — card-playing and drinking — if continued, God only knows. Shall 1 tell you, that yesterday, Gordon, with a certain show of pride in the avowal, volunteered the information that he was familiar with both ? and to what length you yourself have gone T may infer from what 1 have myself seen. " Amy, Amy ! for your own sake, for the sake of your husband and five little ones, rise, 1 beseech you, in the strength of your womanhood, and do what you can to banish those evils from your house 1 " " Uncle Leeds, you know very little what you ask me to do ! Is it for me to interfere with ray husband, as though he were not able to regulate his own amuse- ments and indulgences ? I presume he is competent to take care of himself ; and as for our children, 1 trust, as they grow up, we shall succeed in keeping them under needful restraints. I did not come to Colonel Ellisson's house to interfere with the social usages of the family ; that is not my prerogative, as I under- stand it. As regards Gordon, I have done my best to train him up according to papa's — " Mrs. EUisson stopped short — she dared not finish the sentence. Her face flushed crimson under the lash of memory and conscience, but with an effort she controlled her- stlf, and after a moment's hesitation added : ' I have done my best to have him respectable. If lie goes wrong he has himself alone to blame. But the sun is setting, and I must go to my children. I am sorry if I have displeased you, but I do not feel that I merit all your censure, and I am not prepared to accept all your advice;" and without waiting for further remark, she led the way out of the cottage and across the garden ; and after a minute's pause at the ;,'raves of their kindred, they slowly, and almost in 'ilence, retraced their way oxjross the fields. H M I ' «'l 1*! -i d 122 SOWING AND REAPING. Mr. Leeds joined Colonel Ellisson, who was walking in the garden, and Amy hurried away to her own room. The sun went down behind a pile of golden clouds ; the slow twilight faded out of the west ; the stars came out one by one over the blue vault; and at length the moon rose in the east ; yet still the two men talked on. It was a long, quiet talk — an earnest protest on the part of the one against habits and indulgences which he believed were ruinous in their tendencies ; and a patient, respectful hearing, with very little attempt at self-justification, on the part of the other. It was the old, oft-repeated protest against a habit whose claims are stronger than honor or duty, stronger than the love of wife or child, stronger than the hope of Heaven or the fear of Hell ; a habit which yearly robs thousands of noble-hearted men of all the most precious treasures and most cherished hopes, and plunges them at last into irretrievable ruin. Colonel Ellisson was not angry — he was even grate- ful for the earnest and faithful counsel he had re- ceived ; and as they parted fo.: the night he gave his hand to his guest, remarking, with genuine feeling : " I thank you, sir, very heartily, for your advice; and I shall endeavor to profit .by it. Whatever my own course may be, I will, at least, act upon your sugges- tion in regard to the children ; and I hope I shall be both a wiser and better man for this conversation." CHAPTER XIX. "Nurse?" " What, my precious ? " " I shall not go down to tell Gordon good-bye ; will you say it for me ? " " Why, Hopie, darling, what is the matter ? Are you feeling so bad as that ? " The little word of sympathy was too much; with a SOWING AN'> REAPING. 123 great sob the child threw herself into her nurse's arms, and, hiding her face in her bosom, gave vent to the long-pent sorrow. '* There, my darling, try and stop cryin', now ! " said the nurse, after Hope's grief had had a little time to spend itself ; " it'll make you sick to cry so hard. Don't you think you can go down now ? Gordy'll feel bad if you don't." " No, no ! " exclaimed Hope, hurriedly, " I shall be sure to cry if I do. He said he wouldn't go if I cried, and he must go ? " " What makes you say that, dearie ? You don't want him to go, do you ? " " You said it was best be should go, Nurse ; and I want him to do what is best." "Bless your brave little heart! and you want to help him — make it easy like for him! That's right, you dear little woman, you ! there ain't so much baby in you now, as there is in me ! " and Phoebe drew the back of her hand hurriedly across her eyes. " So it is best for him to go ! I'm as certain of it, as I be that the sun shines. If his uncle don't do him any good, he won't do him any hurt ; and that's more'n can be said for everybody. I'll make Gordy promise to write to you, dearie, and you needn't go down if you don't want to. Now don't cry any more, little bird ! " and kissing the child again, Mrs. Green hurried away to take leave of Gordon, who, next to Hope, was dearer to her than any one else in the wide world. His baggage was waiting in the hall, and a dray was momentarily expected to convey it to the station ; while Gordon, flushed and heated with his morning walk, had hurried to his room to complete his preparations. "The carriage is at the door, Gordon," said Mrs. Ellisson, looking in, and the children are waiting to say good-bye." Snatching his hat and gloves, Gordon followed his . sister down stairs. " Where's Hope ? " he exclaimed eagerly, glancing at the group of little ones. " Aunty Green, where's Hope ? She isn't sick is she ? " t; 124 SOWING AND HEAPING. " No, Gordy she ain't sick ; but she's been a-cryii)', and didn't want to come down. You VI better not ijjo a-nea^' her or you'll set her ott' again." " The solemn little owl — it's likely I won't !" — and the next moment Gordon was making his way up the stairs, three steps at a bound, to find Hope. " Ah, ha, little girl ! you meant to cheat me, didn't you ! " he exclaimed, bolting into the room. Hope sprang hastily from the window-seat where she ha 'rM i' iii: ^' 134 SOWING AND REAPING. old style, all so plain and yet so nice. But the best of all was, that everybody seemed thoroughly pleased with everybody else, each trying to make all the rest happy. It seemed very odd to me to have everybody at the table looking after my interest, trying to make me comfortable and perfectly at my ease. If uncle hadn't so completely wilted my self-importance, I am afraid it would have revived in the sunshine of so much loving-kindness. However, I do not think it rallied again so much as to appear particularly offen- sive to my well-bred relatives, and I really felt very happy among them. " When dinner was over, my aunt and uncle took me through the house. It is a plain, quiet old mansion, with large, airy rooms, and numbers of verandas, and little balconies, and queer, cozy corners '.!i. d with plants or overrun with vines, and here and there the cunningest little window-seats to tempt you into when you want to rest or read. " My room is large and pleasant, facing the south, where I can have plenty of sunshine if I want it ; just the place for a student, with a nice, large bed-room adjoining, from the window of which I can get a glimpse of the sea, only three or four miles away, and from which, when the weather is favorable, I can see the sails out on the bay quite distinctly. Just think of your prairie-boy regaled every day with a not distant view of the ocean ! "It makes me think always of that stanza in t^ e old ballad you used to repeat to me, commencing — "'Where Penobscot Bay with an aioure curve Winds proudly round Castine,' etc., though this is neither Penobscot Bay nor Castine ; yet it is Maine, and it is the Atlantic, or, at least, a portion of it, which is all very gratifying. " In the evening another pair of cousins, Nannie and Bessie, came home from a visit in the country ; and then there were another pair of introductions and Il ilplllll SOWING AND REAPINfJ. 185 another pair of surprises. Nannie, the older of the two, is the exact counterpart of her mother, with one of the brightest of faces ; Bessie is small and delicate, and very shy, much like our Hope, only not so nice ; nobody was ever so nice as Hope, or ever can be, the dear old baby ! " The next day, Saturday, uncle took me up to the college to look round. There are holidays now, and not much to be seen ; but the janitor kindly took us through, and showed us the buildings and all that is to be seen just now. "There will be about four weeks of holidays yet; and uncle and aunt and Bessie are going to visit some of the lake scenery in the western part of the State. They have given me an invitation to go with them, and possiblj* I may. We may visit the White Moun- tains for a few days when we are so near. Fancy vour brother, who never saw a hill before he was eifjh- teen, climbing Mount Washington and revelling in the novelty and grandeur of the scene I " On Sunday I went to church, for the first time in — how long ? and heard our uncle preach. I tried to fancy. Amy, that it was our father; I am glad you told ine uncle is so much like him. Well, T think this is the first sermon I ever really heard, and I did hear it. I couldn't have helped hearing if I would. He talks right straight to people, and not over them. " He does not roar or rant, but is in such tremen- dous, downright earnest, that you have to hear, and listen, and remember, whether you like it or not. What he says he proves; that is, he makes it clear it's what the Bible teaches, and that appears to be what he considers proof. When he tells people they are sinners, and will go to hell if they don't repent, he gives them Bible for it in a way they can't get round, unless they know Bible better tlian 1 do ! " Maine is a great temperance State, you know ; and Uncle Leeds doesn't hesitate to preach temperance among other things. I don't suppose there was either a drunkard or a tippler in the house ; but if there was, J ■]] 4 i!::, "i '■■ ' ■■\' • ' ;',*, H^ 1; !!' ■i: ! i A I I' 136 SOWING AND REAPING. he got something to remember and take home with him. "I couldn't help thinking about your party, Amy, that first night he was with us, and wishing you and the Colonel could have heard him. I don't suppose I shall ever see anything ' to take ' while I am here ; but if ever I should, I should feel pretty shaky after listening to that sermon. " But it's time I brought this long letter to a close, as I have yet to write to Aunty Green and to Hope ; and I must be careful not to (juite exhaust my already diminished stock of brains this time, lest I have noth- ing for the next effort. With kisses for all the young- sters. — Your brother Gordon." Mrs. Ellisson folded the letter slowly, and mechani- callv replaced it in the envelope; and then, after sitting still and thoughtful for many minutes, went and gave their letters to Hope and the nurse. "Oh, a letter ; a letter from Gordon ! " cried Hope, springing lightly into her nurse's lap and nestling down as was her custom while being read to. " Read my letter first, if you please, aunty dear!" she pleaded in her coaxing way, and Mrs. Green opened the letter and read. CHAPTER XXI. " Dear Little Hope • — " I am going to tell you what I think I should do if I were in Weston this very minute. It is my opinion I should start straight for Prairie House ; and without stopping to speak to a single other one, should run right upstairs, and never quit searching until I had found a certain little girl with big, sober eyes and the dearest little round face I or anybody else ever saw. And then I would sit right down on the carpet — she, of course, would sit on her stool beside me, for she is a very proper little woman — and I should tell her of dozens and dozens of things I have seen, and heard SOWING AND REAPING. about since I went away ; of broad, beautiful lakes asleep in the sunshine ; of high, high hills whose tops seem to hold the clouds up ; of green, sweet valleys down among the hills, where brooks run and trees grow, and birds sing, and Howers — not half as sweet as my wee prairie flower — are blooming in the cool, shady places. And then I should tell her about great cities with their fine houses, and cool parks, and lovely gardens, and museums full of rare and curious things ; of great, grand churches and public buildings ; and of the hosts and hosts of people who crowd and jostle each other all day long and half the night ; among whom there are sometimes found little, pale, peaked- faced children ragged, and hungry, and poor, who would make her heart ache and her eyes weep to think how sad and sick they look. " Then I should tell her about the grand old ocean, on which I took a long ride in a beautiful vessel ; and try to help her realize what a wonderful thing the sea is, with its great world of waters stretching away for hundreds and hundreds of miles, and spreading out on every side, so big and blue, and bright with sunshiny ri|)ples. '• Then I would tell her about a new home I have found in this far-away country, where there are some very kind friends whom I think I shall like very much when I get to know them better, and of a little cousin who reminds me very .much of Hope, only she has not her fresh healthy complexion and bounding step, but has a weak hollow cough, and often looks very ill. " But I cannot go and tell you of all these things, nor even write them, for they would take too long. But, by-and-by, when you are grown up, you will come and see all the beautiful places and lovely scenery for yourself, 1 dare say ; and that will be a great deal better than anything I could write. " I want to see you very much. I have never been so long without seeing you since that summer morn- ing when you woke up in our little cottage, eight *f !l< L; 138 SOWING AND REAPINCJ. 5 years ago. But it will have to be a long time before I see you again — fully four years, I suppose, and may be six. Isn't that a long time ^ Why, by that time you will be almost a young lady, and Lee will be as big as I was when you came to live at the cottage, and Augusta and Eva as old as you are now, and Jack — well, perhaps Jack will have learned to behave himself, don't you hop^ so ? " Now, if Aunty Green will read you her letter, and mamma and papa theirs, you will know a great deal about me — enough, I dare say, to last you a whole month. G( od-bye, little darling, and don't you ever, ever forget vour old playfellow — " Gordon." I Mrs. Ellison had withdrawn to her room, closed the door, and casting herself into an easy chair, sat for a long time buried in thought, Gordon's letter had surprised, and in some of its aspects annoyed her. She had never given him credit for having very much heart — indeed, his warm affection for Hope had seemed to her quite an exceptional thinof. She had never taken into consideration the possibility that, had she hersr'f been more demonstrative toward him, he might have been more so toward her ; or the fact that Hope and her nurse — the only two who had ever lav- ished upon him much of the outward expression of love — were the only ones who had ever elicited a cor- responding warmth from him. There had never been much of that warm, tender sympathy between herself and Gordon which might naturally be looked for between a sister and a brother so dependent upon her as Gordon had been. During the first years of their orphanage, her thoughts were so much engrossed with her own pros- pects and aims that she had little time to spend in that tender, loving intercourse which every child's heart instinctively craves, and without which its nature will be more or le.ss warped and distorted. To keep him clean and nice, and, from the time he SOWING AND UEAPINO. 139 was able to go to school to send him there with the most perfect regularity, had seemed to her about the sum of her duties to the child ; and in later years, when trial came, she had withdrawn into herself more and more ; and thus Gordon had grown up almost ignorant of love in its outward manifestations. The advent of Hope marked an era in Gordon's his- tory; and the encouratjjement Mrs. Green gave to his fondness for the child, as well as her own motherly treatment of him gave her a hs Id upon him that his sister had never gained ; and though often he did not seem to heed her counsel, it was not forgotten ; but was waiting to be revived in after years when life should take on a more serious and earneot tone. Alter her marriage, Amy was too much occupied with other thinsrs to think much about her brother, except to see Jiat he lacked nothing for his physical comfort, and that in a general w^ay he conducted him- self with becoming decorum. For a year or two previous to his leaving home, she had been gratified to see him growing more manly, and less disposed to have his own way at all hazards ; and proud, also, to see him taking the place of honor in his classes ; nor had she scrupled by injudicious commendation and reward to foster the overgrown vanity and conceit, of which he was just beginning to make the humiliating discovery. Still, although realizing a good deal of praiseworthy change in Gordon, Mrs. EUisson had continued to regard him as, on the whole, a wayward and selfish youth, who really loved nobody but himself and Hope. But his letter had revealed to her a vein*of aflfectionate warmth in his nature for which she had never given him credit; one, indeed, for which she had never sought, and which, consequently, she had never found. But that this warmth of heart and feeling should have its first development, except in the case of Hope and her nurse, toward strangers whom she had come to regard with a certain feeling of hostility, vexed and saddened her. »t I '■ 1 t' mi , 1, If^: ■i. % wm 140 SOWING AND IIEAPINO. That "tall, handsome lady," his aunt, what peculiar quality could there bo in her to stir such a sudden yearning in the heart of the " boy who had never known what it was to have a mother to love him ? " What could a mother be to Gordon that she had not been ? what love had Gordon lacked ? His remark hurt her inexpressibly ; and, not only so, it roused an emotion of jealousy toward the gentle woman who was the unsuspecting cause. That uncle, too, whom she had repulsed ; and from whom she had parted with undisguised coldness ; what was the secret of the manifest ascendency he had so soon gained over Gordon ? It must be the extreme fickleness of Gordon's own nature that could cause him to take up so entirely with strangers in that brief time, while she, who had been as a mother to him, had never elicited any such interest. Mrs. EUisson took her brother's letter from her pocket, and again drew it forth from the envelope, in order to give it another and more careful perusal, when a folded paper, which she had not at first noticed, slipped from the envelope, and fluttered to the floor. She picked it up, and unfolding it, read : " I forgot to tell you of something that happened on Sunday, Amy, which I am sure you will think very extra- ordinary — at least I do; indeed, I begin to question whether I am really Gordon or not, I am getting to do such unlikely things. " But, to my story. After dinner. Uncle Leeds put on his hat, and, turning to me, remarked : 'I am going over to the ve*stry, Gordon, to make some preparations for Sunday-school. I have a class of young men who meet me there, and I usually devote this hour to special preparation. I trust I shall see you over with your aunt and the girls ; ' and without giving me a chance for either yes or no he walked away. " When the time came, aunty, with one of her irre- sistible smiles, said to me, * Are you roady, Gordon ? ' so what does Gordon do but picks up his hat, as though m SOWING AND HEAPING. 141 he had been a dutiful Sunday-school child all his days, and marches off. " I am not goinj:]^ to tire you with details ; suffice it to say, that when Gordon was invited to take a seat in the class, he took it, althou«;h his protest had been all made up and ready for several minutes; somehow it would not say itself, and, for the life of him, he could not say it. By-and-by a Bible was oliered him, which, without in the least intending to take it, he took ; and, when a question came round to him, he had become so interested that, in spite of his firm resolve not to answer, he answered at a venture, and was lucky enough to be right. This so encouraged the child that, in due time, he volunteered another, and hit the mark again ! " Finally, his uncle came to him with his class-book ; and, with that peculiar way of his, which leaves you a chance for only one answer, said, ' Shall I take your name, Gordon ? ' and Gordon, in the meekest manner conceivable, said, ' Yes.' "But, when the lesson was over, and a dozen or more fine, intelligent fellows came round to be iitro- duced, a.id all shook hands with him as warmly as though they had been fast friends for years, the fellow was actually so far gone that I caught him in the act of congratulating himself — secretly, you understand — over the fact of his having had the good fortune to become one of their number — a Sunday-school scholar! " He learned afterwards. Amy, that all of them but three are college boys; but — alas! for his long-cherished love of superiority — all but one, a year or more ahead of him ! In a day or two we expect to start on our excursion, and I am as enthusiastic as — a boy." That excursion fully justified Gordon's most sanguine expectations. The wild, romantic scenery of the west- ern portion of the State was a source of ever- varying delight; and when at length he reached the White Mountains, his enthusiasm was at its height. After a fortnight spent in the neighborhood of Mount Washington, climbing and exploring by day, ^n ' v. i »SI 1^ *itii ill' , lijJ; If 142 SOWING AND llEAPINd. and at eveninm alludeil to them, except in a sarcastic vein, and never expressed any interest in the family of her uncle, he gradually became formal and reserved in writing to her, only to give free vent to his enthusiasm in writing to Hope, who never failed to make him feel, child though she was, that she was made happier by everything that increased his happiness. One day, when Gordon had been absent about a year, Hope came running to Mrs. Ellisson's room, her face radiant with delight, exclaiming, " O, mamma, I have a lovely letter from Gordon, and there's sitch good news in it you would never guess, I'm sure ! O, I'm so glad !' " And what is this wonderful item of news ? " asked Mrs. EUisson, a little coldly, for she had grown sensi- tive at Gordon's more unrestrained communication to Hope of whatever made him happy than to herself, not reflecting that the reason could easily be traced to the indifference she had herself shown to such com- munications, connected, as they generally were, in some way, with her uncle and his family. ROWING AND RE\P1N(J. 145 " O, mainina, do f(ucss ! Why, aunty is cryinjr altout it, she is so pleased, and wlion [ be<^^ed her not to, she suid slio must, the news made her so glad. Guess what it is, mamma, do ! " "No; 1 am not good at guessing — what is it ?" "Wliy, just this, that Gordon has signed the tomper- atiee pledge; and that means, you know, mamma, th tt he 11 never, never drink anytliing to make liiin drunk ; and aunty says, tlie next thing he'll be a Christian — she has faith to believe it ! " '"Faith'! you silly little parrot, you are always repeating Green's nonsense !" — and Mrs. Ellisson's voice sounded harsh and repulsive in contrast to the glad rini: of the child's utterances. Hope looked shyly in her mothers face, to see if the words meant scolding or teasing ; but the joy of her heart was too great to be held back, and she broke forth again. "Oh, I'm so glad. Gordon is never going to drink that poison .stuff that makes folks so awfully wicked any more, is he, mamuja ? — and by-and-by he will be a dear, good man like his uncle, and learn to pray — aunty says maybe he'll be a preacher ! " " Hope Ellisson ! Now, let this be the very last time 1 hear you repeating Aunty Green's non.sense. I am tired of speaking to you about it. I must send that woman away, for you are continuallj"^ parroting her words. Really, I am ashamed of you !" Such sudden woe treading clo.se upon the heels of such joy ! Hope's lip quivered, and her eyes over- flowed with tears ; all her joy for Gordon was for the moment lost in the unutterable dread of losing her beloved nur.se. " mamma ! don't send dear aunty away ; please don't ! and I'll never, never — ," but the sentence was drowned in sobs, and with bitter weeping she hid her face in the ottoman at her mother's feet. " Hope, come here." Mrs. Ellisson laid aside her work ; and lifting the little girl upon her knee, said, in a changed tone, as TilliP 1? f' € 146 SOWING AND REAPING. i .i she wiped away the tears from her flushed face, " I cannot allow you to cry so, my little girl ; be quiet now, I want to speak to you." Hope dried her tears, but the deep, hysterical sobs would not for some time be controlled. " Who told you, Hope," said Mrs. Ellisson, at length, "about drinking poison stuff that makes folks awfully wicked ? " " Aunty, mamma." " What did she tell you?" " O mamma ! you are going to send her away, I know you are, you look so, so — " "Hush, Hope! no more crying! 1 am not going to send her away if she's good," " Yes she is good, mamma ! Oh she is so good, and she loves me so dearly ! " " All right, I am very glad ! tell me now what she said, Hope." "Why, she said wine, and brandy, and all those things, mamma, are as poison — not to kill people right at once, you know, but they just keep burning, and burning, and burning tliem, and so they get cross and crazy like, and stagger, and swear — " " That will do ; who did she say does such things ?" " Why, people who drink, mamma." " All people, Hope." " She said all people might come to do those things if they kept on drinking ; and do you know, mamma, I am .so afraid papa — " " Stop, Hope ! never speak of your papa in connection with such things. Have you heard Green do so ? " " Oh no, mamma, never ! Once when I asked her if papa would get bad if — if — don't be angry, mammal — if he drank those poison drinks, she put her hand over }ny mouth, and said I mustn't ever speak so again ; though I am sure I didn't mean any harm, mamma ! " "She was quite right, Hope! Little girls should never le found making remarks to any one about what their parents do ; and the sooner they are taught SOWING AND REAPING. 147 that it is very improper the better. I hope you will remember the lesson." " I shall try and remember," said £he child, absently ; "but oh, mamma!" she exclaimed suddenly, her thoughts running back again to what had been the one great trouble of her life since the day she had been allowed to sit at the table with her parents, " 1 do be afraid when I see you and papa — " " Stop, I say ! Do you not understand yet that you are not to talk of those things ?" "Yes, mamma," and Hope lifted a sad, grieved face toward her mother's. "I may speak about Gordon, mayn't I ? " " If you have anything proper to say." Hope looked timidly into the Hushed face of her iiiother, but the sudden recollection ot" her great joy on Gordon's account banished the rising grief, her face brightened instantly as she remembered her " lovely letter," and snatching it eagerly from her pocket she exclaimed : " Please, mamma, will you read it to me ? I love to hear you read, you make it sound so much like talk." Mrs. Ellisson's face wore a troubled look, and there were anxious, fretful lines in her forehead, which seemed at that moment deeper and more marked than usual ; but she took the letter from the little girl's hand, and, unfolding it slowly and in a hesitating manner, read : "Dear Little Hope,— I always call you little, and so I know you are, though it sometimes seems long enough since I saw your dear, sober face to have you grown a big girl ; but when I stop and think that it's little more than a year since I came here, I know you must be almost the very same you were then, only, perhaps, a little bit taller. " But though I want to see you, and all the rest very much, I am not, as I have often told you, in the least lonely or homesick, for I have such a pleasant home 1 could not possibly be either. Everybody is very kind to me — if I were one of their very own m m •i t ! III ii i lis SOVVINCJ AND HKAIMNCi. 11 ! •: tlioy couhl not Ih^ nioiv ho. My ^ood aunt iictH tow ids mo pnrisoly as slio tlocs toward her own clnldn'U, and it .somotiiiHis scimus t') ino almost us though I had in hn* and my uncle my own parents Iwu'k. " 'I'liort^ is on(» thin^', liowiiViT. which mak<>s »is all jinxious, a,nd sonu^timcs sad, anrinij disease which you know no(hinjj[ ol', and I hope you never nuiy. "She is a dear little j^irl, consid(MM.hly youn<,'(M* tlimi you; and, as I havt^ told you h(d*or(», very much like you. only not (piite so sliy as my darlinj:; little j)raiii(' bird is. "She is very thoujjjlitful and (piiet, and always so patient; you would love her very much, and I'eol <:jriev(>d, as we all do, to hear her cou^h so hard. " Jiittlo Bessie has a hall'-sister. iR-r own mamnin's daui^^hter. a younij ^irl who has hoen away for some time at a hoardiuijf-school. She is comiuir home soon, to take Bessie south to spend a year with her ^rand- nnnuma in Florida, in hopes the warm climatic will make her strotiij aufain. Hessie is ixoiui' to write to you when she i^^ets there, and you must answer ri<(ht away, tor she will he lonely, and your letters will lie company for her. "And now. Hope. I am going to tell you something,' which I (hire say will make you very glad. You can tell Aunty Green, and your papa and mamma if you like, and I hope it may make you all as glad to read, as it does me to write about it. It is this : " There have been some verj'^ earnest men lecturinfj in this town on the subject of temperance, and they were getting all that would, to put their names to a paper called a Tempn'ance Pledge, which was just a promise never to drink anything that would make them drunk. " Well, every night, after the lecture, they gave j*» ■ipff H<>VVIN(i ANh KI«;AI'IN(i. 149 ('V«^ry |)nrH(>ri a cluuuu^ to cotiu; and inuko tliis nroini.sc; liiit i'or a lon;^ i'uiw. I tlioiiL^'lit I nc.vrr would nijrn it. I ili()ii<4lit it wotild Im) V(!ry u'wa'. to d(; just as I likc-d ; und I ofton said as irnt(;)i, i'or<^(tttiii;^ ail tin; tiiiK; tliat Unit jiist nwMiut h-cv to iiml<m ifter all, is to he ahhi to iy to our appe- tite, '/ am master, and not you.' " One niglit, a little while after, I went to the lecture all hy my.self ; and as soon as it was over, I went up and sij^ned my name in a hi<(, bold hand, so as to make myself see that I wasn't a bit ashamed of it ; and, when I got liome and told my uncle, what do you think he did ? Why, he went and kneeled down and thanked God for lielpinfj ' dear Gordon to do what is ri<»ht ' — tho.se are the very words he said — and then he asked Him to help me never to break my pledge. "You know, Hope, I'm not a bit good ; and when he did that I felt cros.s and uncomfortable ; but when he rose on his feet, and I .saw my aunt's face all wet with tears, and .she came and ki.ssed my foreheav|' !!!■ » mn"^ril ' 1 f''' 'r 150 SOWING AND UEAPINCl. speak, a h'lcr lump came into my throat, and I ran off upstairs with a great, make-believe laugh, to get rid of them. " But it is all over, and I am very glad I did it ; and now, if you want to send me your name to stand light alongside of my own, I will put it there myself, and there they shall stand together always. " But I'm doing what I aways do when I write to you — sending you such a long, long letter, that it will . tire your eyes to read it. " You must give my love to your papa and mamma and Aunty Green, and kiss your brothers and sisters for me, and, as soon as you can, send a good long letter to your naughty old Gordon." Mrs. Ellisson sat for a while silent and thoughtful, with the open letter in her hand, and quite forgetful of the little girl at her feet ; thinking less, perhaps, of the brother who wrote the letter than of what the letter suggested ; and with a vague, undefir 2d sense of trouble lying heavy at her heart, until roused by the timid question : " Aren't you very glad, mamma ? " Her eyes wandered dreamily toward the child, some- thing in the eager, questioning face recalled her from her reverie, and she answered : " Glad ? O, yes, Hope, very glad, certainly ! Here," .she added, folding the letter, and returning it to the envelope, " take this to your papa ; he is in the library, and may be glad to get it." This was a new thought to Hope. It had not occurred to her to show it to her father ; and under the impulse of her sudden joy at being permitted to do so, she darted away with her treasure, bounded down the stairs and along the hall, and only when standing hushed and eager in her father's presence remembered the recent prohibition never to enter the library without first knocking at the door. " I did not think, papa ! " she said, checking her speed in the middle of the room, " I did not remember — I was so very glad ! " and Hope held out the precious letter. "O papa! will you — ?" and, encouraged by 1 r SOWING AND REAPING. 151 her father's glance, she laid her hand upon his knee ; but her face flushed crimson as she remembered her motlier's displeasure at what she had just been saying, and with the rising entreaty unuttered, she stopped short, confused and agitated. " Will I what, my little girl ?" said Colonel Ellisson, lifting the chihl to his knee; but so many conflicting emotions had quite unnerved Hope, and, burying her face in her father's bosom, she sobbed hysterically. " Gently, gently, now — why, what a bal)y it is ! " said her father, soothingly. " Listen now, and I will read your letter to you, if you wish ; " and, with wonderful self-control, Hope subdued her sobs, and listened again as eagerly as though it had been for the first time. Colonel Ellisson read on .slowly until he reached the word " Temperance Pledge ; " then, quite forgetful of the earnest eyes that seemed entreating him to go on, his voice ceased ; his eyes followed the lines swiftly down the page ; his color came and went in rapid alternations, and then, as if the gaze of the child di.scon- certed him, he .said, without raising his eyes from the page, " Run away, daughter ; there's a good girl — you .shall have your letter l>y-and-by ; " and Hope, accus- tomed to unquestioning obedience, quietly left the room and closed the door ; and Colonel Elllssoh was left alone with his thoughts. Let us be careful that we do not misjudge the unhappy victim of strong drink. Few men reach the drunkard's grave without struggles, of which the untempted do not dream ; without tears, which God alone sees ; without again and again cursing their chains and vowing to be free ; without often rising to the height of a temporary victory, only to be speedily thrust down again by the cruel appetite to a lower depth than any before reached, unless a stronger Helper than their own enfeebled human will interpo.se to save them. When Colonel Ellisson again appeared in the midst of his family, his pale face and heavy eyes told of a w imm m 152 SOWING AND REAPING. struggle, known only to his own soul and God. For a while the wine stood untasted on his table; but it was not long. There had been a transient recoil, a short- lived resolve, but the anijels blotted with tears their brief record of his unkept vow, and soon he was gliding on once more, smoothly and buoyantly, down the fatal stream 'that is sweeping millions to ruin. CHAPTER XXIII. It was a bright evening in the early part of summer, five years from the time Gordon Leeds left his home in the West. He was sitting thoughtfully at a window, his book lying open on a table at his side, and his arms folded as if tired of the wearisome monotony of study. His table was loaded with books and papers — lexi- cons, text-books, and note-books were lying around him on chairs and stools, or tossed in heaps on the carpet at his feet; while on his pale, thin face there rested a look of weariness, almost of disgust, as though at that moment he realized the full meaning of the proverb that " much study is a weariness to the flesh." Ati the back of the table, almost hidden by a pro- miscuous heap of note-books, exercises, and blotted scraps of paper, lay an old volume, marred and defaced by much handling, yet evidently long disused, for the dust had gathered thick upon the cover and upon the irregular edges of leaves long loosed from their binding, and projecting beyond their fellows. Suddenly, as though impelled by the force of urgent thought, Gordon flung aside the heavy volume of metaphysics with which he had been torturing his brains, and drawing forth the old book from its hiding place, he turned the leaves rapidly until the desired passage was found. He carefully read over a few sentences, and then, closing the book, thrust it again into its place. SOWING AND REAPING. 158 " I wish I could believe it," he said, half aloud, " I wish I could believe it ! And yet, why do I not ? It all seems quite reasonalJe, surely, and yet — ;" and aorain the tired student, foldingr his arms wearily across his breast, as if unable or unwilling to pursue the thought further, relapsed into his former dreamy meditations. The book he had just re-consign"d to its neglected corner amidst the rubbish of his study-table, was the old Bible his uncle had brought away with him from his brother's library, and had placed upon Gordon's table with the simple words pencilled upon a slip of paper — " This is your father's Bible, Gordon. It was for him 'a lamp to his feet, and a light to his path ; ' what shall it be to you ? " Gordon had never given an hour to its perusal. Study, as is too often the case with the ambitious student, had been no help to him spirituallj" ; yet questions were continually coming up in his uncle's class, of which he still remained a member, which fastened themselves in his mind, and would not give place even to the absorbing themes of college study. The subject of the previous Sabbath's study — " God's parental regard for the sinner, as illustrated in the story of the prodigal son " — had been unusually im- pressive, and the softened tone of Gordon's feelings, the result of recent illness, made him specially sus- ceptible to the tender interest of that wondrous story. At length, rousing himself, Gordon opened his eyes, and gazed wistfully over the distant hills, bright with the beams of the declining sun, and yielding to that sudden craving for the fresh air, and open fields, which one often feels after a day of severe mental toil, he sprang from his chair, snatched his hat, and, student- like, without giving a thought to the wild disorder he was leaving behind, sallied forth for an evening walk. As he passed through the sitting-room, he paused for a moment to look at the pale, sleeping face of little Bessie, who, after an exhausting fit of coughing, had fallen into a heavy sleep. k 154 SOWING AND REAPING. Physicians, change of climate, and all the means of restoration usually resorted to in such cases, had failed ; and patient, little Bessie, the pet lamb of the flock, the darling of the household, had been given up to die. But with that strange tenacity with which some consumptives cling to life, and wear out years and years in suflering, the child had lingered on far beyond the hope or expectation of her friends ; and yet, with no more prospect of immediate release than at many previous times, she still lingered. Mrs. Leeds was sitting near her, and, as Gordon bent over the little sleeper, she looked up in his face and whispered sadly, "It will soon be over, Gordon ! " It was the first time he had ever heard her speak of Bessie's death as immediate ; and he started with a sudden feeling of horror. He had never looked upon death except in the case of Hope's mother, and then his dread and dismay were so great he would not be induced to take a second look ; now the thought of confronting it at any moment, and in the case, too, of the almost idolized child before him, was too much for his strength. With a face almost as white as that of the little sleeper, he turned silently away ; but, beckoning him back, his aunt handed him a letter, remarking, in a whisper : " It came half an hour ago, but I was so busy with Bessie that I forgot to send it up." Gordon glanced at the letter, and seeing it was from Hope, passed on. The last two years had been for him almost lost time ; yet his uncle, who regarded him as a son, would not hear of his going back to the West, nor would such a course have availed anything for Gordon, unless he had given up study, and that he was resolved not to do. With the blind recklessness in regard to health with which the young student too often launches out upon a course of study, he had found himself, before his second year's work was done, obliged to leave his SOWING AND REAPING. 155 books, and devote himself to the task of recruiting his health ; and this had occurred again and again, until, at the end of five years, he had only done the work of three ; and that very day his physician had warned him that, unless the summer did more for him than there was any reasonable prospect of its doing, he must give up study for an indefinite period, and devote him- self wholly to out-door employment. " I won't do it ! " he exclaimed, rebelliously, after revolving the hard alternative with mingled feelings of discontent and anger during a dreamy, listless, half- hour's walk. " Give up study, indeed, at this stage of my work — so much begun and not' mg finished ! " and casting himself down at the foot of an old tree that stood in a retired spot half a mile out of town, the usual limit of his evening walks, he began vigor- ously tearing the green leaves from a shrub that grew beside him, and, tossing the fragments into a stream at his feet, endeavored to soothe his irritated nerves by watching them as they glided swiftly on toward the sea. At length the thought of Hope's letter recalled him from his dream, and, snatching it from his pocket, he tore off the envelope, and, flinging it into the stream to share the fate of the poor leaves, he unfolded it, and read: ^i!J *> " Dear Gordon — What do you think ; I am thirteen years old in a fortnight ! and papa has just told me I may write, and ask you to come and be with us on that day. " I expect to have a little party — my schoolmates, just — and I think it cannot be that you are grown too old and grave to enjoy being with us. " At any rate, you will come ; and in order to be sure of you, papa gave me the enclosed cheque to send you ; so now you can have no excuse on the score of funds. " Now, dear Gordon, you must come, if only to see how tall I have grown. Papa says I am going to be 'IP....: h.i \-M f ' M 1 H m 1' lfii ii 150 S()WIN<5 AND IIKAPINO. just tho picture of my own poor dear iiunnina; won't that be nice ^ Not tluit I care so very much for looks, only I would like to know just how her darlin<(, sweet face looked when alive; and tlnd I cannot be (luitc sure of by a picture. " O Gordon, my heart nets very hunnjry for my own mannna sometimes, especially after dear aunty 1ms been tellinu; me about her, and how dearly, dearly slu; loved me, her poor, tiny, little baV)e ! Sometimes it seems to me 1 would always be (piite happy if I could remember her beautiful eyes, and have always in mind one — ^^just one, even — of her sweet, lovinjj; kisses. " Not but that I love the mannna I have very dearly ; but you know, Gordon, she isn't my own, own ; and that nmkes a difierence, I think — don't you think so f " Augusta is mamma's favorite amonjr us all ; but 1 am not jealous, for Au«.;;usta is beautiful and very clever, and I am neither. 1 love Eva more — I am not sure but it is partly because she has my own mamma's name ; still, she is very sweet and gentle, and loves me : Augusta never did. Lee has grown a big, strong boy ; he is extremely like papa, and besides, he is very clever ; but he likes his own way, and gets it, too. " Jack is the same dear old rowdy he always was — forever in some sort of trouble, either on his own account or somebody else's. But you are coming in a fortnight, and then you can see us all just as we are, and papa and mamma, too. " We are not going to tell mamma — we want her to have a genuine surprise. Nobody is to know it but papa and I — not even dear aunty, for she will be as surprised and as glad as manuna, every bit. " Won't it be nice for you to come and spend all vacation here ? It will help you to get well — don't you think so ? " Nobby has grown as cross as cross. He bites an.1 kicks, so that nobody dares touch him but Nelson; and papa says he'll give him to Nelson for his own, and buy me a horse that I can ride as much as ever I like. Papa is just the dearest love in the world, Gor- s « * SOWrN(} AM) HKAI'IN(J. ir,7 (Ion ; thoio's uofchinjLf lio wouldn't rusal, when a well-known fact^ at the door suddenly brought him hack again to the consciousness of a warm, motherly sympathy, long missed but never forgotten. CHAPTER XXV. " Why, Gordon, dearie, is this you ?" The true heart of Mrs. Green would be repressed no longer; and, at the risk of incurring her mistress' possible displeasure, she had ventured to the library to find Gordon. " Yes, auntie, bless your kind heart, how are you ? " and Gordon stooped his glowing face to receive the motherly kiss of the humble woman who had r,iied more of the warmth of a true mother-love over his boyhood than any othor one. " Well, well 1 " and Mrs. Green stepped back and sur- veyed the your.g man from head to foot. " Hope said I wouldn't know you, and sUre enough I wouldn't. Five years does make a change in a growin' boy, now, don't it! You've come home to stay now, hain't you, Gordon ? " " No, auntie ; I have lost a great deal of time, and am scarcely half through my work j'et I have only come for a short visit." " Well, dearie, I am so glad to see you, I don't know what to do ; but I can't say I'm sorry you ain't goin' to stay, though mebby j'^ou may think it strange that I, who love you next to Hope as though you was my own, could say such a thing." " How is this, auntie ? you were glad to have me go, I' i I' .' i 168 SOWTNU AND lUOAPINCl. and now you are «,Ma(l I am not goinj^ to stay; I'm not pain Hwcpt over tho woman's face. " it's because I love you so much that I say it, and you niusn't I'.'t it hurt your f».(>liii^s; hut lieliev(! ine, dcuri*', you're ever .v: r«;tK'h hettrr oft' down there aloiii,' of your uncle's folks than you could he here; and tliut's what I've said to myself all alonLj ! " " Uncle Gordon, mamma wants you in the ^green- house, to help her till some vases for the tea-tahle ; and Hope says you're to come up to the drawing-room when you get through. "There are lots of girls up there, and Hope's goin^' to have some charades and things." "Yes, Lee; 1 will he up there before long. Will you excuse me, auntie ? " "Yes, dearie, bless you ! young folks is young folks, and I can't expect you to stay talkiug to an old woman like me. Now 1 hain't hurt your feelini,'s, have I ? " " No, no, auntie, nothing of thi; kind ; don't dnsaui of such a thing ! It is quite possible I understand you better than 1 seem to, after all;" and with the painful shadow all banished from her kind face, Mrs. Green withdrew, and Gordon went to help his sister. The evening passed away pleasantly to Hope and her companions, the prolonged absence of Colonel Ellisson being the only drawback to their enjoyment, At an early hour the little party broke up ; and a.s the last group disappeared down the long avenue tliat stretched from the house to the street, Gordon turned to his sister, who with himself and Hope had been watching the receding forms, with the inquiry : " What can be keeping the Colonel so late, Amy ? ' " Oh, he is engaged with some friends, and has not found it easy to get away, I suppose. He will be home soon, I think ; but we had better go in ; the dew is falling, and the night is growing cool." " Thank you. Amy ; but I think I will go and meet SOWING AND IlKAIMNO. Jf)9 Hii<,'l» ; l>o is Huroly on th« road by this tinio;" and Gordon connnoncod Imttoninj^ up hi.s noat, preparatory to Ids walk. " No, (Jrordon, yon must not ^fn out t()-ni<^ht!" said Mrs Ellisson, nervously; " Ilu^h may not Ix; in till iiiidnij^dit ; and as you urn not well, the ni^ht air will do you harm. There is no need for any one to go to incut him." "Oh, no neeil, of course ! but the night is beautiful, and anyhow I want a walk;" and, without further parley, (lordon walked rapi(Jly down the avenue. " I r/f> wish he wouldn't go ! " said Mrs. Ellisson, fret- fully. " Why, mannna," said Hope, "papa will be glad to have him come and meet him ; I'm sure he will." " Hope, it is time you were in bed ; go to your room at once ! " " Cannot I stay with you, mamma, till papa and Gordon come ; it is scarcely more than nine o'clock yet ? " " No, Hope ; you will see them both in the morning ; fjood-nifjht!" Hope kissed the cheek that was bent to her, and, with a sigh, withdrew to her room. "Can I stay up with you a while, auntie?" she asked, as she entered ; " papa is not in yet, and Gordon has gone to meet him ; may I wait up till they come ?" "I think you'd better go to bed, dearie ; you're tired, and they may stay out till all hours talkin'. Come, let me undress you." "This is my birthday evening, auntie ; please let me wait till papa comes." "Well, well; an hour or so won't matter much, I dare say; but you must put on something warmer than that, or you'll catch your death o' cold, the night's gettin' real chilly." Hope withdrew to her dressing-room, and, in a few minutes, returned warmly habited for the evening, and, taking a book, seated herself by a .shaded lamp to read. 170 SOWING AND REAPING. The book she had taken was a Bible, the only book- she ever read at night; tor Mrs. Green, with the pro- mise she had made Hope's dying mother ever upper- most in her mind, had trained her so sedulously into that habit that she thought of nothinij else ; and, h> she grew older, it became one of her greatest pleasure^ to read aloud while her nurse occupied herself with sewing or knitting, in the meantime explaining, in her quaint, original fashion, the portions which Hope did not clearly understand. " You needn't read loud to-night, dearie," said Mrs. Green, seeing Hope about to proceed as usual ; " I ain't in a state of mind to listen, and it ain't right to have God's word read in our hearin', and we not attend to it." "Are you not well, auntie?" inquired Hope, quite anxiously. " I'm well en igh in body, my darling, but I ain't happy ; and my mind's a wanderin' where mebby it hadn't ought to, but I can't help it. Read to yourself, now, darlin', and don't ask me no questions, that's a love, cause I can't answer ! " And, seating herself in a recess of the window, Mrs. Green shaded her face with her hand, and tears dropped silently and unseen from eyes more used to weeping than any one who saw her cheerful, daily ways would have ever dreamed. Hope longed to steal to her side w^ith gentle, coAii- forting words ; but there were times when, if she ventured to offer them, they were gently but firmly declined, and she had learned to submit in silence. But the poor child little dreamt tliat the sorrow was all on account of her own father ; that his love of strong drink was daily and hourly lying at the heart of this faithful woman as a heavy burden of grief known only to God and her own soul ; that even then she was lifting a' voiceless cry to God that his feet might be turned from the path of the destroyer. Years before, Mrs. Green had watched, with such solicitude as only a drunkard's wife can measure or comprehend, the progress of the same terrible appetite Si t .. SOWINfJ AND REAPINO. 171 wliile it gained its slow hut certain mastery over the luisband she loved as her own life. She had seen her babes, the tender springs of their existence, poisoned by her own deadly sorrow, carried, one . by one, to untimely graves ; and, at last, had seen their father pass away rn id st the horn »rs of delirious madness — the effect ot rum — into the dark unknown of eternity, unrepentant, unsaved ; and now, with her vision sharp- en(3d by such a terrible experience, she was watching the slow descent of Colonel Ellisson along the same slippery, down-hill pathway. Three times she had thrown herself in his way, and, with tears and entreaties, warneortion, and hi.s system is not in a condition to bear the double str: "ii It's well you were on hand, younf^ man ; the case is critical, very critical." There were quick, rapid orders, and prompt obedi- ence, while the doctor stood, watch in hand, notiufj every symptom as the slow hours of night dragged on. Servants hurried to and fro, and the coming and ^oing of Hope's white face, and the vigorous, efficient help of the experienced woman, to whom similar scenes were no new experience, met no further opposition or rebuke. Humbled, stricken, silent. Amy stood beside her husband through those terrible hours of agony and suspen.se; but when, just as the sun was sending his first rays into the room, the doctor whispered to Gor- don, " We have concjuered ; he is .sinking into a natural sleep!" she fainted and would have fallen had not Gordon caught her in his arms, and carrying her to her room he left her to the care of her women. Days lengthened into weeks before Colonel Ellisson was able to leave his bed; and during that long period Gordon sat patiently by his bedside, attending to every want, and only taking such brief intervals of rest as were absolutely necessary. Hope seldom left his side during the day. Through the more serious stages of her father's illness, she sat on a low ottoman at Gordon's feet, alternately watch- ing his face and that of her father, and gathering hope or giving way to despondency as she was able to trace encouragement or anxiety in the former. Gordon saw little of his sister except when she was in her husband's room, and still les.s of her children, who were kept as much as pos.sible out of hearing of their father. When partial convalescence began, Gordon and Hope often stole away to a window-seat while the im 178 SOWING AND REAPING. liiifi invalid was asleep, and conversed in subdued tones of what had transpired during the loni^ years they had been separated, and Hope's soft brown eyes would glow with pleasure as Gordon dwelt upon his hij^rli hopes and anticipations for the future ; but very sooji they would wander away dreamily towards her father, and the great, ever-present dread of what might come to him would fill them ajxain with unutterable sadness. Once only during those weary weeks Gordon and Hope stole away, towards the close of a 1 beautiful sum- mer day, to visit the cottage where they both were born. The (juiet, old house was little changed. Mrs. Thompson with her thrifty housewifery kept the old rooms and the old furniture in the most perfect order: and Thompson, in addition to planting n)any pi'etty ornamental trees and keeping the little garden radiant v/ith flowers, had set several raws of hedge that were already thick and stronof : and made the cornei' where the family graves were, as beautiful and attractive as Howers and shrubs could make it. Here, with Hope at his *ide and listening witli almost womanly interest to his words) Gordon spent the only really happy hours he enjoyed during his stay ; and for many wear /ears the memory of that evening of tran({uil enjoyn ent remained with Hope, the one fre.sh green oasis in the desert of dreary mem- ories to which she could turn and find comfort and refreshinjT. One morning, as Gordon and Hope were sitting in quiet convei-.sation while Colonel Ellis.son slept, a ser- vant entered softly, and handed the former a telegram. "I fear it refers to Bessie," he said, tearinir ofl' the envelope, and with a .startled look, he read : " Be.ssie i^ very low — come as soon as possible." Handing the telegram to Hope, and motioning the woman to remain with her, he hastened to find hi^ sis- ter and announce his intention to leave immediately. Mr.s. EUisson wa.'^ resting herself upon a sofa when Gordon entered the parlor- bat sli.; rose quickly, SOWING AND HEAPING. 170 i.u startled by tlif exprPHSjori of his face, ami sskefl, <''>K''>'ly • " VVliat is it, (lordon ; is llu^di worso ? " "No, Amy; l)ut J liave just received a telooram I'rom homo tliat liessie i.s very low, and 1 think 1 inust .start this afternoon." '' Why, Gordon, you surely will not leave inc, in my present trouble, for the sake of those people ! " " Those people," as you term them, Amy, are very (loar to me, an bound by my promise to do, I must return at once. I confidently hope there will never be a recurrence of the ti-ouble you have been having ; for Hugh has promised me positively to abstain in future from all intoxicating drinks; and, Xmy, you 7)iud hel2) him." , . "That is a very easy thing to say, Gordon ; but will you kindly inform me how I am to do it ? " "In the first place. Amy, let it alone yourself. Vmn ish it from youi table; and n';»» is the time to liegin, when Hugh is keenly alivi , as 1 know In; Ih, to the misery and ruin he is bringing Ujion himself tind his family, and while his pnjmise to let drink alone is fresh in memory. Heie is a [socket pledge — 1 always carry one with me — and Hugh lias signed it, as you can see. Now will vou not put voiir name here with his; and then, like an earnest, icsolnf*; woman, carry out your own pledge, and help \dm to carry out his ? Will you, Amy V ill if: 180 SOWING AND REAPING. " Perhaps so, when I have on and talked with my husband about it." " O Amy, don't, I beseech you, say or do anything that can unsettle him, now that he has taken the first step. Do put your name here, and then show lum what you have done. I know it will have a very powerful influence with him in keeping him steady to his purpose." " Gordon, I am more than willing to sign thfit or any other paper of the kind with my husband, pro- vided he does it deliberately and of his own choice. But I must know from himself that that is the case. Much of the time since he has been ill he has been delirious, and if he has signed the pledge in that con- dition, he will not respect his own act." " Believe me. Amy, Hugh was perfectly sane when he signed this paper. You do not dream how near the verge of ruiti he has been ; and let me warn you, that if he lapses again, there can be very little hope in his ca.se. You surely will not shrink from anything that will help him to ri.se ?" " When I see my way clear, and know what course is best, I am usually ready to act. You will allow me to say, however, Gordon, that I think you are rather forward in this matter ! '" " Amy, I have .something to tell you ; and your pres- ent tone and manner enable me to tell it with less hesitancy than I would otherwise feel. What I am about to tell you, I received from your husband. in confidence. I felt it was something you ought to know, and when I asked permission to tell you, hi.s reply was : " If you consider it best, Gordon, you have my free consent," I mention this. Amy, that you may see I am not betraying confidence." The flush faded quickly from Mrs. Ellisson's face, but she merely inclined her head, as she said quietly: " Go on, Gordon. I presume you are, as usual, exag- gerating some fancied evil to most unreal proportions, but I will hear you." SOWING AND REAPING. 181 CHAPTER XXVII. ' I WISH I were doing so, Amy, I do indeed, for your sake and for your husband's; but I am not. When Hugh told you that afternoon that he was going to Weston to meet some friends, he misle) WWff^ ■.;;i|, -''ii ■111 182 SOWINCJ AND REAIMNfJ. iiient of a number of lieavy losses in wliich it luul already involved liim ; and ended with anotlier uri^^Mit appeal to Gordon, not only to abandon it himself, but to discouraji'c and discountenance it in others. Mrs. Ellisson read the letter with a clouded brow, and then silently n^turned it to Gordon. " Are you satisfied, Amy ?" " 1 have read the letter, Gordon ; that was the con- dition you made, but it did not bind me to answer questions. Will you go on with what you have to tell ? " " As I was about to say. Amy, Hugh had previously lost a good deal of money by those fellows ; and lie went that day hoping to change his luck, and win back a portion, at least, of what he had lost. In this, how- ever, he was disappointed, and, so far from winning, again lost heavily, he would not tell me how much. " In desperation he played, and drank, until his last cent was gone; and then hin friends left him! The rest you know better than he does; for he remem- bers nothing more, except that he drained the decanter to its last drop ; and then ilung himself upori a louy^'e and wished to die. "And now. Amy, in vi(!W nf all tliis, will you en- courage him by signing this pledge to which lie has already set his own name ; and then do all you chii to save both him and your children from this evil in the future ? " " Why do you allude to my children, Gordon ? " ** Because vour children are in danger. You hav' two sons and two daughters, not one of whom is safe while this demon of strong drink is harbored beneath your roof." " I thought I had three daughters, Gordon ! ' " True, Amy, I do not forget that ; but one ov tlieni, as you well know, signed the pledge of total abstinence years ago." '• Yes, I am aware of the fact. Possibly, if you lui'l shown the same interest during those years in tlie others that you have in her, they wouhl have don*' as SOWINCJ AND REAriNU. 18.S slio lias. You make a marked distinction between my cliildren, Gordon 1 " " Aciiy ! Hope is more to me than any otlier child ever was or can he ! She came to our hoine when I was a bad, wilful boy ; and her baliy influence did more than all other thini^s put toy;ether to restrain my temper, and subdue my arrogance and conceit. 1 have never lacked the interest in your children which was due to them as my nephews and nieces; but I fear I shall, if any one ever undertakes to thrust them Itetween Hop e and me. 1 tell v ou, Ai "y th e woi Id can never hold for me another such child as Hope. Neither you nor any other one can know what a sacred, restraining power her love has been tome!" and Gordon's voice faltered as he spoke. "As rejijards your children, Amy," he continued, after a little pau.se, durinf^ which his .sister had been watchin*.^ his face thoughtfully — almost sorrowfully — ■' they have none of them been, till recently, able to write to me ; so there has been little inducement for me to write to them as I did to Hope ; and since I came here, I scarcely need remind you that I have not f()un, ^ ^^^ "^■V^« .0^. \ -^ SMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ^^ tii ja §^ 12.2 I.I Hi IM Photographic Sdenoes Corporation ^ rO^ <^ ^. 23 WBT MAIN STRUT WnSTIR,N.Y. I4SM (71«)«72-4S03 ;\ .^\ IK^ f.'il'l 180 SOWINfi AND REAPING. I :;i Gordon could not speak ; but, kneeling by the couch, he took the wasted little hand in his, and pressed it to his lips. " Mamma, may Gordon hold me in his arms for a little while, and rock me as he used to before he went away ? You know, mamma, how he used to rock me and sing to me after I got so bad with the cough. May he hold me so now ? " " Yes, my darling, if he is not too much fatigued ! " and so the easy chair was brought, and, wrapped in a large, warm shawl, the little 'girl was laid in Gordon's arms, while some of the family, for Gordon was unable to join, sang at her request — '* Jesiis, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly ! " For a while the child lay very silent; then her countenance brightened, and, tooking up eagerly into Gordon's face, she said, with that strong, clear voice with which many consumptives are able to speak when about to die, " Gordon, dear, I am going to Jesus ! He is my own, own Saviour, and in a few minutes He is going to take me to live with Him forever. When I am gone, will you write to dear little Hope, and tell her I love her very, very much, and want her to love Jesus, too; so that by-and-by she will come and be with me in heaven ? Will you tell her, Gordon ? " " Yes, Bessie ! " " Cousin Gordon, do you love Jesus ? " There was no answer. " Gordon, darling, don't you love Jesus ? " Still there was no answer. " Gordon — oh, Gordon ! " and began to fill with tears. " Aunt Eleanor, lay her down again. She must not weep ; it will kill her ! " Gordon's self-control was gone, and, averting his face, great tears chased each other down his cheeks. " Speak on, Bessie," said Mrs. Leeds, kneeling beside her child ; " speak on, my love ; God will give you strength ! " the little girl's eves SOWING AND REAPING. 187 " Gordon ! " =' What, Bessie ? " " Jesus loves you, for He died for you on the cross ; don't you love Him a little — just a very, very little, Gordon ? " " No, Bessie ! " " Papa, pray, pray quickly that God will help Gor- don to love Jesus ! " Mr. Leeds fell upon his knees, and all heads were bowed ; but the stillness was unbroken, save by the hard, suppressed breathing of the young man and the stifled sobs of the family. After a moment of silent prayer, Mr. Leeds rose, and all faces were turned toward Bessie, but she was not there. The large, earnest eyes were fixed on the be- yond, as though beholding scenes undiscoverable to any but herself; a smile of ineffable peace lingered upon the sweet lips, but the beautiful clay was all that remained — the ransomed spirit had taken flight. CHAPTER XXVIIL The funeral of little Bessie passed with the usual solemnities ; and then Gordon's overtaxed powers gave way, and he sank under a low, nervous fever. For many weeks he lay in a quiet, darkened room, and all spoke in suppressed tones, and moved with almost noiseless steps around him ; for the slightest sounds thrilled along his nerves like electricity, and caused his temples to throb with intense pain. At length, long after summer had deepened into autumn, and the trees had begun to drop their crimson and yellow leaves in the valleys, or yield them to the plundering winds that swept in gusty eddies among the forest boughs, he began to walk quietly about his room ; and sometimes was allowed to sit besi(ie the open window, where the l)reath of the Indian-summer broufifht him hints of drowsy woodlands and dropping leaves, of the chattering squirrel and the whirring • If i l' .Jb 1 'XW<* ( t 1' H H Jwl ' i ■aflKi . i , 1 1 -■ I i£m i ' ii ^1 • 1 i: i: ( * i '^ ' m ^i iiiiv lii^jj. -I m lih 188 SOWING AND REAPING. partridge, and of merry children gathering nuts on the hillsides, and from which he could sometimes obtain glimpses of white sails gliding over the blue bosom of the distant bay. During his sickness, whenever he had been at all able to think, the dying words of little Bessie had been uppermost in his min«] ; and as ">oon as he was per- mitted to read, he turned with a sort of heart-hunger to the old Bible that for years had lain neglected upon his study table. With a spirit subdued and chastened by the events of the past summer, and especially by his late illness — for so many weary weeks shut within himself in almost voiceless silence — he perused its contents with eager interest ; and its sacred truths opened up to his mind with rich and wondrous meaning. One day, as his uncle, who had been rending the papers to him, in order to beguile the monotony of his wearisome confinement, was about to leave the room, Gordon asked him to remain ; and silently taking the Bible from the table by his side, he opened it at the fifteenth chapter of Luke, and handing it to him said : " Read that cliapter for me, if you please, uncle." Mr. Leeds was taken by surprise ; he glanced eagerly from the open page to his nephew's face, but Gonlon had composed himself again to listen, and with folded hands and closed eyes was waiting for him to proceed. There was a look of rest and peace upon his pale, composed features that his uncle had not before observed ; and the sudden hope which dawned in his mind made his voice tremulous with y^motion as he read that sweet, pathetic story of the heart-stricken prodigal, hungry, destitute, and utterly humbled, turn- ing his weary feet again to his once despised, and long- forsaken home, revolving in his mind the penitential prayer with which he would fall at his father's feet, of the father's yearning love for the wanderer — a love which had never failed during those years of anxious waiting, and who, now seeing hi n afar off, hastened to meet him, and before the wanderer had time to utter SOWING AND REAPING. 189 the whole of his broken-hearted petition, anticipating it all, sealed his pardon with the warm kiss of long- tried but undiminished love ; and, as thoucfh that were not enough to testify the depth of parental tenderness, commanded that his unsightly rags be stripped off, his pollutions cleansed, and he adorned — not as one who deserves nothing, but rather as an heir restored to an unforfeited inheritance. Mr. Leeds tinished the chapter and closed the book, but the young man still sat with folded hands and closed eyes. "Gordon!" The eyes unclosed, and tears, that had been slowly •fathering under the shut lids, brimmed over, and rolled down his cheeks, but he neither sought to con- ceal them nor wipe them away, " What, uncle ? " " Has the precious meaning of that beautiful history entered into your heart ? " " How am I to know, uncle ? " "By the sentiments, the affections, the aspirations and resolves it has awakened within you. Have you, with the penitential plea of the prodigal, returned to your Father's house, and found acceptance ? " " I don't know — I don't know, uncle, what / have done — it seems to me I have done nothing at all, but lie in the dust and wait to be lifted up. But this I do know, that sometime and somehow, when and how I cannot say, my Lord has come to me and said — " the voice broke down for a moment under the stress of strong emotion. " What has He said, my son ? " " He has said, uncle " — and a smile, like April sun- shine broke through the tearful rain, and the pale face lighted up with tender beauty under the joy of his new hopes — ' be of good cheer, thy sins be forgiven thee ! ' I did not know very well that I was coming to Him, though ever since we studied that chapter in our Sab- bath lesson, I have been vaguely conscious of Wishing to do so, and much more so since Bessie left us; it ^^ i'K wn i r ^i;i !■ i it p 'il I fe. ■ jl 1 •'■- 1 190 SOWING AND REAPING. but to-day I find myself resting, I know not how, upon the great love of Christ as upon a strong rock. I rtnil myself singing all day in my thoughts, though I'm sure I don't know where I learned the words : — ' 'Tis done — the great transaction's done ! 1 am my Lord's and He is mine I ' " " Gordon, may I call your au/it and cousins ? " " Yes, uncle, the whole world if you like !" In a few minutes a glad, but tearful, group sat in Gordon's room, while Mr. Leeds again opened the sacreet*ore they go to bed will be a j^ood time;" and puss- infj on, Mrs. EUisson entfered her own room. Her i)altry jealousy of Gordon's attachment to Ijis uncle's family and his preference of Hope to her own children, had betrayed her into treatment of liini which had reacted upon herself, as it almost always does in persons of her temper, in resentfulness toward him; as thouofh he had in some way injuied lur; while, in reality, the unkindness, both in act and feeling, had been wholly her own. Hence, her brother's letter, so far from softening her, was, like her uncle's appeal, construed into an insult. "As though I need any exhortations from hhn!'' she said, contemptuously, crushing his letter in her hand, and thrusting it into a basket of waste paper. " He is taking his cue from the Rev. Anthony evi- dently ; but he need not attempt to keep up this >ort of thing, for I shall not submit to it. He interfered enough when he was here!" though what the nature of that interference was, did not seem quite clear, even to her own mind ; yet she vaguely referred it, in some way, to that pledge. Although, so far, she had kept it herself, yet she had seen her husband violate it again and acjain : and she had all along regarded it as a mortifying restraint when in society — a restraint which she longed to cast off, and which she never ceased to be angry with herself for having submitted to. Anxiety for her husband's safety had once more given place to the false security of former years. She had a^ain seen him come and u:o with a steady step, and laying aside her fears, she had already sunk far back into her old unconcern. Had Gordon's letter come t( her within a fortnight after he left, it would have found her more accessible; but the world had once more interposed its fascinations SOWIN(J AND RKAPINc;. 1J)0 lu'tween hor and the (laiij:]for.s that 1ih<1 for a time appalled her, and she was content once more to Hoat with the tide, and ready to repel as an nnwarrantahle interference any attempt to rouse her from her letharjjfy. Hope looked lonj^ingly at the letters she held in her liami, hut her teacher had made a rule that certain liours were to be devoted exclusively to study, and a weekly report was required of each pupil in res^ard to its observance. So far, since the rule was announced, she had received no demerit marks ; the desire to have only perfect reports prevailed over her anxiety to read her letters ; and laying them in her desk she returned again to her tasks. At length, as the clock struck eight, she sprang quickly to her feet, closed and piled up her books, laid pons and pencils in their place, and then seizing the precious letters, was hurrying to her room, when she remembered that one of them was for the younger children ; and that she had been told to read it to them before they went to bed. There was now no time to spare, and hastening to the nursery she found Norah ready to wait upon the little girls, and Lee, whose study hours like her own had just ended, clamoring noisily for a light; for he had reached the age when he was allowed to go to bed unattended, and whenever he wanted anything he considered himself entitled to immediate attention. "Don't go just yet, Lee," .said^Hope, " I have a letter for you and tlie girls, and Jack, too," she added — observing that that young gentleman was yet out of bed — " and mamma said I was to read it to you." "I will read it for myself when I get to my room. Give it to me." " But it is for the girls as well as you, Lee i If you will read it, read it now, and let them hear it," remon- strated Hope. Lee took the letter, and after several bungling attempts to read it intelligibly, to.ssed it aside, exclaim- ing. I' t i< ' m 'i 13 J 96 SOWIXr, AND HEAPING. " Oh, I don't care for that ! " and snatchinnr up the only lamp in the room, walked away with it ; but at length yielded to Hope's entreaties, and replaced it on the table. Hope picked up the letter, and a.s soon as order could be restored, read it. "I don't care for it cither," yawned Aupfusta, when it was finished, " there isn't a bit of fun in it ! " " Of course there isn't. It's as poky as Mr. White's lectures to us boys on manners !" and again appro- priating the lamp, Lee illustrated his opinion of Mr. White's lectures by walking oti' with it ; thus leavin<,' all the rest in darkness. There was a general uproar among the younger children, but while Norah went for another light, and Augusta was making ineffectual attempts to prevent her brother's accomplishing his purpose, Hope drew Eva and Jack to her side, and whispered a few quiet- ing words to them ; so that by the time a light was brought, peace was pretty well restored to all but Augusta, who, having hurt herself in* her efforts to .secure the lamp, was pouting in a corner. Hope breathed a sigh of relief when at length she found herself in her own room, and free at last to read her letter, the first she had received since Gordon left. Mrs. Green looked up from her work as Hope entered, and drawing a chair to her side, said quietly, " Come here, dearie ! Ah, I see," she added, " you, too, have got a letter from Gordon ; but you hain't read it, I see, so you don't know." » CHAPTER XXX. " Know what, auntie ? " "Why, that Gordon's a Christian, Hope — a real, happy, rejoicing Christian! It seems too much to believe, it really does ! I always said it would he some day, but now it's come, my faith ain't strong enough to more'n half believe it ! " SOWING AND REAPINd. 197 Hope had read Gorilon's letter to tlie children, and felt deeply moved l>y the spirit that breathed through it, and wondered the others did not feel the same ; hut that the warninpfs and advice it contained spranjjf from anything but the natural kindness of his heart, softened by absence and sickness, iis well as by Bes- sie's recent death, had never dawned upon her. "A Chrldian, auntie ! you don't nuan — " " I mean, my darling, that Gordon has given his heart to Christ, and that Christ has washed away his sins in His own precious blood ; in other words, dearie, * that they are all forgiven and taken away. You un- derstand what I mean, don't you, my chihl ?" " Yes, auntie, but I didn't think he meant that," and Hope drew the letter she had just read from lier pocket. " What's that, Hope ? did you get two ? " " No, auntie, this is one he sent to the children ; and mamma had me read it to them ; but I did not understand — " "Let me read it, Hope;" and Mrs. Green took the letter, and read it aloud, while Hope listened with new interest as the import of the words became more clear to her apprehension. " Will you read mine now, auntie ? " she said, her lips quivering with emotion. " Yes, my love, if you want me to, but I can't see why you should, for 1 ain't half so good a reader as you ; " then noticing Hope's agitation, she drew her closer to her side, and read : " My dear Hope, — I used to write to you and think of you as a little girl ; but since my rec^t visit to Prairie House you have passed from the region of childhood, and become, to me, a woman, a friend — one who can sympathize with me, and understand me. " You are many years younger than I am, but it seems to me you have left your childhood much fur- ther behind you than I have mine ; and gained, in some respects, a maturity of mind and character which, M Ki iTF" I ' ) ! in ■mi I . 198 ROWING AND REAPING. with all my superioritj" in respect to age, I have not acquired. "But I am not envious. You were always my teacher ; even when you were in your cradle I was your willinf^ pupil, and now 1 am going to try to put in pf ?tice the later lessons which you have taught me b^ your patient forbearance and unselfishness. " I need not give you particulars of my journey, those you can get by reading your mother's letter ; nor of my recent illness of which you have been kept duly informed by my uncle ; but I want to talk to you of something else — of a new gladness that has come to my life, a gladness which, it sometimes seems to me, I could not have found except in such a home, and under such influences as I have enjoyed here. Yet I know very well that that is a foolish thought, for God is able and willing to come to us at all times and in all places, whenever and wherever we are willing to receive Him. " StiU I do think, and I love to think so, that God sent my uncle to Weston, to take me, as it were, away from myself, and make me acquainted with somethinij better and nobler than anything I had ever before cared for, or sought after. " I love to think it was God who caused him to feel an interest in me, led him to invite me home with him. and inclined me to accept his kindness. ' I think I can see now, that it is because God would have it so ; that, from the day I first put my.self under his influence to this, I have been guided by others rather than by my own will ; and that I was, through love, followjng a guidance I never should have followed from any other motive. " I can now see, also, that it was because God was directing all my way Himself, though I knew nothing' about it— did not even ask or wish Him ,o do so— that I went to my uncle's class, and became interested in the Bible, a book I had always treated with con- tempt; and that, after four years and more, the fifteenth chapter of Luke should fcsten itsel' upon my mm. SOWINC. AND REAPING. 199 ways my die I was try to put ive tauj^bt hness. y journey, letter ; nor been kept to talk to s that has limes seems leh a home, 1 here. Yet :hou«:;ht, for I times and re willing to so, that Ood were, away h somethinfi ever before ;e God w^ould nyself under I by others was, throuc>b ave followed aae God was :uew nothin<: ,0 do so- me interested id with con- id more, the mind, and never leave me until, like the prodigal, I, too, came to my Father's house, and found forgiveness and peace. " And so God has been gently and kindly leading me by the hand, though I have been too blind to see Him, and too sinful to desire His love. Dear Hope, I am not sure that you will understand ail tliis just now; hut the time will ccmie, 1 trust, when you will, when God will enable you to see His dealings with you as plainly as I see them with me. " Leo us now look at the links in this golden chain of influences, one by one. GofJ loved me when I was had and wicked, and eared nothing at all for Him ; that is the very first one. ' He hroughf my uncle to me just when I stood most in need of some kind, wise friend, who.se influence would be very, very strong over me. "He took me a very great ivay fro'ni all my old asso- riaten and friends, from my old home even, r.nd put me under the restraints of a Christian home, and the loving influence of a Christian lady, who was a second mother to me ; an '•'"■.ii : 1 I V ,1 206 SOWING AND REAPING. " Not physically, Hugh ; though I often think she works too hard at those socials and tea-drinkings ; but I know, certainly, that her manners and tastes are not improved by her associations ! " . • " It was your father's own church, Amy ; and Mr. Harvey was once your own minister." " True, Colonel EUisson, and that enables me to speak advisedly about both pastor and people. I know they are not the class of people your daughter should find her level amonjr." " My wife once did ; and she's a lady of model man- ners t " Mrs. EUisson saw that old memories were manifestly chafing her husband's temper ; and she deemed it ad- visable to change the subject. After a brief pause, she resumed the topic from which they had digressed. " Well, Hugh, this is not what we started with, I believe. I really do feel anxious, as I said before, to see our children in a better social position than they can ever have here, such a position as theiv station in life entitles them to hold. I am thoroughly tired of Weston. There are not a dozen families in our whole range with whom I care to have our young people associate ! " " Well, Amy, I have opposed you in this matter for six years, and I am tired of it. We have a beautiful home here, everything heart could wish for, and enough to satisfy the most ambitious desires either of our- selves or the children. For my part, I would be quite satisfied to see the children grow up here, and settle all around us ; there's plenty of room for us all, with- out a bit of crowding. But, for some cause, you are not contented ; and, as I said before, I shall not oppose you any longer. 'Choose where you wish to go, and we'll try it; though, as I've often said, I don't believe it will bene- fit either ourselves or the children. Where do you want to go, Amy ? To New York ? " " Yes, if that will suit you." 'I can't say it makes any difference to me. The SOWING AND REAPING. 207 whole thinjT is of your choosing ; choose for yourself where you will go." " Let it be New York, then." " Very well ; when will you go ? " " As soon as it can be arranged." " Shall we sell Prairie House and farm / " " If it were left to me, I should say yes. 1 am sure I shall never return to it." " You're quite sure, Amy ? " " Quite sure ! " " Well, my dear, notwit' standing your absolute cer- tainty in this matter, I shall provide for possibilities, and not sell the farm. Prairie House will not be a bad place to creep back to one of those days, when you and I are old, and the birds have all flown away and left us. We two will come back then, and Jack, whose tastes are decidedly rural, shall be our farmer ; will that do. Amy ? " " We shall see when the time comes ; a time, how- ever, which I never expect to see." "No? perhaps we shall neither of us see it; who shall say? But there, I've talked myself thirsty; pour me a glass of sherry, that's a good girl ! " and Colenel EUisson took the glass from his wife's hand, and .sipped it in silence. Six years had written lines of change upon both Colonel Ellisson and his wife. A person to have seen her as she sat thus in the , subdued light, with her hands clasped over the rich folds of her superb evening dress, and her eyes fixed upon her husband's face, would have pronounced her a very lovely woman ; and yet, few would have recog- nized in her the Amy Leeds who, some eighteen years before, stood up in the little parlor of her parsonage home in the severe simplicity of her bridal attire as the wife of Colonel Ellisson. There was the same studied care in dress as of old, even the minutest details of which evinced the most careful attention to harmonious effects ; but the flash 'H-, I ' 208 SOWINli AND REAPING. i i' of gems and the warm glow of satin and velvet could not disguise the lines of pride, discontent, and a hauijhty spirit, which had deepened year by year in her face ; or banish from that face, so calm and phicid once, tli«' dissatisfied expression left there by the cares of the world, the pride of life, and the idolatrous love of riches. As for Colonel Ellisson, he hatl never been (]uite the same since his narrow escape from death six years be- fore. With his nervous system enfeebled, and his appetite for strong drink in no degree lessened, he had struggled through those six years ; sometimes rising a little a])Ove that cruel appetite, and again yielding and sinking always a little lower, and struggling more and more feebly ; until, as he sat that evening with the; empty glass in his hand and his eyes fixed dreamily upon the coals, one who saw him on the evening of his marriage with the woman at his side, would hardly have recognized the handsome, stately bridegroom of that night in the faded, gray-haired man before him. But the change had come gradually ; and to Mrs. EUisson it meant little more than increasing years and the care and occasional hard.shipsof military life; how- much or how little the wine cup had had to do with it, she seldom asked herself. She had come to regard its use as a necessity to her husband rather than an indulgence ; and it seldom, ex- cept when its effects became glaringly apparent, gave her special uneasiness. She had long before abandoned the old pledge, taken when keenly alive to the danger her husband had so narrowly escaped, and under the pressure of her brother's urgency ; yet, for some years after Gor- don left her, she had had the consistency to strive to guard her children against the habit of drink. When they came to an age to be admitted to the table with their parents, at her request Colonel Ellis- son had consented to forego the use of wine there, except when guests were present ; but as that was frequently the ca.se, and on such occasions wine cir- SOWIN(J AND REAPING. 209 culated freely, the restraints upon the children were little by little relaxed; and "gradually it came about that none but Hope and little Jack had maintained the integrity of their pledi^e ; and thus the insidious habit had, at the end of six years, in at least two of the number, struck deep root, and was threatening; to become an ineradicable evil. Hope's profession of relif^ion and baptism had been the occasion of the fiist real unpleasantness that had ever existed between Colonel Ellisson and his wife. The thought of Hope's becoming a member of the church she had herself long before deserted ; of her loving and honoring the pastor from whose teachings she had so far departed, and of her associating in loving fellowship with the people whom she had forsaken in scorn and alienation of spirit, was more than she could patiently brook ; and when Colonel Ellisson openly espoused his daughter's cause, and cheerfully allowed her to pursue her own course, she was both grieved and angry ; and from the day of her baptism Hope was conscious that a breach had been made between herself and her step-mother, not likely to be healed for many years, if, indeed, it ever were. Added to this she saw that her nurse, to whcse instructions and influence up to that time she had been indebted for all her religious knowledge, was falling more and more into disfavor, and she lived with the painful consciousness ever upon her, that there was only wanting a favorable pretext to dismiss one she loved as a mother, and who had been to her all that the tenderest mother could be. But these were not the only causes of grief and unrest that lay upon the heart of Hope. Her father, who had ever been the light of her eyes, was going by rapid steps to ruin, and she saw and felt it all, yet was powerless to save him. Again and again she had entreated, warned, im- plored him to forsake his cups ; but he had put her off, sometimes with a jest, sometimes with well-meant promises. Sometimes he had melted to tears under I) r I N i m 210 SOWINO AND REAPINO. her entreaties, and, for a little while abstained ; but it had not lasted. The transient ^ieam of sunshine went out in a deeper darkness, and then, almost frantic with apprehension and dread, she had appealeil to her mother to interjmse, but it had been only to bo met with the coolest unconcern, or to be politely informed that her father was not a child — that he had taken care of himself thus far as well as most men, and that it was scarcely likely that, at his time of life, he would disfjrace either his family or himself. But Hope was not long in discovering that her mother always referred her anxiety on her father's account to Mrs. Green's influence, ami tliat the latter was made to bear the weight of a displeasure she did not merit: for, even after Hope Ijecame a woman, she had not relaxed the strictness of her rule, never to speak to her, or the other children, of the habits or peculiarities of their parents. Yet it was vain for Hope to assure her mother that this was the case. Mrs Ellisson could see no reason why Hope should be so much more solicitous about her father than she herself was, unless through the influence of another ; and there was no one she could so reasonably suspect of using such influence as Mrs. Green. Hope, consequently, gave up speaking to her mother, and conflned her appeals to her father, who never frowned upon her, even when most urgent. Nor was her father's the only danger that appalled the heart of Hope. She had not failed to observe that for some time Lee had been in the habit of drinking very freely whenever his mother relaxed her restraints, or the presence of visitors made it difficult for her to speak to him ; and more than once she had noticed that his speech was not natural, and his step unsteady. Yet this was not ail, for she had discovered that Eva, the delicate, intellectual Eva, who, more than either of the others, seemed cursed with an inherited appetite, had already acquired a taste for ardent spirits which threatened to become ungovernable. M ^ SOWING AND REAPING. 211 Finding at length tliat Hope was watching lior closely, and tliat the slightest taint of liquor upon her breath was almost certain of detection, Eva had resorted to the practice of secreting it in lier room, and drinking it by stealth, and many a night of partial inebriation liad j)assed over the poor child before the deadly indulgence was discovered, and the lijeans of self-gratitication put Ijcyond her reach. Then the parents aroused themselves, and in dire alarm resorted to prohibitory measures. Then the sideboards and wine cellar were locked, Eva was disgraced, and for a fortnight was required to take her meals of bread and milk in solitude, and to sit com- panionless in her room all the long lovely days ; and when the period of disgrace was ended she was handed over to Hope, with whom she was required to room, and under whose influence and care it was confidently expected she would speedily be cured. But alas ! for the nervous, eager young creature, consumed by the gnawing fever of an inherited appe- tite — an appetite that had been strengthened by months of secret indulgence, forced, whenever guests were present, to sit out the long, luxurious dinners, and watch with almost maddening desire as the glasses went round, or were sipped with lingering, loving relish by those whose example in favor of indulgence was infinitely more powerful than all their precepts against it. Is it matter for surprise, if the resolve to brtak those bonds at the first opportunity should grow into a fierce determination, which, .sometime, unless controlled by Divine grace, would overleap all bounds, and hurry its victim to certain and speedy ruin ? 0, parents, parents ! will they never learn that surely, unless God interpose to prevent it, the seed they sow with such unscrupulous hands shall at length spring up, and bring forth its hundred -fold harvest of ruin and despair ! 212 SOWING AND REAPING. ■} 1 1 CHAPTER XXXII. Hope did her duty by Eva very faiuifully ; and, but for Augusta's influence over her, might have succeeded in binding her very closely to herself ; but Augusta had long looked upon Hope with jealous eyes, and she never lost an opportunity to poison Eva's mind against her. Sometimes Hope would begin to feel that her efforts in Eva's behalf were about to be crowned with success, but almost at the moment when triumph seemed certain she would find that Augusta had suc- ceeded in alienating her sister, and she would discover with mortification and sorrow, that her whole work must be done over again. But as the clouds were darkening more and more over her home there had come to Hope a great joy ; and yet it sometimes seemed to her almost more grief than joy, as the thought would force itself upon her that the love which, could she but accept it, would clothe her life with sunshine, must be put aside, possibly forever, at the call of duty ; and that for years she must bear her cross of self-sacrifice alone, perhaps sink beneath it at last, and that for which her heart cried out with such weary longing, be hers only in heaven. Hope EUisson belonged to a class of persons, one of whom, happily for tiie world, is found in almost every large family, to whom martyrdom of some sort seems to come as an inevitable thing. They bear their own burdens so silently, carry their own crosses with such sturdy patience, and bury their heartaches so deep, that the selfish, exacting beings whom these heroic souls seem born to serve, would lauqrh at the bare idea of their having burdens, and crosses, and griefs ; and with unsciupulous hands heap on more and more, as though, because the poor bruised hearts do not break outright, they have abundant license to increase the strain without stint or limit. SOWING AND REAPING. 213 Truly the stake, the axe, and the Inquisition have never had a monopoly of martyrs. There are few thoughtful, sympathizing observers, but could count up a worthy score of them within the limits of the families they know ; and v.-hen Christ makes up His jewels, many, doubtless, of the brightest ones will be from this very class of silent, uncomplaining burden- hearers. Hidden away in a secret drawer of Hope's bureau, beneath dozens of letters written by the same hand, was one which gold was too poor to buy; one upon which no eye but hers had ever looked, and whose treasured secret had never been breathed to any but God. It came on her eighteenth birthday, and said : " Hope, you are dearer to me than life ; dearer to me than aught else but Christ and my hopes of heaven ! Since the day you opened your eyes upon this beautiful world — eyes which were never to recog- nize the sweet mother-face that faded out so soon from these earthly scenes, to brighten again, let us hope, in heaven — I have loved you with the truest and best affection of which my wayward nature is capable. " When you were a little babe, you were in my hands like a rich pearl in the rough palms of the diver ; yet even then, my pearl gave a degree of w^hiteness to the hands that held it, for '<■ brought a purifying and re- straining influence with it which went with me up to manhood, and has blest and ennobled my life as nothing else has, aside from the holy religion I profess. " But since my last visit to Weston, my love for you has taken a deeper and a higher tone ; and your giving your heart to Christ has drawn you to me by stronger and tenderer ties than any which previously exi.sted. Hope ! will you come to me, and, of your own, glad, free choice, live in my heart always, glorifying ray earthly life, and walking with me step by step up the shining way which leads to the Heavenly land, where 15 f:\ I I 5 .J :i if i.ii< 214 SOWING AND REAPING. our united lives shall flow on eternally in ever-increas- in has been keeping it all to herself, in order to spare me ; poor, patient heart ! and now intends to end the matter by making an utter sacrifice of herself. But I will never allow it ! If my sister will not rouse her- self from her luxurious ease sufficiently to meet this evil, she must bear it. Hope shall not — " " Stay, Gordon ! say nothing rashly ; let me see this letter again " Gordon handed the letter to his uncle, and, with impatient steps, paced up and down the garden walk, in feverish excitement. ■Hi SOWING AND REAPING. 217 " Sit down, Gordon," said Mr. Leeds, at length, mo- tioning him to resume his seat. " Hope is right in this matter, and you must not urge her from the course she has determined upon. It will be a dreary path for her, and a bitter trial to you both ; but she has had grace given to discern the path of duty, and, by God's help, doubtless, decided upon the right course. It is for you both to suffer and be strong, until God's time comes, as I trust it will, to grant you the fulfilment of your hopes. Now, be advised. Do just what Hope asks of you ; sustain her by the strength of your faith, and the uncomplaining patience of your love ; or, as she says, she will sink under her burden. It is for yours to be the strong arm, next that of her Divine Helper, by which she must be sustained for the trials that are before her ; and for this you must rule your spirit, and school yourself to submission. It is hard, I know, where self is so deeply concerned, to bring the heart perfectly into submission to God's will ; but it can be done, for His grace is sufficient ; and it is only when there is but one will between you and God, and that His, not yours, that you can be fully in harmony with Christ, the burden ot' whose prayer was ever * Not my will ; but thine I ' " Gordon pressed his hand upon his forehead for a few seconds in silence ; then, wringing his uncle's hand, he drew his hat over his eyes, and walked swiftly away. Passing out of the gate, without a glance at the wondering faces that were gazing after him, he rushed blmdly on, and never paused until he reached his old place of solitary musing, at the foot of the gnarled tree, around whose feet the singing brook still flowed on, making music as of old to the flowers that bordered and the green leaves that rustled above it in the sum- mer breeze. To that dear haunt of many years he had come, almost by the blind instinct of habit, alone and unseen, to face his disappointment, and endure the creeping horror that chilled him, as the whole meaning of Hope's letter unfolded itself to his mind ; and there to B^:F 1 218 SOWING AND REAPING. gather strength, as best he might, for the future that had so suddenly darkened before him. 5 ,! i 1 CHAPTER XXXIII. Two weeks passed, and Gordon had not alluded to his trouble or mentioned his plans for the future ; yet he had not been idle. He had written a long and impas- sioned letter to Hope, entreating her to re "onsider her decision, and, if possible, reverse it; but, if she found herself unable to do so, to tell him fully and frankly the real state of affairs at home, and, if there were any possible way by which it could be done, allow him to help her to bear the burden of her cares. To this she had replied in a long, confidential letter, in which she had neither disf^uised nor concealed any- thing, and, in conclusion, said : '' Thus, Gordon, I have told you all ; and you will see by what 1 have written, how mucVi I am needed here. You will see that my work, not only as a daughter and sister, but as a Christian, is here for the present : and I cannot feel that God will bless me in turning my back upon it. " It is not impossible that I may yet be instrumental in reclaiming my beloved father; and that, Gordon, would infinitely more than repay me for any sacrifice I might make. But should I, in the end, fail in regard to him, there are still my brothers and sisters to be watched over and restrained ; and whom, next to their parents, does their welfare so deeply concern as it does me ? " Dear Gordon, when you reflect that under this roof I am the only one who will act freely in opposins; this evil which threatens us with such heart-breaking and ruin, you cannot, you will not dare ask me to abandon my task ! " God has given me my work — who shall say He has not raised me up for this very purpose ? How long it is to continue, He only knows ; and I Tntvst do it in SOWING AND REAPING. 219 His fear and for His glory. Let me intreat you, in the meantime, instead of fretting about me, instead of seeking to lead me away from the thorny paths in which He sees best that 1 should walk, to seek from Him some work that will engross yOu so completely as to leave you no time for repining at His appointments, or distressinix yourself on mv account. " Sometime, if it please Him, we shall find our longed-for happiness here ; but, if not, we shall, if faithful unto death, find a richer and a fuller bliss than earth can afford at His rijxht hand. Do not think it costs me nothing to write thus — nothing to put from me the happiness that might otherwise be mine ; to bury in silence, and, so far as possible, in forgetfulness, my most cherished wish at the command of duty. "Forgive the pain I know my decision will cost you; forgive me, and, if you can, tell me you approve of my course ; for it seems to me your disapproval, added to all the rest, will be more than I can bear. I shall gain strength and courage by knowing you not only acquiesce in the choice I am making, but so discern in it a spirit of humble submission to the will of God, as to yield me your cordial approbation." " Brave young heart ! " wrote Gordon in reply, "that can resist my importunate pleading on the one hand, and the responsive voice of your own heart on the other, while you bow in uncomplaining submission to what you realize to be the will of your Heavenly Father, you put my wilful, selfish spirit to shame ! " I stand rebuked and bumbled in the presence of your higher consecration, and shall learn of you to obey and murmur not. How long it will be before the lesson is fully learned, I know not ; for I am not an apt scholar in what is so crossing to my turbulent will, to my selfish nature. " Do not ask me to forgive the pain you have caused me by deciding as you have ; rather let me ask you, as I have already asked God, to forgive me for presuming to urge you one step from the path He has pointed out and the task He has assigned. 220 SOWING AND REAPING. If ' > I < I ' ■( " Accept the assurance, if it will strengthen you in the least, that I do, notwithstanding my late, selfish urgency, approve of your decision, and from my her^t acquiesce in it. It is useless for me to tell you that it has cost me a weary struggle to be able to say this, for you know it already by the pain your decision has cost you ; and knowing it thus, you will rejoice the more to hear me say that I am content now to submit, and happy in doing so. " Stimulated by your example and advice, I am going to work ; and, by God's help, shall seek in con- secrated service of some sort to till up the time of waiting; knowing that, though our trial should not end in the consummation of our cherished hopes here, it will be blessed to feel when the weary day's work is ended, that it has been done for our Lord ; and that, when we have fuUilled our lonely, and it may be lowly, services for Him, He will make us partakers of His glory. " I am going to start to-morrow, if all is well, for the South, to read medicine for a time with my old friend Leonard, whose name I have mentioned to you before in connection with that of my cousin Laura, as 1 always call her. " I think, however, I must have been wrong in sup- posing there was any marriage engagement between them, as I hear she has given up her situation, and is coming home in a few months; and when I took the liberty in a recent letter of rallying Leonard on his possible loneliness without her, he answered in a stiff, almost resentful tone. " Poor fellow ! I shall feel very sorry for him if there is any misunderstanding between him and Laura, for they are admirably suited to each other, with one exception — Laura is a Christian, Leonard is not. " Aunt Eleanor hinted to me the other day that she suspected that might stand in the way of Laura's accepting him ; indeed the fling at Christians which Leonard gave in a late letter — their bigotry and intol- SOWING AND REAPING. 221 you in , selfish y herH L that it lay this, sion has oice the submit, le, I am : in con- time of ould not pes here, ,y's work and that, may be partakers is well, with my nentioned ny cousin ig in sup- lor him if him and lach other, jeonard is erance — confirms me in the belief that her mother's opinion is correct. " You will pardon this bit of j^ossip, so irrelevant to what I was saying above. It will not, however, 1 trust, do us any harm to turn away for a little from our own heartaches, to call to mind that there may be other heartaches in the world vastly harder to be borne than ours, because unsoothed by the sweet consolations of the blessed Gospel, so refreshing and comforting to us." The removal of the Ellissons from Prairie House was not effected without many bitter tears, and the sundering of many tender ties. The pain of Hope's separation from her pastor and the little band of Christians with whom she had associated in such loving fellowship was only second to that of parting from her beloved nurse, whom she loved as a mother, and whose old age she had fondly hoped to gladden and cheer with a daughter's tender- ness and care. From the first, Mrs. EUisson had set herself reso- lutely against taking Mrs. Green to New York ; but had quite readily consented to Hope's entreaty, when that idea had at last been ^iven up, that a permanent home with the steward's family might be ottered her in Prairie House. This, however, Mrs. Green firmly, but respectfully declined. " I can't do it, dearie !" she said, when Hope conveyed to her Mrs. Ellisson's consent to her plan. " I can't do it ; I can't stay here without you. Every room in the house and every path in the garden would haunt me with your face. When I lost the last one of my precious babies, I thought I hadn't anything more to learn about suffering. I thought my cup was full, and couldn't hold a single drop more. But I didn't know what God had in store for me, none of us does. When you came, you crept right into the place my own baby had left 222 SOWINO AND REAPING. i ^ ' H empty. I loved you every bit as well as I did her ; mebby better, for that matter, a thinkin' of your own beautiful mother, and what you'd 'ave been to her if she'd 'ave been spared. But there, I hadn't ought to speak of her, I know I hadn't; for every time I do, your dear sweet eyes always take on the same Jook her's had when she gave you up ; I'll never forget it, never ! But, as I was a sayin', you've always been to me just the same as my own baby would'a been if she'd stayed, and I can't sjiy but more ; for there's no knowin' what natur' would 'ave appeared in her as she grew up ; I often think Evy is wonderfully like her, I do, really, Hope ! " and for some minutes Mrs. Green sat quite silent, absorbed in painful thoughts. "No;" she added, recollecting herself at length, " I can't stay here, a missin' you in the house, and out of the house, and everywhere ; 'twould kill me, I know 'twould ! " But don't think now I ain't grateful to you all the same, for I am. I shall just stay with the church members, and try and make myself useful ; any of 'em will give me a home, and when I'm dead I've got property enough to bury me, and more too, for that matter. So livin' or dyin', I don't expect to be a burden on anybody's hands. " You won't forget me. I know that, lovey, without you tellin' me ; and you'll write to me now and then when you're not too much hurried ; so I shall get along somehow. There, now, my precious child, don't take on so ! it e'en a'most breaks my heart to see you a cryin' that way about me, who ain't worthy of a single one of them blessed tears ! " And so, burying her own grief in the depth of her true, unselfish heart, the brave woman consoled and encouraged Hope, cheerfully aided in carrying out the details of the removal, and at last, when the great family carriage rolled away from the door, bearing from her sight those whom she had served so many years, she waved a cheerful adieu to Hope, who leaned from the carriage window, to catch through her tears SOWING AND REAPINO. 223 d her ; E your >een to hadn't • every on the 11 never : always would'a 3re; for eared in dertully ites Mrs. ughts. i length, and out 5, 1 know )u all the e church ny of 'em I've got for that to be a ', without land then get along lon't take lee you a bf a single a last glimpse of the face she believed she would never see again. But when the sound of the wheels could no lonjier be heard, she went in, closed the door, and with slow, weary steps ascended the stair, and paused not till she reached the rooms she had so long shared with Hope, and casting herself into a chair, covered her face with her hands and gave way to the anguish that for many days had been wringing her heart. She did not, however, long remain undisturbed, for already a light step was gliding along the passage, and before she was aware of the presence of any one, a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and looking up, she .saw Mrs. Thompson standing beside her. " I am sorry," said the farmer's wife, pressing the hand that was extended to her, " to see you grieving so over this break-up, still I know it's only natural. " But I want you to cheer up, and read this letter, for I know when you do you'll feel better. "Thompson got it just a few minutes ago enclosed in one to himself, and he told me to run right over with it hoping you might get it before the Colonel's folks got away. It ought to have been here several days ago, but seems to have been delayed somewhere," Mrs. Green dried her tears, and after a little search for her glasses, wondering much, in_ the meantime, what on earth Gordon could be writing to her for, just at that time; she seated herself, and, while Mrs. Thomp- son stole quietly away, knowing — for she had learned all about Gordon's intentions from her husband's letter — how glad the letter would make her, Mrs. Green read : — " I have just received a letter from Hope, telling me that you are not to accompany the family East, and that you have declined Colonel and Mrs. Ellisson's offer of a home at Prairie House. " I am glad you have done so. You could not endure the dreariness of chat great, solitary place, with no society but .hat of Hale and his wife, between whom and yourself there could be no true 'Sympathy of feel- ing or of aims. And even if there were, how could • » •; , n II I tH 224 SOWING AND REAPING. you bear the misery of remaininfj there, and missinfr at every turn the face, the voice, and the gentle con- sideration of one who, for so many years, has been the whole world to you ? " But I am not a little selfish in the pleasure your refusal of Mrs. Ellisson's offer gfves me; for it affords Trie an unexpected opportunity to take upon myself at once the duty of a son to you. This is a privilenre I have long been promising myself, but I did not expect it would be mine so soon. " I have written to Thompson that my house is to be your abode until such time as I can provide you a better homo; and have given him instructions to have the apartments named in my letter put in order at once for your occupancy. I have arranged with him and his wife to have you board in their family ; and 1 trust the arrangement will be as agreeaide to you as I know it is to them. " I am telling Hope all about it in a letter which will reach New York before she does, and it will gladden her very much to know you are in a Christian home, with kind, considerate people, and not so entirely separated from us as she was fearing you were to be. " And now, my good foster-mother, 1 trust you will be very comfortable and happy — at least, as happy as you could be anywhere separated from your children. " Both Hope and I shall write you frequently ; and sometime, if it please God to hear our prayer, we shall all be Viappy together again. With kindest love, " Yours— " Gordon." Before sunset Mrs. Green had taken up her abode in the quiet old parsonage ; the two best rooms had been made bright and cheerful for her reception ; the great sorrow of the morning had given place to tearful gratitude ; and when she laid her head upon her pillow, it was to spend long hours in tracing and re-tracing the various paths in which God had led her, and revolving in her mind schemes of usefulness, in the prosecution of w^hich she might evince her grati- tude to God for His unlooked-for goodness to her. SOWINCi AND REAPIN(J. 225 CHAPTER XXXIV. Mrs. Ellisson's lon^^-cherished wish was j^ratitied ; We.ston and all its a.s.sociations had to her become thinfj.s of the pa.st. The hixurious home which once dazzled her inex- perienced eyes had been exchanged For a city man.sion, compared with which Prairie House was dull and common-place. Several months had been taken up in the various details of furnishing and re-titting, secur- ing domestics, and getting the complicated machinery of a large and expensive establishment into (juiet and harmonious working order. But at length everything was .settled, and Mrs. Ellis.son flattered herself, quite to her mind, as well as quite in keeping with their wealth and their social position ; and now, all that re- mained was that definite arrangements should be made for finishing the course of education she had decided upon for the children, in order that they might speed- ily take their place in society on an equal footing with those of the wealthy families with whom they were to associate. She never once questioned the possibility of her husband's income being insufficient to bear the strain of all the expenditure she had in view. She knew his father left him large possessions, and that they had been largely augmented by his marriage to Hope's mother ; how much had been lost in gam- bling or wasted in dissipating pleasures, she neither knew nor suspected. At length, after considerable delay, a fashionable boarding-school within easy reach of the city was settled upon for Augusta and Eva ; Lee was placed under private tutors, until he should be prepared for college ; and Hope's earnest entreaty that Jack should be left for a time under her own tuition, had been granted, much to the gratification of Jack, whose greatest happiness was to have Hope all to himself, ir 1 r 226 SOWING AND REAPING. *• and nobody else around to bother," as he expressed it. Colonel Ellisson had offered Hope the privilege of attending any institution she might choose, but she had respectfully declined. " No, papa," she said, " you are very kind in this matter, and so is mamma ; but I cannot think of leav- ing you. I am perfectly satisfied with the thorough English education you have already given me ; and since you are willing to allow me private instruction in music and drawing, I am more than content to re- main at home," Colonel Ellisson flushed. He had for some time suspected that Hope's special reason for remaining at home had reference to himself ; and it made him not only uncomfortable but angry. For more than a year he had been growing more and more impatient at Hope's attempts to dissuade him from the use of intoxicating drinks ; and though he had never expressed it directly in words, he had several times betrayed it in his manner ; and although Hope had gradually become less importunate in her appeals, he could not fail to notice that her watchful- ness and solicitude in his behalf had been propoition- ately increased. Ho did not so much wish for Hope's absence from home, as he did for freedom from the restraints under which her presence constantly held him; and from the consciousness that his course of life was causing her pain. From her birth she had been dearer to him than anything else on earth ; and it was with a feeling akin to worship that he had watched the sweet un- folding of her mother's lineaments in her face, and had seen her reproduce all her mother's grace and sweetness, with the added charm of a thoroughly Christian character and life. But gradually all this had been giving way before the slow advance of the fatal appetite for drink. For a long time he had been persistently steeling himself against her appeals ; and this very effort to resist her SOWING AND REAPING. 227 induence, had gradually hardened his heart toward herself ; so surely does the love of intoxicating drink ultimately kill out the tenderest affections, and trans- form the most generous and loving nature into that of the hard, unfeeling drunkard. The thought of Hope's foregoing privileges that most young ladies prize so highly, coupled with the consciousness that it was all for his t'-es, app'vt-e md more muttered l(Tgle with jck angrily V he inter- Idon't like time she yet sub- to 1 " and turning into one'of those gorgeous rum-palaces whose open doors allure their dazzled victims to madness and to death, he was ushered by a waiter into a richly furnished room, for the exclusive occupancy of which he had paid an enormous sura, and flinging himself upon a sofa, ordered brandy and cigars. He was not long in silencing the appeals of his better nature, and lulling the pain of self -accusing thoughts ; gradually the white, tearless face he had left gazing after him with a bewildered stare, faded from his mind ; past, present, future were lost in the soft delirium in which he was steeping his senses, and, at length, stretching himself upon the couch, he sank into a state of stupe- faction rather than sleep, Hope had listened to her father with dilated eyes, and a face that alternately flushed and paled, as astonishment, grief, and the horror of all that his words and mood revealed to her swept through her mind, but when he turned and left the room without one word or look of relenting, she sank pale and trembling upon the chair from Avhich she had risen, and for a few minutes the life seemed stricken out of her young heart. After awhile she rose, and scarcely heeding what she did, went up to her room, and seated herself beside a table to write. But her hand shook, the pen blotted, and the lines grew dim and seemed to swim confusedly before her. " 0, what shall I do, what can I do ? " she moaned at length, rising and pressing her hands tightly over her temples, as if to crush back the thoughts that rushed wildly through her mind. " 0, for the arm to reach, the might to rescue him ! Is there no help, no help for him ? Oh, aunty, dear, kind, faithful friend ! can you not speak to me across the dreary distance, and tell me what I can do, luhat I ought to doV And Hope pressed her temples more tightly, as with great, tear- less sobs she paced the floor in agony. Presently a quick step was heard in the passage, and the next moment Jack, with a flushed and eager 16 Wr^ ' i w\ I -; i' ilH ! :li i ' i m 230 SOWING AND REAPING. face, bolted into the room, slate in hand, for Hope to help him out of some difficulty with which he had been struggling for the last half-hour. But he stopped suddenly when he saw Hope in trouble, exclaiming in his abrupt fashion : " What's up, Hope, what's up ? " " 0, Jack," cried Hope, and then dropping into a chair she clasped him tightly in her arms, and burst into tears. " Goodness, Hope ! whatever's the matter ? " cried the boy, disengaging himself from his sister's arms, and staring at her with wide-eyed astonishment, " what ails you ? are you sick ? " " No, dear, I am not sick, but my heart is breaking!" sobbed Hope, drawing him toward her again, and laying her head against his shoulder, " don't go away frjm me, darling, there's nobody in all the house that loves me but you ! " " Ain't there, Hope ? " cried Jack, fairly dazed by his sister's trouble ;" but I do, lots and lots, and I'll give it to anybody that bothers you ! " and Jack looked fiercely around the room as though he only wanted the enemy to show himself, to close with him in deadly conflict. " Dear old Jack ! nobody has hurt me, but I want you to help me ; will you, darling ? " " Won't I though ! here, lie down on the sofa, and I'll go for a doctor; I won't be gone half a minute;" and Jack began pounding the sofa cushions prepara- tory to Hope's following his directions. " No, no, dear, not that ; here, sit down and try and understand, and promise me, like a good boy, not to speak to any one about what I am going to say to you." " You may kill me if I do, Hope ! " " Dear, honest Jack ! " exclaimed Hope, laughing in spite of her grief, and then weeping more bitterly because she had done so ; " I am in trouble about poor, dear papa ; you know what a dreadful habit he has!" " Yes, Hope," exclaimed Jack, now fully enlightened, SOWING AND REAPING. 231 Hope to he had I stopped iming in g into a nd burst ? " cried ir's arms, nishment, reakingl" gain, and go away [lOUse that dazed by is, and I'll and Jack . he only with him lit I want |e sofa, and minute;" [s prepara- id try and 3oy, not to to say to lugbing in re bitterly ibout poor, lit he has!" ilightened, " and he has been at it more and more ever since we came to this horrid old city. I saw him not an hour ago going into Mason's saloon, that lovely place around the corner, Hope." " Yes, 1 know, dear. Have you ever seen him going there before ? " " I should think I had, Hope ! Why, he's been there nearly every afternoon since we came here ! I think he has a parlor there ; for one day I followed him to the door of a splendid room, but the waiter wouldn't allow me to go in. I saw a table in there, and decanters and glasses set out, but I got my orders to be off; so I haven't been back. But I'll go right over there and try to get father home, if you want me to, Hope." " No," said Hope, " that would not do ; papa would be very angry if you w^ere to follow him ; besides I do not wish you ever to go in there again, unless it is absolutely necessary. But I will tell you what I would like to have you do. Will you, the first time you see him going there, follow him, and when he turns to go in, go forward, and in a very respectful way ask him not to go there ? O, Jack, darling ! will you coax him very hard to coine home with you ?" " Hope ! he'll cane me, sure as sure ! " " No, Jack, he will not; my word for it; but if he were to, you are not afraid of a caning when you are doing what's right, are you, dear boy ? " "No; I can stand caning as well as the next one; but, but it wouldn't be a nice thing, Hope, to be twitted of by the fellowe around the corner there ! " and Jack's face flushed crimson at the thousfht. " No, Jack, no, it would not ! " and Hope's cheeks burned painfully too, as, for the first time, she realized something of the disgrace of being a drunkard's child. "But, darling," she added, more cheerfully, "think what it will he, if you and I caii save our dear father from ruin ! Now you are the only one to help me in this matter ; will you run all the risk you fear, and stand by me through whatever may come, like thq •i} u Ml ' 1 232 SOWING AND REAPING. dear own brother vou have always been ? Will you. Jack ? " The sight of Hope's misery, the tenderness ot* her appeal, a dawning sense of the magnitude of the evil she was nerving herself to combat, were too much for the impulsive but tender-hearted boy ; his chest heaved, and with a half-suppressed sob, he turned aside his face. " I'll do my best, Hope," he said at length, laying his two hands in hers, and then, acting upon the impulse of the moment Hope drew him to her side, and kneeling with his hands iirmly clasped in hers, poured out her heart in a few impassioned words of prayer for her father, and for the dear child who had pledged himself with her to do all he could to rescue that father from a drunkard's doom. CHAPTER XXXV. " I've done it ! I've done it ! " exclaimed Jack, the following afternoon, bursting into Hope's room, his face all aglow with excitement, " and he didn't cane me v^ither ! " " What have you done, Jack ? " cried Hope, droppinj? her work and coming over to the sofa where he had seated himself with a triumphant air, "tell me all about it." " Why, just this, Hope, though 'tisn't much to tell. after all. When I saw father piitting on his hat to go out, I ran ahead of him, and waited two or three doors this side of Mason's for him to come up. When he got pretty close to me I went up to him, and says I, pretty low, for I didn't want anybody to hear, ' Father.' says I, ' I wish you wouldn't go there this afternoon," " ' Go where ? ' says he. " ' Why, to Mason's,' says I, ' where you go every day, you know— don't go any more, please.' ♦' Well, Hope if you'd seen him ! my ! he looked at me as though he'd eat me for a minute or so ; and then i SOWING AND REAPING. 233 he got as red as fire, and says he, a sort of choked like, ' Why not. Jack ? ' " ' Because, father, says 1, ' it's no good for you to go tliere, and you know 'tisn't. Besides,' says I, * if you keep on going there it'll kill Hope, as sure t„s anything. You should have seen her cry yesterday about you till I thought she was going to die just then; and I was going to run for the doctor, only she wouldn't let me. ' Now, father,' says I, ' won't y^u please not to go there any more ? ' " Well, he never said a word for more'n a minute, I should think ; but finally says he, ' Go home to yo".r lessons, my boy ; ' and then he puU'^d his hat tight down over his eyes, and walked off' another way, and when I'd watched him out of sight, I ran home to tell you." " Thank you, Jack ; you have made a good beginning, and it will set him thinking, I am sure. He has a kind, tender heart, and will not forget what you have said; but you must not fail to follow up your ad- vantage. Remember, dear, we are going to try hard to save our dear father ! " " Yes, of course, Hope ; but the bother is, there are lots of places besides Mason's where he can get all he wants, and neither you nor I be a bit the wiser." " True, Jack ; but I cannot help hoping an appeal from you may have a great deal of influence in causing him to realize what he is doinsj, and inducinij him to change his course. At any iate, we must not leave off trying." Several months passed quietly away. Colonel Ellis- son's visits to Mason's had been, so far as Hope could ascertain through the vigilant Jack, discontinued ; and though frequently absent until a late hour at evening, he usually returned sober. Letters from Eva and Augusta were frequent, and both seemed to be doing well ; Lee was proving toler- ably studious, and Hope was beginning to rejoice in ! I i m 1 I in 234 SOWING AND REAPING. prospect of a brightening future, when one raorninii; Mrs. Ellisson entered her room, and handing her an open letter, sank pale and trembling into a chair. It was from her daughters' governess, asking Mrs. Ellisson to come at once, and saying that she had something very painful to communicate concerning Eva, whose further stay in the Academy would not, she feared, be thought advisable. " I regret this the more, dear madam," the letter went on to say, " as your daughter is unusually gifted, and, on the whole, amiable ; but she has been detected in the secret indulgence of a fatal habit, which, she says, was formed in childhood, and of which, she tells me, you are well aware. "I presume I need not be more explicit now, but shall enter into fuller explanations when you arrive ; which, I trust, may be soon, as this is a most painful and embarrassing: case." "I think," said Mrs. Ellisson, as Hope silently re- turned the letter, " that you will have to go after your sister ; I am sure I can never endure such a trial ! " " I am quite willing, mamma, to go with you, but I do not think it best that I should jjo alone. It seems to me verv important that either you or papa should so!" ■ _. . " Well, take this letter to your father, and see what he says, Hope. Oh, this is indeed a trouble I never dreamt of in my family 1 " and Mrs. Ellisson paced the floor in painful agitation. " Cannot you do this, mamma ? " said Hope, hesitat- ing for a moment at the door ; " it is more fitting for you, is it not ? " "/ meet your father with such a message as that ! No, Hope, I cannot ; you will have to do it, if it's done ! " Hope glanced sorrowfully at the trembling woman ; but, for once, her lips refused any utterance of sym- pathy, and she hurried away to find her father. She found him alone, and, handing him the letter, retired to a window while he read it. SOWING AND REAPING. 235 "Hope!" In an instant she was at her father's side. " Do you understand this ? " " Why, yes, papa ; do not you ? " " No ! " " O papa ! you surely must remember, do you not, the sad trouble we had with Eva some time before we left the West ! " " Why, I remember she used to — to — that is, she — she got a little ^'ond of drink," stammered Colonel Ellisson ; " but, of course, it isn't that ? " and his hand shook violently as he returned the letter to Hope. " Papa, dear, it is nothing else ! " and Hope caught the trembling hand in hers, with a sudden burst of grief; "but," she added, quickly composing herself, " somebody must go for the poor child 1 Will you go with mamma, or shall I go ? " . " Go, yourself, if you can, Hope ; I cannot. God pity us ! " and, with a shudder, he sank into a chair. Hope looked for a moment in silent anguish upon her father's gray head, bowed in sorrow and self-up- braiding upon his hands; then, dropping u^ on her knees beside him, she exclaimed, with an earnestness that almost terrified him, " Father ! father ! " — she seldom addressed him thus — " O my beloved father ! God does pity, and will help us, too, if we will but help ourselves ! The cure of this dreadful evil still rests in your own hands. Oh, to-day, vow before God, upon your knees, that, by His help, you will, yourself, lead your family into better and safer paths;" and, before he could recover from his surprise, she was gone. Four hours later, Mrs. Ellisson and Hope were ushered into the reception-room of the Academy at L , and, in a few minutes, Miss Morton, the gov- erness, joined them. " I am thankful, Mrs. Ellisson," she said, as soon as the first hurried inquiries had been answered, " that you are here; for your daughter is really quite ill. But, as her physician is with her just now, I beg you to be seated while I explain a little." lit' 236 SOWING AND HEAPING. " Of course, Mrs. Ellisson, as vou did not inform me of your daughter's fondness for intoxicating drinks, I had no idea of the existence of such an appetite in one so young and so respectably connected ; and, accord- ingly, I put her upon the same footing as the other young ladies. " It appears, from her own acknowledgment, that, for some time after she came here, she tried to find opportunities for supplying herself, secretly, with stimulants ; but, finding it impossibly to effect her pur- pose unaided, without being detected, she resorted to another plan. " The first step was to get my consent to her room- ing alone, assigning as a reason for doing so that she could study to much better advantage alone ; and fur- ther, that, at home, she had been accustomed to have a room quite to herself. Accordingly I gave my con- sent, and I did so the more v.nllingly as she was known to be quiet and studious, and as her sister was, at the same time, anxious to room with another young lady. "As soon as Miss Eva was alone, she hired one of the housemaids to supply her clandestinely with such stimulants as she wanted ; and, through fear of detec- tion, drank them stealthily at night. Gradually, as her appetite increased, she became more reckless, fre- quently feigning sickness as an excuse for keeping her room. At length, her door was found locked, and becoming alarmed at her not opening it on being called upon to do so, 1 had it broken open, and she was found in a heavy stupor, quite unconscious of what was going on. "A physician was called, who soon ascertained the cause of the trouble : a little search through her closet revealed the fact of her keeping liquors, and on her return to consciousness she confessed all. Partly, doubtless, from missing her stimulants, and partly from excitement and grief, the poor girl is now really ill, though not in any danger; and her physician thinks that cifter a day or two of quiet, she will be able to return home." SOWING AND REAPING. 237 "Do you think, Miss Morton, it will be necessary for Eva to return home ? I should much prefer that she should remain at school, if possible." " If her physician deems her stiy advisable, I am quite willing to give her another trial ; especially, as the facts in her case are known only to the doctor and myself, and now that I know her tendencies, I can, I think, control matters so that the present trouble shall not occur again." " I will send the physician down, and you can con- sult with him yourself." In a few minutes the doctor entered. " 1 sympathize with j'^ou very deeply, Mrs. Ellisson ; " he said, seating himself near her, " and the more so as I fear your daughter's constitution must soon give way under this violent craving for intoxicating drinks, a thing I can hardly understand in one so young. Has she been long accustomed to tliis indulgence ? " " It is some two years, sir, since her fondness for stimulants became specially noticeable," replied Mrs. Ellisson, nervously. " But she has been accustomed to their occasional use from childhood, she tells me ! " " She had, up to the time I mentioned, .seldom tasted them, doctor!" replied Mrs. Ellisson, reddening pain- fully. " Of course, in common with all genteel fami- lies, we usually have liquors upon our table, but I have carefully guarded the children against their use, and as soon as her fondness for them was discovered, they were kept out of her way." "Alas, madam, this practice which you speak of as 'common to all genteel families ' has, I fear, well-nigh, if not quite, ruined your daughter. Why, the girl tells me she has been in the habit from her earliest child- hood of going to the table after the family had risen, and draining the glasses that had been used ! of going to the sideboard whenever she could find it unlocked and sipping from the decanters ! and, when she became older, of taking bottle after bottle from the wine-cellar and secreting it in her room ; and, after secretly drink- r »! 'I mm 238 SOWING AND REAPING. ing its contents, of destroying the bottle in order to escape detection ! " " Then she has told you, sir, much that I have never known ; and I am inclined to think that, in her moments of excitement or delirium, she has told you a good deal that never occurred." " I am sorry to say, madam, I cannot agree with you ; the poor little thing knows perfectly well what she is talking about ! The only question, however, for us to settle is, what are the best and safest measures to adopt, in order to undo the evil that is already done. Pardon my asking, but, if I am to advise, it is important that I should know, is this appetite simply acquired or is it hereditary ? " " Hereditary, sir !" exclaimed Mrs. Ellisson, her face in a Hame, " what do you mean ? " "Pardon me, Mrs. Ellisson, I certainly mean no offence ! but, if I am to give you any intelligent coun- sel in regard to this child, I need to knr v the nature of her trouble. I need not tell you, I t' -, that there is a wide difference between an app^uioe which is merely the growth of habit, and one which is in- herited ; in plain terms, one which is transmitted from parent to child. I trust I am understood." Mrs. Ellisson did not, or could not answer; and the doctor glanced inquiringly at Hope. " Shall I answer, mamma ? " she asked, at length. Still there was no reply, and Mrs. Ellisson rose and walked to the window. " I think, doctor, that Eva's love for stimulants is not the result of mere habit," said Hope, in a low tone, and covering her face with her hands to conceal her tears ; " but oh, sir ! be pitiful, and do not ask unneces- sary questions ! " " My poor child ! " said the doctor, compassionately, " I have not done so ! Believe me, it is not in idle curiosity that I make these inquiries; and knowing the true state of the case, I must unhesitatingly advise, for it is worse than folly to keep her at study while enduring the gnawing of this fatal appetite as she is SOWING AND REAPINO. 239 ^e never at present, that she be taken home and watched over with the tcnderost care. Her constitution has never been firm, and it is severely shaken already. Pardon me, my child, but are you attending ?" " Yes, doctor, I have not lost a won! ! " and Hope lifted a face so wan and full of unspoken misery that tears spranjr into the physician's eyes. *' Miss Ellisson, are you a total abstainer ? " " I am ! " "And a Christian?" " By God's grace, I trust 1 am ! " " Then to your special care I commit your sister," he continued, in a lower tone. "Just now, she is utterly powerless to resist this appetite ; but her case, if judi- ciously managed, is not hopeless. Take her home, and watch over her with sleepless vigilance. If she needs further education, provide her tutors at home ; but never think of sendin ; her away to school again. Endeavor to make her realize the filn, as well as the awful danger of her course. Set before her the dis- grace of it. Strive to arouse her conscience to look at this vice in its enormity as a sin against God ; and one which, if not abandoned, will ruin her eternally. Indeed, Miss Ellisson, I, can scarcely conceive it pos- sible that anything short of divine grace can, even now, save her from a drunkard's grave. If she breaks over many times more, she is doomed ! " With this advice [ may take my leave, as there is nothing more I can do ;" and grasping Hope warmly by the hand, he bowed to Mrs. Ellisson and withdrew. The following afternoon. Mis. Ellisson and her daughters were set down at their own door. Eva, who was very weak, was carried at once to Hope's room ; and Hope, with an aching heart nerved herself to enter patiently and submissively upon her new task, and to bear as bravely as possible the added burden that had been rolled upon her. 240 SOWING AND REAPING. HM:; ts: • 'k' CHAPTER XXXVI. " We've had a great old time here since you and mother went away ! " said Jack, looking very red and excited, a.^ Hope, sometime after her return, went up to his room, to assign him his lessons for the following day. " ' A great old time ! ' how so, my dear ? " Jack seemed much depressed, and at a loss how to answer ; bat at length he asked abruptly : " Whatever was up with father when j^ou went away, Hope ? " " Nothing that I know of, Jack," except that he was feeling very unhappy about Eva." " What's wrong with Eva ? what made you bring her home ? " '' Eva is very poorh'. Jack," replied Hope, evasively, '* and the doctor thought we had better bring her home ; but what do you mean about having *a great ohl time?' and why do you speak about papa ? " " Oh, things have gone all sorts of ways since you went away ! " replied Jack, fidgeting more and more ; " I hope to goodness you'll never go again ! " and Jack turned his face away to hide his red and swollen eyes which, however, he had not been able to prevent Hope from noticing. " What is it, dear boy ? " said Hope, attempting to take his hand in hers, but he drew it quickly away, and shrank from her, still averting his face. '' In the first place, Hope, father spent the night at Mason's, I think, though I'm not sure. He seemed awfully cross and out of sorts after you and mother left ; and he drank a good deal of brandy at dinner. I mistrusted he meant to go out ; and so, as soon as I dared, I went down, but he was off. I went straight to Muson's, and inquired of one of the waiters if he was there ; but, instead of telling me, * What do you want to know for ?' says he. ' Because he's my father,' SOWING AND REAPING. 241 says I, ' and if he's here, I want to know it ! ' ' Is any- body sick, or dead, or the house afire?' says he, laughing and staring at me, * that you're so anxious to find the governor just now ? ' " ' No,' says I, ' there isn't ; but if my father's here you'd better tell me, and be pretty quick about it, or you'll wish you had ! ' " " ' Hallo, sonny ! ' says he, catching me by both shoulders and shoving me into the street ; ' you're too smart by half ! Now walk ! ' says he, ' and don't you show your face here again, or I'll hand you over to hirn,J — pointing to a policeman who was standing at the corner. So I 'walked,' Hope; but if I live a few years, I'll smash — ! " " Stop, Jack ! that is no way to talk, or to feel ! (^lontrol your temper and your tongue, too, there's a dear boy! " and Hope took the two burning cheeks between her hands, and kissed him tenderly; but for the first time in his life his sister's kiss seemed an unwelcone thing, and he recoiled from it as though it contained a sting. Hope felt a pang of disappointment and pain ; but she merely said, " Dear Jack, try and be patient. What more have vou to tell me ? " " Too much — a good deal to' much ! " muttered Jack, sullenly ; " but I'll tell it, if I die for it, Hope ; though I know if I do vou'll never kiss me again!" and the poor boy's lip quivered, and his chest heaved ; but he ruled himself in a moment, and went on : " I think Lee must have known where father was, for, toward evening, he came in, and, says he, 'Jack, the governor won't be home very early to-night; and I'm ffoing to have some fellows in for the evenino-; so you keep mum, if you know what's good for you.' Well, about eight o'clock, three or four young fellows, about like Lee, came ; and he took them up to his room, and they stayed, I can't tell how long, playing at cards and drinking." " How do you know, Jack, what they were doing ? Were you with them ? '' I rr II 1 ; i t\ 242 SOWING AND REAPING. "Yes, Hope; Lee asked me to go, and so did the other Lellows." " Jack ! did you drink ? Of course, you did not ! " and Hope's face looked ghastly in its deathly pallor. " Yes, I did, Hope, honest true ; and, what's more, / got drunk!" and, bursting into tears. Jack hid his face in his sister's lap. For a moment Hope's heart seemed to stand still, and a feeling of suffocation came over her ; but, in a few seconds, she was herself again ; and, lay'.iig her hand gently upon the boy's head, she said, in as steady a voice as she could command : " I thank God, Jack, that you have not kept this from me, that you have not told me a lie 1 Tell me, now, how it all happened." " I wish you'd kill me ; I do, really ! " sobbed Jack, more heart-broken than ever ; " I ain't fit to live, nor anything else, after being so mean to you ! You'll just go and break your heart acfain, as you did the other day about father. But I did mean to stand hy you, Hope! and that's a fact, though, of course, you won't believe it ; you'll never think me honest again ! never, and how can you, after this ? Oh, I never thought I should be so mean ! " " Jack, my dear, own brother ! don't cry so," sobbed Hope, " for I love you just as much as ever ; but tell me, truly, how it all came about." " Why ; aren't you awfully mad at me, Hope ? " ex- claimed Jack, lifting his head, and gazing at Hope in amazement ; " I thought you would be ! " " I am very unhappy, Jack, but I am not angry ; " and Hope drew her brother's head down upon her shoulders, and laid her hand upon his throbbing temples. "I didn't mean to do it, Hope; but Lee and the other fellows coaxed me ; if they'd tried to drive me, I'd have been all right, you know; but they didn't, they coaxed and flattered me up, and told me I was a fool to stick to a fussy old Temperance pledge. They said that most boys like me, who had rich fathers, drank ; SOWING AND REAPING. 24.1 and that they never kept company with a fellow that didn't ; and so, finally, I took some wine, and after that some brandy, and then I got sick and dizzy, and Lee took me oflf to bed, and that's the last I remember." There was silence for some time ; and then Hope spoke solemnly and earnestly to her brother of the shame and sin of drunkenness, and of the aggravated nature of his own sin, committed as it had been, in violation of a solemn pledge, the nature and obligation of which he perfectly understood. In a faltering voice she referred him to his father, once as generous and well-meaning as himself, now, through long indulgence in drink, trembling upon the verge of ruin ; and reminded him that his own act had been performed with the perfect knowledge of his father's tendencies, and of the terrible consequences liable to result from them. She reminded him of the warnings and threatenings of God's word ; its emphatic declaration of what the drunkard's doom must be ; spoke to him of the evil of his own heart ; of the broad road that leads to destruc- tion, and show^ed him that his feet were already in it ; that his conduct of the previous night ought to make him realize how recklessly he was liable to run on in that down-hill road unless God should turn his feet into a safer way ; and that without the compassionate Saviour who died for sinners to take pity upon him, he must perish in his sins. Then after a few minutes spent in prayer, she left him to his own reflections, saying, as she did so : " I may not see you again to- night, dear, but I want you to think of all I have said, and go to God with all your sin, and shame, and sor- row, and ask him for Christ's sake to give you a new heart, one that shall hate sin with an utter hatred. Ask Jesus to send His Spirit to dwell in your heart ; for it is only by His doing so, that you can ever be safe. Pray earnestly to God not only that this sin may be forgiven, but that you may be saved from all sin. To-morrow, if we are spared, we will talk of this again. r r I II i i 244 SOWING AND REAPING. Hope hastened to Eva, and lighting a lamp, for it was already dark, read to her awhile ; and then, seeing that she had fallen asleep, stole away to find her father whom she had only seen for a few minutes since her return, except at tea, where he had seemed unusually moody and depressed. "Your father has retired," said Mrs. Ellisson, in answer to Hope's inquiry whether he was out or not, " and he gave orders, if any one should call, to say he could not be seen to-night. Your father really looks very ill, Hope. I think this trouble with Eva is affect- ing his health. I shall go and look at Eva, and then go to rest too, the excitement of to-day and yesterday have been too much for me," and Mrs. Ellisson looked old and worn, as she turned to leave the room. " Don't disturb me to-night, Hope, unless it is very necessary. You can have Norah sleep in the room next yours, she is a good nurse, and if Eva wants anything call her, and try and not overtax yourself. You look sick already ; " and Mrs. Ellisson paused for a moment in passing out as if noticing, for the first time, Hope's pale face and heavy eyes. " It's nothing, mamma," said Hope, with a flush, for she was not much used to any show of tenderness from her mother, and that, slight as it was, had touched her deeply. " I trust we shall all feel better to-morrow." " I hope so, I'm sure ! " and Mrs. Ellisson ascended the stairs with a weary step. As she passed she noticed the light in Lee's room and also in Jack's, but she felt too sad and weary to look into either, nor did she pause even for a look at the pale face of Eva. " Hope will see that everything necessary is attended to," she sighed, as she entered her own room ; and pausing for no tender prayer for child or husband, or even for herself, that grace and strength might be given to meet the dark oncoming years that were rapidly rolling forwird their burden of woe, she quickly disrobed, turned off the lights, and in a few ROWING AND REAPING. 245 p, for it i, seeing ind her minutes seemed Lsson, in b or not, o say he lly looks is afFect- and then ^esterday >n looked 1. it is very the room va wants yourself. ,aused for the first flush, for enderness was, had eel better ascended jes room weary to la look at attended ^om; and ^sband, or light be that were Iwoe, she in a few minutes was oblivious alike to the present and the past, as well as to the lowering future whose black shadow had already crossed her threshold, and was sending dull, premonitory lines of gloom even into the chambers of her best beloved. When Mrs. Ellisson was gone, Hope walked slowly back and forth through the apartment, trying to com- pose her thoughts so as to survey calmly the position in which she was placed ; but thoughts of her father, of Eva, and of the two boys crowded upon her in wild confusion ; and at length she left the room, and was slowly ascending the stairs when a loud ring at the door caused her to pause, and a minute after a servant informed her that a gentleman was below, and that he had asked particularly for her. " Did he send up his card, Norris ? " " No, Miss Ellisson, he declined giving his name, saying, ' Tell the lady it is an old friend.' " " Tell him I will see him shortly, Norris ;" and with a strange flutter of excitement, Hope hastened to her room, in order to compose herself a little before going down. But there was no quieting the tumultuous beating of her heart. " I am too tired," she sighed at length, as she smoothed her hair before the mirror, and noticed the unnatural flush upon her cheeks, and the weary look in her eyes, " I am, indeed, too tired to see any one to- night!" As she pasvsed out she glanced into the adjoining room to see if Eva was still sleeping, and then, closing the door softly, rang the bell. " Send Norah to me," she said as her maid appeared, and in a minute Norah stood before her. " I wish you to sit in the room here, Norah, until I come back ; and, if Miss Eva asks for anything, call me." " Sure an' I will. Miss Ellisson ! " said the woman, smoothing her apron, and seating herself with the air of one upon whom a weighty charge had been laid, and Hope hastened away to meet her visitor. " Gordon ! " " Hope ! " the next moment broke the 17 : I 246 SOWING AND REAPING. stillness of the drawing-room ; and then Hope's over- taxed powers gave way; and, for some minutes, joy and pain were alike lost in the oblivion of uncon- sciousness. Gordon did not ring for assistance, but laying her tenderly upon a sofa, waited patiently for her return to consciousness. When at last she opened her eyes, and saw who was bending over her, and as the glad- ness and the grief, the pleasure and the pain of the present moment became clear to her mind, she stretched her hands toward him, and, with" an almost childlike cry, burst into a fit of uncontrollable weep- ing. CHAPTER XXXVII. " Let me weep, Gordon," said Hope, at length, as he vainly sought to soothe her ; " I have been sorely taxed of late, and it will do me good. I shall soon be composed again, and then I can talk to you." Then followed a long, quiet talk, in which Hope told him all her troubles and anxieties, and sweet it was for the burdened heart to be able to speak at last without hesitancy or reserve. "Hope, you have never written the half of this;" said Gordon, sadly, when she concluded. " Why have you kept so much from me ? " " How could I write it ?" cried Hope, passionately ; " how could I, after hanging upon the footsteps of this grim spectre as I have hung for years, detail its move- ments to one whose heart would be as deeply harrowed by the recital as my own ? O Gordon ! I have seen it stealing, stealing peace, purity, and love from my home, marring the manly beauty, and poisoning the whole nature of my dear father, through and through. I have seen it weaving its fatal spells around our sweet, gifted Eva ; and slowly sapping the foundations of honor and principle in Lee, or rather, as I may better say, preventing their being ever laid ; and now SOWING AND REAPING. 247 e's over- ates, joy .f uncon- bying ber er return Ler eyes, the ^lad- lin of the nind, she an almost ible weep- ■ngth, as he )een sorely lall soon be 1 " |h Hope told weet it was ^eak at last [f of this;" Why have jLSsionately ; [teps of this lil its move- ]y harrowed li have seen }e from my lisoning the id through. [around our foundations as I may • and now ray darling Jack, of whom but yesterday I felt so sure, has stumbled and fallen too. How could I paint the hideous picture ? and how could you endure to look on it, were it painted ? Oh, tell me, tell me it is all a dreadful nightmare ; and that we are once ajxain children, with life before us unmarred and fresh as it once was ! " Gordon drew the trembling form closer to his side, and for some time neither spoke. "Hope," he said at length, "it is because I feared all this, that I am here to-night. I have come to ask you, if you do not think it time that I interfered to take you away from this hopeless task, for which you must see, by this time, that your unaided arm is quite too weak ? " "Oh, not hopeless, Gordon ! dont say ' hopeless,' " sobbed Hope. " It cannot be, but papa will see now ; and both he and mamma set their faces resolutely against this evil. Surely when they see their children drawn, one after another, into this whirlpool of ruin, they will awaken from their dream of security. I do think mamma is beginning to be alarmed, Gordon ; and if so, her influence over papa will be very strong." " My dear Hope ! she should have bestirred herself years ago, and not have waited till the dogs of ruin were tugging at her children's throats ! Time was, when, by laying hold of her husband as she had the power to do, this might, humanly speaking, all have been averted, and her family happy and prosperous ; but now — " " Don't speak so despairingly, Gordon, or you will kill me outright ! I feel sure that out of this crisis j^ood will arise ; at any rate, I must pray, and wait, and watch for it ! " " Understand me, Hope, I am not seeking to tempt you from what your conscience clearly shows you to be duty ; you long ago taught me better than that, but I wish to offer you the alternative of a change ; and if I could feel it right, I would kneel at your feet V. i ■ { ': 248 SOWING AND REAPING. and iiiiplore you to accept it ; nor would I rise until you yielded to my prayer. " But I dare not do it. It' God has given you this heavy burden to bear, He will give you needed strength ; and you, not I, must be the judge. What- ever be your decision, I am prepared to submit to \'c ; but if you resolve to toil on here, my course for the next two or three years is clearly defined." " Gordon," said Hope, after a few minutes' thought, " I do not know what course you contemplate in the event of my deciding to remain here still, nor do I wish to know, until after my decision is made ; lest the possible pain I might foresee would result from it, shouM make me swerve from the path in which I know I am called to walk. Perhaps you will think me obstinate and unfeeling toward you, but I tell you solemnly that, though I knew I should die at my post, I would not abandon it. God has given me my task, and no alluring prospect of happiness or ease, even at your side, shall tempt me to leave it while there is hope of saving one ! O Gordon, though it should be only one!" and Hope buried her face in her hands with bitter weeping. " Enough, enough, my darling ! " said Gordon, his voice faltering, with strong emotion ; " brave. Chris- tian heart, I have no more to say. Possibly it may prove a repetition of the old, old tragedy which has been enacted over and over again, ever since Divine Love began its sanctifying and uplifting work in the soul of man — Innocence casting it.self in the pathway of Guilt, if, haply, by suffering, loss, and even death, she might rescue some ; but God knows best, and His will is best for both of us. And now, Hope, one ques- tion more ; by staying near you, can I help you ? " " I think not, Gordon. You know mamma resented your interference, as she regarded your generous efforts for the family some years ago ; and she would, even now, repel anything that looked like it. Papa is proud and sensitive, and feeling, as he must, that he has fallen in your estimation by having, not only violated SOWING AND REAPING. 249 rise until you this u needed 5. What- )mit to Vii ; fse for the 8 thought, ate in the , nor do I made; le^t alt from it, in which I will think : I tell you at my post, (le my task, use, even at lile there is should be her hands his pledge, but persisted in the wrong, I think he would shun you. "If he will not listen to me, dear Gordon, and I have learned by bitter experience that he will not, he is not likely to listen very long even to you. As for Jack and Eva, there is no one can deal with them as successfully as I can ; and an occasional letter from you will do more for Lee than you could do personally. Were you here, he would soon become suspicious that you were watching him. and then there would be an end of all influence for good with him." " But I could share your trouble. Hope ! " " True, Gordon ; but I am sure that were you here often, we would find our troubles mutually increased. Mamma has felt for a good many years that, some- how, I had come between herself and you, and that jealousy would be greatly increased, were you in a position to join me personally in my efforts to benefit the family. " I think she is beginning to thaw a little toward me, and I am hoping to have her co-operation, now that she sees where we are drifting. No, Gordon, leave me to my task, and go you to yours. Our path seems a clouded one to-day, but it may brighten sooner than we dream of. The evils that threaten us mav speedily be averted ; we must just hope and be patient. And now that we have talked these matters out so fully, tell me your plans ; or, perhaps, you will defer that till to-morrow ? " " To-morrow, Hope ! Pardon me, but since it is decided that we must part, I shall go to-night ! my train will leave in an hour," he added, glancing at his watch. "And not see your sister, Gordon, or papa ? " " No, Hope ; I thought to have seen them for a little while to-night, but as they cannot be disturbed, I shall not delay ; and as no one but yourself knows of my visit, it may be as well not to mention it, and then there will be no need of explanations. I will write them from Maine, whither I am bound just now. 260 SOWING AND REAPING. And now, dear Hope, I must tell you my p^ans, as'the time is speeding ; and, in order to do so intelligibly to you, I must go back a little. "A tViw weeks ago, I received a letter from your old family physician, Dr. Eberly, stating that he had met our mutual friend, Aunty Green, at the house of a patient, and that she had been telling him a good deal about me. It appears the doctor had retained a kindly remembrance of me since the time I was with your father during that long illness, Hope, which followed your thirteenth birthday, and at that time he was par- ticularly kind to me, as you will doubtless remember. " Learning from Aunty Green what profession I was preparing for, he wrote me, saying he was growing old, and had for some time been anxious to engage some young man as his partner and colleague, to whom he might feel glad and proud to leave his practice when he had done with it ; and ended by inviting me to come and viuit hi'7^. I accordingly went, and that reminds me, Hope, of what I was near forgetting ; here is a small parcel from dear aunty, who sends with it an inconceivable amount of love ! " " Dear aunty ! " said Hope, tears springing into her eyes, as she took the parcel from Gordon's hand ; " but what is the result of your visit to the doctor?" " It is this, Hope. He offers, if I will accede to his proposal, to keep me two or three years in Britain and on the Continent, in order that I may perfect myself in my profession at the best European schools. I entered into no engagements, but left the whole matter subject to your decision. That decision you have given ; and now I see no reason why I should not accede to the doctor's plans, provided, always, that it is with your approval. If I receive that, I shall go directly to Maine for a short visit at my uncle's, and then sail without delay for the Old World. What do you say, Hope ? " " Do you like Dr. Eberly, Gordon ? " " Yes, Hope, very much." " But, Gordon, he is not a Christian ? " SOWING AND REAPINO. 251 " Yes, Hope, he is ; and the way that came about will interest you very deeply, as ind od, it did me. The dear old doctor told nic the whole story in a most touching way ; but I can only give it to you in a word or two. But when you go with me to Weston, my darling, you shall hear it all from his own lips, and that will be a great deal better than hearing it from mine. He was, as doubtless you know, your dear mother's physician, and with her when she died. His own inability to pray for her in her terror and distress at the prospect of death, the tender and impressive words of your dear old nurse, and an overwhelming sense, such as he had never felt before, of the awfulness of meeting death unprepared, so wrought upon his mind that he never ^ rested until he found rest of soul in believing and trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ. But, my darling, I must go. Are you satisfied to have me carry out my own and the doctor's plans — do you cordially accede to them ? " "Yes, dear Gordon, perfectly satisfied since you think it best," said Hope, lifting her tearful eyes tf) his face ; " we shall meet again, if not here, beyond ! " and, with a hurried farewell, Gordon was gone. One bright, brief hour of unutterable, though tear- ful joy, with all the store of precious memories it had left behind, had been granted to Hope ; and then the dull midnight, the silent house, the consciousness of the immeasurable sacrifice she had made, and all that lay before her in the pathway of self-denial which she had chosen, followed quickly after. It is no wonder if the strong, brave heart gave way for a little while ; but soon there came a strength that was neither from, nor of herself; a strength of which she that lives for self and selfish gratification alone has no conception ; and, rising from the sofa where she had cast herself in a transport of grief, Hope dried her tears, extinguished the lights, and, taking a small lamp from a bracket in the hall, went to her room. Passing Jack's room, she paused a moment at the partly open door, and looked in. He had evidently Li-Si t * I |i i jnai 15*,^* W& '■ 1 |i SH I ' 1 hHI 1 il ^^■^^■H 1 ^^B^BI 1 252 SOWING AND REAPING. been some hours asleep, but his breathing was quick and short, and his face was deeply flushed. Hope saw in an instant that he was in a fever. For a few minutes she stood with one hand upon his temples and her watch in the other, endeavoring to count the rapid pulsations ; but her own excitement was too great, and, dropping into a chair at the bodside, she struggled to compose herself sufficiently to decide what was best to be done. At length she took up her lamp again, and turned the light full upon the sleeper's face, hoping it might waken him ; but he only moaned, and rolled his head from side to side, like one in pain. Hope bent her head close to his face, and said, in a low tone, " Jackey, dear boy, are you very ill ? " For an instant he opened his eyes wide, and stared vacantly at her, and then turned quickly away, mut- tering, " No, I won't, and you needn't coax ! it's poison, I know it is ; don't you see it's burning me up, the horrid stuff? Let me alone, boys, I won't touch an- other drop ! " " Dear, dear Jack ! See here ; it's your own Hope that is speaking to you ! " " Oh, go away, you, Lee, and let me alone ! " he ex- claimed, fretfully, " Hope's gone with mother, and you've given me gallons of that fiery stuff already ! Oh, how my hea. aches ! get off me there, or you'll crush me ! Let me up — you — you — oh, I am smother- ing ! " and the boy flung his arms wildly above his head, as if seeking to free himself from some one who was trying to hold him down. Snatching her lamp, Hope hurriedly called one of the servants, whom she despatched, with the utmost quiet, for a physician. She then hastened to her own room, where she found Norah sleeping soundly in her chair, and, glancing in, she saw that Eva was still sleeping quietly. Stooping, she whispered a few words to the woman, who arose, rubbed her eyes violently for a minute, and then followed Hope to Jack's room. " Go down, Norah, and open the street door for Thomas and the doctor SOWING AND REAPING. 253 \ quick pe saw a few les and G rapid at, and, ffled to best to tin, and )ping it >lled his lid, in a >» I stared ly, mut- i poison, up, the luch an- n Hope he ex- ler, and il ready ! >r you'll imother- )ove his lone who one of utmost Iher own |y in her r&s still woman, lute, and I, Norah, doctor when they come ; and then bring the doctor up quietly, so as not to disturb the house ; " and, handinif the womau the lamp, Hope sat down by Jack, who was still tossin;^ his arms and mutterin<^ incoherently. In a short time Norah returned, on tip-toe, followed by the doctor. Hope dismi»ised her at once to her room, and, handing the lamp to the doctor, closed the door and sat down. The physician sat for some time at the bedside, examininjif the patient, carefully notino' the symptoms, and listeninpj to his broken utterances. "Have you any clue at all to the boy's meaning ? " he asked at length, turning to Hope. " I suppose I have, doctor," said Hope, her pale face flushing painfully beneath the physician's eye. " Please give it me, then. Miss EUisson. If there is anything of a painful nature connected with it," he added, noticing Hope's agitation, " you may feel it is strictly confidential." In as few words as possible, Hope told him all that Jack had told her, and explained, briefly, the cause of his bitter self-upbraiding. " He is a proud, passionate boy, doctor, but he is honorable and affectionate, and has always been un- usually fond of me. The thought of having broken his pledge, of which he has always been rather proud because of sharing it with me, and thereby, as he be- lieved, forfeiting my confidence and esteem, has trou- bled him very deeply ; and his grief and mortification, added to the eftect of the liquor he drank last night, have probably been the cause of this attack." " Not quite the cause, Miss Ellisson," said the doctor, thoughtfully, " though, doubtless, they have materially aggravated the trouble ; but he has evidently been a fit subject for sickness of some kind for a good while. I shall leave these medicines, which you will please pive according to the written directions, and I will call again early in the morning." Hope lighted the doctor down, locked the door, and, with a heavy heart, re- turned to her solitary watch. 254 SOWING AND REAPING. CHAPTER XXXVIII. The morning sun had long since risen, when Hope tapped gently at her mother's door. " What is it, Hope ? " said Mrs. Ellisson at length, appearing at the door. " Eva is "all right, I trust ? " " Eva has rested very well, mamma ; but Jack is ill — can you come to his room for a minute ? " " What does this mean ? " said Mrs. Ellisson, laying her hand upon the boy's throbbing temples, " has^he been this way long ? " " I cannot say how long, mamma, but I found him very ill last night when I dropped in before going to my room." " Why ! you've been having a doctor ! " and Mrs. Ellisson glanced with surprise at the table, v/here tumblers and bottles were huddled confusedly together. " Yes, mamma, he was so ill I dared not wait ; and as you and papa were not able to be disturbed, I took it upon myself to send for one without consulting you." " And you've been up all night ! you should have called me ! how tired you look I What does the doctor say?" " That he has a fever of some sort." " A fever ! " and Mrs. Ellisson started back in alarm ; " what kind of a fever, Hope ? " " He did not say, mamma, but he will be in again soon — there is the bell now ! you had better go down to your breakfast, which is waiting, and I will remain here." " No, Hope, I will stay with Jack while you go down ; you look wearied out. What are you giving him?" " I have just given him his medicine, you have only to keep the ice on his head. I shall soon be back. Shall I have Eva go down, or shall I send her break- fast up to her ? " " If she is ready, have her go down ; she may as well SOWING AND REAPING. 255 n Hope length, ist ? " Jack is I, laying ' has^he ind him going to md Mrs. e, v/here together, rait; and d, I took ing you." luld have e doctor In alarm ; in again letter go id I will you go ^u giving kave only Ibe back. jr break - ly as well begin at once ; it will be the harder the longer she is allowed to wait." Eva was ready, and as she followed Hope into the breakfast-room her eyes ran eagerly down the table, as if looking for something she greatly desired. Hope noticed the look of intense longing, and without speak- ing she pointed Eva to a seat, and then walking directly to her father, who was already seated, whis- pered a few words in his ear. Colonel EUisson started, Hushed, glanced hastily at Eva, and then with a heavy frown nodded assent to Hope's request. Sweeping decanters and glasses from the table, Hope thrust them into the sideboard, locked the door, and put the keys into her pocket. Eva looked disappointed, Lee's lip curled with a contemptuous smile, but Hope took no notice, and seat- ing herself at the tray, proceeded to pour the coffee. " Where is your mother, Hope ? " " She is sitting with Jack, papa ; he is very ill ; the doctor says he is in a fever." " The doctor, Hope ! " " Yes, papa ; I was alarmed about Jack, and sent for the doctor in the niofht. He came again a minute ao;o — I met him on the stair as I came down." " When was Jack taken ill ? " and Colonel EUisson looked pale and anxious. " I found him very sick when I dropped into his room last night before going to my own." " Why, he was well yesterday ; — at least — well, I was not about much until near the time vou came home. Was he not quite well, Lee ? " " I saw nothing amiss with him ! " replied Lee, ill- naturedly ; but as he spoke he caught Hope's eye as she was sternly scanning his features. The blood leaped to his temples, and he bent his face lower over his plate. As soon as breakfast was over. Colonel EUisson, followed by Hope, hastened to Jack's room. Mrs. EUisson looked up quickly, and turning to Hope, inquired if she knew the meaning of Jack's incoherent expressions. ^ 256 SOWING AND REAPING. (g Kim! ': "Did not the doctor tell you, mamma ?" " No, Hope, he was asleep while the doctor was here." In a few words Hope repeated what Jack had told her. "I shall see pretty soon what this means!" said Colonel Ellisson when Hope had finished speaking, his face white with suppressed anger. "Lee must answer for this ! " "Don't do anything rashly, my dear !" pleaded Mrs. Ellisson, following her husband from the room. 'I dare say he only meant a little fun ; you know what a giddy child he is, Hugh ! so thoughtless always of consequences !" '' Well, I shall see there's no more ' fun ' of this sort, Amy !" muttered the father as he strode angrily away. " Young man, I want you ! " he added sternly, encountering his son on the stairs, and Lee turned and followed his father to the library. "Will you come. Amy?" he said, calling back to his wife, as he opened the door for Lee to enter. " If you wish me to, Hugh," said Mrs. Ellisson, coming forward with evident reluctance, " but I do not think it at all necessary." - "Well, necessary or not, I want you!" and without another word, Mrs. Ellisson followed her husband into the room. " Now, Lee," said the father, when they were seated, " I want to inquire into this interesting little affair of yours of night before last. It seems you were having a jolly time of your own while I was — was — " " Was at Mason's, father," said Lee, with a signi- cant smile. " I knew you were having a good time with some of your friends, so I thought I would invite in a few of mine for a comfortable evening at home. I trust there was no harm done !" Colonel Ellisson bit his lip, and .his face reddened painfully as he glanced furtively at the speaker, whose steady, impudent gaze disconcerted him even more than the covert sneer of his words. SOWING AND REAPING. 257 iim even Lee was nearly nineteen, as tall as himself, and nearly his match in phj'^sical strengtii ; and as he glanced at the handsome, resolute face, it dawned upon him as it never had before, that his son had passed the domain of childhood, and could no longer be dealt with as a child. A chilling fear crept over him that Lee knew all that had passed in that private room at Mason's, and for a moment he was confused and agitated. But quickly recovering his self- possession he said sternly : "It is quite true I was at Mason's, where I have a private room, in company with some friends with whom I had an engagement; and you, taking advan- tage of your mother's absence and mine, were at home, drinking and gambling, and, worst of all, coaxing your brother to drink — actually making the bo}' so drunk that you had to help him to his bed ! " This morning I find him in a dangerous fever, and you are respciisible in great part for the condition he is in. If you have any apology for tampering with him in such an indecent and inexcusable way, yon have the privilege of making it." "Really, father!" exclaimed Lee, with a forced laugh, " I had no intention of making the youngster either sick or drunk ; but after he'd had one drink he played the fool so beautifully — 'pon my word, father, you ought to have seen him !" — and Lee laughed as thcigh the memory of the disgusting sceno was most intensely amusing. " But," he added hastily, seeing his father's brow darkei ng, " I'll tell you honestly why I did it. It was to et the boy from under the influence of that old mai.. up stairs; and there's the sober truth! 1 thought he'd hung to her apron strings about long enough ; and that the surest way of setting him free was to get him, by some means, to break that con- founded pledge she's been holding him to for so man}- years. Only for that, he'd have been like the rest of us long ago!" " Whoui do you mean by ' that old maid i ' " ^f w^ \',ri 258 SOWING AND REAPING. " Why, Hope Ellisson, of course ! Whom else should I mean ? " . " Keep a civil tongue, young man, or I'll pitch you out of the window!" and Colonel Ellisson sprang to his feet, his face white with passion. " Not even you shall speak contemptuously of her in my presence 1 Do you understand ? " " Perfectly sir ! " said Lee, with a stiff bow. There was a covert insolence in the young man's tone and manner that chafed his father almost be}?ond endu- rance ; but he could not define it with sufficient clear- ness to his own thought to find any protest against it in words ; so he merely said as he resumed his seat, " Go on, then, with what you were about to say ! " " The truth is," continued Lee, " I have got tired of Jack's echoing Hope's everlasting cant about this sort of a thing ; you know how it is, father I've seen her plenty of times hanging around you, whining and cry- ing because she couldn't get you to give up your glass ! It is bad enough to get her pet notions day after day from her own lips, without having them continually re-hashed by Jack. " He has iDeen her mouth-piece and echo ever since he has been able to peep ; and for my part I was tired of it, and meant to put a stop to it ! I should think you would be tired of it yourself. What an exhibition, for instance, you allowed her to make of herself this morning at breakfast ! " " Have a care what you say, sir ! " " Certainly, sir, I shall ; but it does seem to me, speaking with all due deference, that I should be master of my own house, if T were in your place !" " What Hope did this morning," said Colonel Ellisson, with exemplary self-control, " M^as on Eva's account. It is time you should know, if you do not know it already, that your sister is ruining herself with drink ; and Hope was right in putting it out of her sight ! " " And locking the sideboard and pocketing the keys, I suppose ! " " Quite so, if I chose to allow it ! " SOWING AND REAPING. 259 " Well, all I have to say is, Hope alone is enough to ruin Eva, watching and guarding her, and not allowing her the least liberty or independence ! It was bad enough 1 . ing that abominable period of imprison- ment and espionage that she underwent before we left the West ; and now I suppose the old tune is to be sung again, with sundry variations according to her latest new whims ! " " Lee Ellisson ! I tell you, for the last time, I shall not allow you to speak insultingly of Hope ; and if you govern yourself accordingly, it will be to your advantage ! Hope has never acted the spy upon any one; and if she has labored to save you children from the habit of drink, it is because she believes it a ruin- ous one, as indeed it is ! I only wish vou were all like her ! " *' You see, father, we appreciate a good example too well for that !" retorted Lee, with an insolent laugh. 'I am thankful that you and mother are people of better sense than Hope ; and have brought your younger children up after a better fashion than old Phoebe did the eldest one. I expect, now that Hope's spell over Jack is broken, to see him following your example in the future, and not wasting his life canting about temperance, and religion, and all that ! I go in for enjoying life as I go along ; and that's what I rather expect him to do after this ! " "You seem rather proud than otherwise of your unnatural conduct !" said Mrs. Ellisson, severely ; " and I must say I think your language particularly insolent. I expected to see you penitent and ashamed, especially when told that your brother is dangerously ill ; but instead of that, you seem to think you have done a very worthy deed ! " "'Penitent and ashamed,' mother! why, all I did was to get Jack to give up that old pledge which you know well enough both father and you despise ! Don't 1 know perfectly well that neither of you want to see the boy an oddity in the family, and a mark for all the young fellows of his own station to jeer at ? At 260 SOWING AND REAPING. any rate, I don't want to see it ; and I've done what I could to prevent it, for which I am neither sorry nor ashamed ! " "Well, / should be," said Colonel Eilisson, "both * sorry and ashamed ' of conduct in which you seem to glory, as though it was manly and commendable. I was brought up to take my glass at home, and have never scrupled to drink in a social way among men ; but I never saw the day when I would not have been ashamed of having tempted another to drink who be- lieved it wrong to do so ; and especially one young and inexperienced who was, at the same time, held under a moral restraint by a pledge of total abstinence. I flatter myself that I never saw a time when I was not too much of a man for such conduct. You have acted a mean, contemptible part, and if you are not ashamed of it, I am truly ashamed of you. And now recollect this; if I tind you again tampering with your brother in regard to drink, while either of you are under my control, you shall smart for it ! Do vou understand me ? " " I flatter myself I can understand plain English !" " Then you can go ! " Lee knew his father's mood too well to venture any further remark, and, with the air of one who is greatly injured, he strode out of the room. Colonel Eilisson and his wife gazed helplessly at each other. The wily foe they had harbored so com- placently for those many years was turning upon them in its terrible might — how should they face it — how cope with it ? The sniiling, flattering fiend, that had sat unrebuked at their board, that they had petted and caressed so long, had suddenly shown itself a giant, relentless and cruel, before whose terrible strides they trembled in abject weakness and dismay. Possibly each, at that moment, wished, above everything else, to be able to undo that chain of fatal influences which they had been winding with their own hands round and round their children — wished, possibly, they had their rosy nestlings in their sweet, pure babi^hood SOWING AND REAPING. 261 again, tliat they might try a better and safer way with them ; but, if so, they neither of them said it. Thcv both looked old and careworn, and unhappy as they sat thus in the light of that fresh June morn- ing, which flooded the room brightening the carpet, and the glowing patterns in amber, green and gold of the richly stained windows, through which it streamed. But their reflections had no time to shape them- selves in words, for in a moment Hope appeared at the door, to tell them the doctor had returned and was wishingr to see them. CHAPTER XXXIX. " Your son is, undoubtedly, very sick, sir ! " said the physician, in answer to Colonel Ellisson's anxious in- quiries. It is a severe attack of fever, aggravated by some trouble of the brain, the result, doubtless, of the strong mental excitement through which he has lately passed." " Then my daughter has been telling you ? " "Yes; and it may prove a serious bit of fun for those young fellows; for if this lad dies, the aflair will have to be investigated ! Who beside your son were engaged in it ? " " I do not know, doctor ; do you know, Hope ? " " Yes, papa ! " and Hope repeated the names Jack had given her, while the doctor copied them in his pocket memorandum. " I think," he said, replacing pencil and tablets in his pocket, " it is about time some of our youth had some eftectual check put upon their proceedings ; this is not the first or second case of this kind that has come under my hands. If it is not the last, it shall not be mv fault ! " " But, doctor, do you think my boy is really in jer ? " " Most certainly I do ! and unless, by some means, 18 iii ! I I ) li! Irll I m,\ m 262 SOWING AND REAPING. the brain is relieved very soon, the danger will be imminent ! " Mrs. EUisson, who had been leaning upon her hus- band's arm, had grown paler and paler as the conver- sation went on, and uttering a low cry as the doctor ceased -speaking, would have fallen had he not caught her, and assisted her to her room. '• O Hugh ! " she ciicd as soon as she could speak, " don't let the doctor make this affair public ! give him anything to purchase silence 1 Only think of having it published in all the papers, and heralded through- out the city ! " " It may not be so easily prevented as you think, if I mistake not. Dr. Bennett is not the man to be bought with money. I shall, however, prevent the affair from getting breath, if possible. Are you able to be left, Amy ? " " Yes, yes ; don't delay a moment for me ! " and burying her face in the cushions, Mrs. Ellisson wept bitterly. The doctor gave minute directions to Hope, whose clear head and sound judgment he relied on almost more than his own skill, repeated the charge to keep the patient perfectly quiet, if possible ; and then, for an hour or more, he and Colonel Ellisson were closeted together in earnest consultation. "No, sir;" said the doctor at length, cutting short the conversation by glancing at his watch, and saying he must see his patient again, " my silence cannot be secured by any such means. This folly, to call it by no worse name, has occurred again and again of late, and it is time it was put a stop to. I promise you, however, that, if this boy lives, I will, for his mother's sake and yours, say nothing about the affair, further than to give each of those young fellows a private lesson they will not easily forget." The doctor was unremitting in his attentions, com- ing and going, and sometimes sitting for hours to- gether by his charge, while Hope would snatch brief intervals of rest ; but for days there was very little SOWING AND REAPING. 263 w ill be her hus- j conver- le doctor )t caught d speak, trive bini i having through- ou think. Qan to be event the ) you able me!" and sson wept ope, whose on almost ^e to keep i then, for re closeted tting short ,nd saying cannot be call it by in of late, ■omise you, s mother's ,ir, further a private Itions, com- hours to- latch brief Ivery little apparent change ; still the poor head turned wearily from side to side, and the hot hands were tossed aim- lessly about as ho lived over and over again in wild disjointed fancies that night, and the subsequent shame and self-upbraiding it had cost him. Eva, in the meantime, sat much alone, brooding over the disgraceful necessity of her being removed from school, and enduring as best she might the torture of that tierce craving for stimulants which, from the time Hope removed them from the table, had been not only withheld from her, but kept from her sight. At length, as day after day passed, and all the family were absorbed in care and anxiety on Jack's account, she formed the desperate resolution of steal- ing out and purchasing for herself what she so intensely craved. At first she shrank in confusion and terror from any plan for the carrying out of her wish ; for all the true womanliness of her nature revolted from the commission of such an act ; but gradually, as again and again the temptation swept like billows of fire over her poor tortured soul, and the appetite within clamored more and more fiercely with every dream of its possible gratification, she resolved to make the desperate attempt. Seizing an opportunity at length, when Hope, yield- ing to her plea of sickness had left her behind and gone down to her tea, and Mrs. Ellisson was occupied in the sick-room, she disguised herself huiriedly in an old suit of Norah's, and stealing unperceived out of the house found herself, half wild with terror and excitement, in the street. But when she realized where she actually was, and saw numbers of elegantly dressed people who were walking in the glow of that summer sunset; saw young girls and happy children, and thoughtful, elderly people passing and re-passing ; thought of her unac- customed attire, her desperate haste, and the many eyes that seemed to be bent upon her in eager, wondering scrutiny, and then called to mind the shameful errand on which she was bent, and the disgraceful conse- 2G4 SOWING AND REAPING. f' i ;i quences that must follow its Huccessful accomplish- ment, her heart .seemed to stand still with affright; and drawinpr her rusty veil more closely over her face, she turned and tied for home, nor paused till she found herself again in her own room. Tearinjr ott' her disguise she crushed it into a closet, hurried on her own garments, and llinging herself upon a chair with no eye upon her but His who reads the secrets of all hearts, poor Eva struggled alone witli her shame, and anguish, and remorse; and vowed — as what unhappy slave to strong drink has not — to over- come that fatal appetite or perish in the attempt. Presently a soft footstep was heard in the passag' , and in a moment Hope, who had excused herself fron, the tea-table, in order to sit with her for a shoiL time before taking her place at Jack's bedside, was stand- ing beside her. " Eva, dear child," id Hope, seeking to draw the weeping girl toward her, " are you really so very ill ? " " No, Hope, I am not in the least ill ; it was all a pretence for the sake of accomplishing a base, wicked purpose of which, I am thankful to say, I became a.sliamed ; and from which I turned back in time to escape the consequences of my own folly." •' O Eva ! Eva ! " " You may well say, * O Eva ! Eva I ' but what would you say if you knew me as I know myself ? O Hope ! if I could tell you, if you could understand this awful craving for — for — " " I do understand it in part, my darling," said Hope, sitting down beside her ; " I know, however, that it is, and can be only in part; but believe me, my poor, dear girl, my heart aches for you every moment." And then, as she had often done before, Hope spoke ten- derly to her of Christ, able to save unto the uttermost all those that will come to God through Him, and with earnest pleading besought her to fly to Him for strength to overcome. " You have told me this, Hope until it has become an old story ; and really there don't seem to be any- SOWING AND REAPING. 265 thinsf in it ! Don't imacifine, however, that I have never prayed; for I have scores of tiinos ; but it has not lit'lperl ine one hit ! I tell you I want stimulants. I II m mad for drink. I don't care what it is — wine, hrandy, whisky, anyfhinf/ that will satisfy this unut- terable cravin^r ! You look horritied at hearincj me .say it, but I do, and where's the use of denyin*^ or con- cealing; it ? " I think about it, Hope, and think about it, until it almost seems as though my brain were on tire ; and at such times, if I could lay my hands upon it, I'd drink, thoui(h I knew 'twould destroy me! — I wouhl, indeed ! " and a fierce lijijht came into the younpf j ■ ; f 268 SOWING AND REAPING. up in culpable blindness or worse hypocrisy, the query of the first murderer, " Am I MV brother's keeper ? " In that retreat, for the time beinij, at least, the mad- deninf]f poison was kept out of sight; and as the youni( girl sat down at her mother's side, a feeling of security and consciousness of added strength, as of a victory gained, came to her, which made her sweet, 3'oung face look very beautiful in the soft light of that sum- mer evening. Mrs. Ellisson noticed the brighter look in her daughter's face, and said, tenderly, as she handed her a cup of tea : " I am glad, my love, to see you looking so much better this evening ; are you feeling so ? " " Yes, mamma, thank you ! I am feeling quite well now ; " but Eva colored deeply as the thought flashed through her mind, " it might have been very different had I not changed my mind just as I did ! " Poor Eva ! she was really taking to herself a great deal of credit for so promptly abandoning her purpose. It was, indeed, something to be deeply grateful to God for, but how little of it had been her own intelli- gent and deliberate act ! It was rather the stern up- rising of all that was womanly, delicate, and refined in herself, by which she had been thrust back, shame- stricken and humbled, * from the glare of day and coarse contact with open vice, than of anything that originated in her own feeble and half-paralyzed will. She had yet to learn, that what Hope had just told her was awfully true, that, of herself, she was weaker than a broken reed. CHAPTER XL. In a comparatively short time the more violent symptoms of Jack's malady had been brought under the control of medical skill ; but the fever was an obstinate one ; it had to run Its slow, tedious course, and by the time he was able to walk a little about his SOWING AND REAPING. 269 room, and sit by the open window again, fche summer was gone, and the early autumn was abroad, minglinor her tirst mellow tints with the rich, dark ijieen of summer, and preparing the world by her own slow, quiet methods for the wondrous transformations she was about to make. The trouble which was weighing so heavily upon Jack's mind when the darkness of delirium settled upon him, had never been alluded to since reason happily resumed her reign ; whether or not the recol- lection, either of it or of its cause, remained, no one knew. He sat all day quiet and reserved, saying little to any one, even to Hope, who by many gentle methods was constantly seeking to win him from his dreamy ways, but he seldom would more than smile, putting her oft' with — " I don't care to talk, Hope ; it seems nice to think ; you know I never did much thinking !" And Hope wisely gave him his way. It was very true. Jack never had done much thinking. Hitherto, almost wholl}^ a creature of impulse, he had generall}'', in rough boy-fashion, acted out his impulses for better or for worse, as the case might be, and seldom had paused, except under Hope's influence, to consider either the right or the wrong of them. But Jack EUisson had reached that age, always mysterious, critical, and rarely understood either by parents or teachers, when the crude, rough elements of the boy's nature are either softened and refined at the approach of early manhood, or else hardened into the coarse, vulgar, and too often grossly sinful type wdiich his character is afterwards to retain, unless l)rought under exceptionally favorable and refining influences. The humiliating discovery of himself which he had made, as well as his subsequent severe and protracted illness, had come to him just as he reached the threshold of that m3'sterious stage of his boyhood ; how they affected his after life and character remains to be seen. '■ ! mr 270 ROWING AND REAPING. 8) i' '' 1^' r' following;' ill ; then, kly down when his mt at the ht, Lee ! " Lve 5'ou at le^e ; stay what's the kept in a an en.s^age- put further le watched jn until he she closed r husband a window aained for [T[(f to feel ! city til an She was society h'' what she Iks he had and when Ihis where- Iteniptuous itt'c '"^0 his wife ahout it, was feelint^ deeply troubled in regard to fiee, whoso expensive and dissipated liabits had for siiiiie time l)een diagi^inif heavily upon his income; and ho was becomin<:j daily more and more convinced that his fniincnt appeals for money had a deeper and darker meaning than tho youno- man would admit. He had always some very straightforward story to tell in atteniptini^ to account for his frequent applica- tions for money — such as, tliis or that amu.sement, a friend in trouble, his pocket-book lost, or something equally plausible and difficidt to disprove, and from an investigation of which the fathei- shrank with a nervous weakness little short of timidity. At length, finding that her husband was not inclined to lay aside his book Mrs. Ellisson left the room, and slowly ascended the stairs. But the sound of voices attracted her attention, and she paused before the open door of Hope's room. It was a pretty scene that attracted her gaze, and for a little while she stood unobserved at the door. Hope was sitting before an open window, reading to Eva and Jack ; the former seated upon a low otto- man at her feet, with her arms crossed upon Hope'.s lap, and her dark, expressive eyes fixed intently upon her sister's face, the latter, with a heap of cushions about him, lying at her feet in an attitude of deep attention. Mrs. Ellisson paused awdiile in a(bniration of tlie lovely scene. She thought — and the memory of that sweet picture in all the weary after-ye>i;s never faded from her mind — that she had neve'' seen Eva look 80 beautiful as she did that ho .r, with the irlow of return- ing health mantling her fair fac^, and lii-r auburn curbs falling in wavy richness over lier slender neck and .shoulders; and for the iirst time in her life, Mrs. Ellisson felt really grateful that she had one so wise, and yet .so gentle as Hope, to whose guidance hIic could consign lier beautiful but erring daughter. " You seem very happy here, my children," she said at length, entering the room, ' and I do not wish to "W 274 SOWING AND REAPING. disturb you; but by-and-by, Hope, wIk/i you are free, I would like to see you at my room." " Yes, mamma ! " said Hope, and, looking up, her quick eye discerned the trouble in her mother's face ; " I will be with you very soon." " O mamma ! " cried Eva enthusiastically, " you ought just to hear Hope read ! She is reading us such a beautiful poem, Mrs. Browning's * Seraphim,' and she explains it all till it just seems real ! I did not suppose anything religious could be half so sweet ! " " That's because you never heard Hope read sucli things, Eva!" exclaimed Jack, with a touch of his old enthusiasm. " 'Pon my word, mother, it's next thing to hearing those angels talk, to hear Hope read what they said ! " Mrs. Ellisson smiled sadly and passed on, but she did not answer. Her thoughts were with that other son who, with the sunshine upon his head, and the glow of manly beauty upon his young face, had just passed out of her sight, who should say whither ? to what haunts of infamy ? to what unhallowed revelry ? to what soul-destroying vice ? " But, Hope," said Jack, sitting up, and sweeping the heavy mass of hair back from his forehead, " I guess if you don't mind waiting till another time, I'll go to my room ; I'm getting a little tired ! " " Dear boy ! I was almost forgetting how weak you are ; you must come right away 1 " and handing the book to Eva, she assisted the invalid to his room, and helped him to lie down. "You are just an old love!" said Jack, as Hope shook up the pillows and settled his tired head com- fortably among them ; that was Jack's emphatic way of expressing his gratitude. " I'll do something splen- did for you some day, won't I ? " " Of course you will, dear boy ! you'll be a lad after my own ideal." Jack opened his great, eager eyes, and looked earnestly in his sister's face. " I don't know, Hope ! " he said, slowly, " that'a bu- SOWING AND REAPING. 275 are free, up, her ar's face ; ly, "y"^i (f us Hiicli him,' and I did not vveet : read sndi of his old lext thinf; read what )n, but she that other \, and the I, had just rhither ? to id reveh-y '\ reeping the *' I cruess I'll go to d, weak you landing the room, and k, as Hope head coni- tphatic way ;hing splen- . a lad after tnd looked ing a better boy than I ever e^cpect to be, ever, ever ! " and he closed his eyes wearily again,, as though the thought of such a stretch of goodness was too much for him to contemplate just then. Hope did not question him nor reply, she only pat- ted his pale cheek in a tender, loving way peculiarly her own, and then hastened to her mother. Mrs. Eliisson was sitting thoughtfully at a window, watching some great, heaped-up clouds that were rising from the south-west, their dark tops ablaze with the intense glare of sunset, while all along their base trickled and ran in countless tortuous lines the electric iires that foretold the coming storm. " You are watching the cloud, mamma ! " said Hope, taking the proffered seat. " Oh ! isn't that grand ? " she continued, glancing eagerly along the huge pile of clouds that seemed to han<; almost motionless in the sky, while the setting sun banded their rugged out- lines with a rim of intoleraVjle brightness. " YeSj Hope, I was watching the cloud, but I was not thinking much about it, I was thinking of Lee ; and it was to speak with you about him that I asked you to come to me. Do tell me what you think of him. He has grown so sullen and unapproachable of late, that I am scarcely able to speak to him. Have you noticed it at all ? " CHAPTER XLI. Hope did not reply at once; it was such a new experi- ence to her to be consulted, to have her opinion asked or in any way deferred to, that she was confused, and tor a moment inclined to answer evasively ; for she felt keenly alive to the fact that she had not e vht, " that .-key, and ible hours. father is to shrink I suppose acver easy and Mrs. less so now away tu le, " for we lanions; arly niorninjLj, sometinn's, when I'm unable to sleep. " As Eva entere.l the library, the tirst object that caught her eye was the bottle of wine and the un- touched glass besi. A\^ 280 SOWING AND REAPING. * i '•« ■' ^ n 'f '■ . 1 •w' 1 i| iii tering of the richly bound volumes around her sqemed continuous lines of lifjht ; and the gas-lights seemed blending into one broad yellow band of flame. Suddenly she roused herself, and draining the glass she yet grasped, threw herself back upon the sofa ; the glass slipped from her relaxed hand, and very soon poor Eva EUisson was lost to all consciousness of out- ward things in the dead stupor of intoxication. More than an hour had passed when Colonel Ellis- son threw down his paper, and flinging open a window looked out upon the night. Tl*e storm had ceaso F' .) 288 SOWING AND REAPING. " Miss Ellison ! " — the sharp call ranf; up from the foot of the staircase, and in an instant Hope was gone. A minute after Eva looked up, and found herself alone. Had Hope really been there? Had she reully uttered those words which, somehow, had seemed to drop upon her aching heart like soft rain upon the tender herbage scorched by the pitiless heats of noon '' Eva had not heard the voice that came to Hope ; slie knew nothing of the terrible cloud that was hanjrinfr over her home : her disgrace, her shame, her sin were the only trouble she knew of, and they were enougli— dark, hopeless enough ! Yet, somehow, amidst the darkness and the hopeless- ness of her lot, those soothing words lingered like sweet music in the chambers of her soul, and filled her with a vague longing to hear more ; or rather, to grasp the full sense of what she had heard, so as to make it her own ; and as the poor, stricken young creature lay there alone, covered with shame and self-loathing, those precious words that have brought healing' to so many hearts — "The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth from all sin" — repeated themselves in her mind, until, gradually, the sorrow and the pain faded into indistinctness; and with the precious name of Jesus floating above the stormy sea of passion and remorse, and calming the troubled waves to a tem- porary repose, she fell asleep. CHAPTER XLIII. • " Here is a note for you, Miss Ellison ; it was left at the door a minute ago," said the servant, whose voice Hope had just heard. Hope motioned the man to withdraw, for she saw it was from her father, and she dared not trust herself to open it until she was alone ; then with nervous naste she tore it open, and read : " Hope : — My worst fear is confirm3d ; Lee is among SOWING AND REAPING. 289 the drowned. 1 cannot write, I can only beg you to prt'pare your mother as best you can. He will be brouj^lit home as soon as the necessary preparations can be made." Hope crushed the paper in her hand and sank, weak and tremblinj^, into the nearest chair. For a little while she sat quite stupefied by the terrible event ; but sudf Mrs. Elhs- isness before b now that it beneath its of thou;.,'ht. were quivti- and a thou- ive wrath to ler first-horn, e, was dead ; r\i ; but there .hat. It was upon a long r its voyage, it ; while she, he father, the rist had been ears could be te— they had tions, of \oM on high, and I to polish for the Redeenier'.s crown, had sHpped fr<>in her unfaithful hands into darkness which her agonized vision was inadequate to pierce ; into a deep whence no prayers or tears nnght avail to bring it buck ! After what seemed to be a long time, Mrs. EUiason spoke. " Hope, I must rise ; will you call Norah to help me Jress ? " " Let me help you, mamma — it is more fitting that I should do it ! " There was no remonstrance, but with a face white and tearless, Mr.s. Ellisson rose and suffered Hope to dress her. She had scarcely finished, when a heavy step was heard approaching, and in a moment there was a knock at the door. Hope opened it, and her father entered. He saw at a glance that his wife knew all, and without a word he sat down beside her, and took her hand in his. Hope turned to leave the room, but he motioned her to remain. "Amy," he said at length, in a low tone, "I see you know all ! " " Yes, Hugh, I know that my boy is — " and, with a bitter cry, she leaned her head upon her hus- band's shoulder, and wept aloud. Tears brought a kind of relief, and, after a few moments of self-abandonment, she raised her head, and tLsked : " Have you brought him home ? " " I hastened forward, Amy, to see how you were. The hearse will be here directly, and I must go down. Can you go with me ? " " I can't go : " the words were shaped by the lips, I rather than uttered with the voice; Hope understood the piteous meaning of her mother's look, and, taking [her father's arm, accompanied him to the door. Half an hour later, and the spacious drawing-room, [gorgeous with the costly furnishing and lavi.sh adorn- linent of unstinting wealth, was awed by a new presence \—the presence of death. There upon a costly marble table, and covered with rich, velvet pall, rested the elegant casket that con- I!' Hi! I i- :, : I ■ :| ill i V \M 292 SOWING AND REAPING. tained the mortal remains of Lee EUisson. Death had dealt very gently with the beautifu.1 clay, leaving upon the proud young face no disfigurement, no stain. Faultlessly attired in garments intended for the livinfr, as he lay there, with his arms folded upon his breast, his features composed as if in sleep, calm, placid, rest- ful, the noble face ai head looked as if the soul tliat once reigned and ruled within, must have been grandly endowed with all the glorious attributes of manhood. Once ve'ujned and ruled, did we say ? Alas ! not so ! That soul neither reigns nor rules which suffers itself to be enslaved by passion, and driven by unlial- lowed appetites into debasing sensuality. No soul can be said to veign or rule in its God-built temple tliat does not, with sustained and resolute will, keep every appetite and passion within its appointed limits ; and, fortifying itself with that divine strength by which alone a perfect mastery can be secured, maintain supremacy over its entire self. Lee EUisson, though young in years, was not young in vice ; nor could he, by any means, shift the blame upon unfaithful parents, or inadequate religious train- ing. Whatever the faults of others might have been, light had been given him, placed within his reach, urged upon his acceptance, to which he had closed his eye.s ; warnings and entreaties had been ofFeredi to which he had paid no heed ; advice had been proffered, which he had scorned ; and the way of evil-doers he had deliberately chosen. No young man in a Christian land, a land of Bibles and of Sabbaths, can ever truly say, " I perish through the fault of others." Others may be to blame, and they will have to bear it ; but he who goes down to hell out of the clear noonday of Gospel light and ^/rivileues, elects his own ruin. Yes ! any one looking at that noble face and finely moulded head might truthfully have said : " Surely he looks as though he might have run his race with the noblest and best of men, and ultimately have reached SOWING AND REAPING. 293 eath harl in^ upon 10 stain. Ke Vw'm^, is breast, icid, rest- soul tliat 1 crranilly manhood. Alas! not ch sutt'ers by unlial- ^o soul can 3mple that keep every imits; and, t by which maintain not young the blame crious train- . been, light •each, urged Id his eyes; 50 which he tered, which iers he had ,id of Biblos [ish through 1 blame, and Ls down to light and , and finely "Surely he ice with the lave reacl:^«l a hif^her goal than even the angels can aspire to, even that mystic union and brotherhood with Christ, ^yhich is the glorious heritage of all the redeemed. " Yesterday, what vast possibilities. were his; what stupendous heights of possible attainment towered up before that dead youth ! — to-day, the light=? in this desolate palace are extinguished, the halls are silent and deserted, the windows are darkened, the chambers sealed up ; and the undying soul that tenanted there has gone forth into that dim unknown whither no mortal eye can follow him, and where no pen but God's may record its irreversible destiny ! " Fathers and mothers ! ye who look upon your bn.bes nestled in the soft repose of infancy ; who watch them in the exuberant fulness of their happy child-life; who follow their bounding feet along the flowery, but dangerous paths of youth ; remember, it is no creature of a day that is entrusted to your keeping ! Neither time, nor change, nor accident, nor death, can blot it from being. It shall outlive the great earth it treads beneath its feet. The limitless universe shall not be too vast a field for the exercise of its stupendous faculties of thought and research. The stars may perish, the sun faint and fail with age, all the ethereal fires that Hq-ht up the nightly heavens with such unimagineu „ jries may go out in darknes.s, b?it that child can never cease to be ! And it is yours ! There behold the talent — haply the talents — lodged by the Master in your hands, for which He will, by-and-by, demand the reckoning. View in that fair, young soul the garden-plot which you are to make rich with flowers and fruitage for your King. In that mysterious, wondrous being, behold the young ea^;ie whoso wings you are to train to oar to the highest heights of creature attainment. Shall that rich coinage, statnped with the King's own " image and superscription," becom*' cankered and corrupted in your hands ? Shall your beautiful garden- plot to which the King would fain come down to gather His choicest lilies and his sweetest spices, be '!*' 294 SOWING AND REAPING. overrun with noxious weeds, a lurking-place for hideous reptiles and deadly serpents ? Shall the bright, exultant wings which you should train to soar far beyond the seat of the highest seraph, and fold themselves to rest in the bosom of the Eternal One, be left, he taught by you, to welter in filth and defilement, until the very impulse to soar is lost for- ever ? • Aye, Colonel Ellisson ! cover the dead face from your own sight, from the sight of her who, from this fatal hour, must ever hear the torturing wail of it might have been otherwise ; shut out the mellow evening light from the cold grandeur of this desolate room, close the door softly, and leave him for the ' dust to dust " and " ashes to ashes " of the pompous burial that awaits him another day. In the judgment day he will not be wanting ; and ye who have been so largely responsible for the weal or woe of the departed spirit, will be there too ; Eter- nity will reveal the rest ! Ill CHAPTER XLIV. " Hope, I haven't seen a bit of you to-day ! Do tell me what's going on in the house ■ Norris will not even give me a hint, but he looks as if the whole world were upside down. I've been as lonesome all day as I could be !" and Jack looked half reproach- fully into his sister's face. " Why, Hope, you've been crying ! Something dread- ful must have happened, or you wouldn't be so anxious to keep me from knowing it. Lee's home, I know, for I heard hin^ speak a little while ago ; is mother sick, or is it all ibout Eva ? " " You did not hear Lee speaking, Jack ; it must have been some one else you heard." "No? isn't he home?" " Yes, durling, Lee is home ! " and covering her face Hope gave free vent to her sobs. SOWING AND REAPING. 295 lace for »u should it serapli, e Eternal filth and i lost for- 'ace from from this AT ail of it le mellow is desolate m for the 5 pompous [iting ; and 31 the weal too; Eter- 1 Do tell [is will not the whole Uesome all reproacli- iing dread- so anxious know, for other sick, it must 12 her fa£e Jack was much distressed, but he was too weak to be demonstrative. " Hope," he exclaimed, at length, " I know just what's i"p ! that's the very way you went on once about father ; and now I'm just sure Lee has been off all night drinking with those fellows, and father has brought him home drunk ! " " O, Jack 1 be still, do, or you will kill me ! Don't look so grieved, my darling ! 1 did not mean to speak so .sharply!" she added, recollecting his weakness, "but how can I tell you ! " and Hope threw her arms around her brother's neck, and laid her hot cheek against his. " Dear, dear Jack ! " she sobbed, " you and I must not speak of our poor brother's faults any more ! He will never grieve us again with his sinful habits and unkind ways; he will never, never vex us any more !" Jack sprang to his feet. For the instant his weak- ness was gone, and his face was white with dismay. " Hope ! " he exclaimed, passionately, " if Lee is dead, tell me so ! I can't stand this ! Ls he dead ? " " Yes." " Oh Hope ! " and the boy sank again upon the sofa, and closed his eyes, as one smitten with deadly pain. Hope laid her hand upon his forehead in alarm. " Jack ! dear Jack ! " "What, Hope?" " Do you feel ill ? are you worse ? " " No, not exactly, a little faint I guess ; give me some water, I feel weak." He clutched - the glass in both hands, and drained the last drop. " Are you better. Jack ? " "Yes, I'm all right now, Hope. I guess 1 won't talk any more ; I want to lie still and rest. You may as well go and look after mother and Eva for a little while, they'll need you more than I do ! " Hope saw that he wished to be alone — that even her presence was a felt restraint, and she wisely left him to his thoughts. fc;. 296 SOWING AND REAPING. ^ftii; " How is Era, Hope ? " I have nob seen her to-day ! did you tell me this morning she was ill ? or is it some- thing I have mixed up with this day's horrors ? How is she bearing this trouble ? " " I have not told her, mamma ; she knows nothinor of it." " What ! she is keeping her room, then ? " " Yes, mamma." "She must be ill, Hope! why have you not told me ?" and Mrs. EUisson started up from the sofa from which she had not risen for hours, to go to Eva. " Please do not go. mamma; Eva has retired for tlie night, and I think she is asleep. 1 will send her to you in the morning." " Then she is not sick, it appears ! why has she been keeping her room all day ? and why have you not told her what has occurred ? " " Mamma, you know Eva is not strong, and I did not like to tell her to-day. I think she can bear it better to-morrow." " You are keeping something from me, Hope ! What is wrong with Eva ? I insist upon knowing ! " "I shall not decieve you, mamma, since you insist upon knowing. There has been a recurrence of the old trouble. She found a bottle of wine that had been left exposed in the library last night, and the rest you can easily infer." "The wicked, desperate girl !" exclaimed Mrs. EUis- son, angrily, " to allow herself to touch it, when she knew so well what it would do for her ! She deserves to be handcuffed, and fed on bread and water for a month ! " " Mamma ! " and, for the first time in her life, Hope confronted her mother with a stern, indignant face, " you do not realize what you are saying ! What can you know of the power of that appetite which has grown with her from childhood ? nay, more, which was born with her ? What can you, who have no in- herited craving for the poison which is ruining her, understand of the fiery thirst that is drying up her M SOWING AND REAPING. 297 • to-day 1 it some- s ? How I nothing not tolil sofa from ilva. ■ed for tiie end her to ls she been DU not toUl , and I <1k1 3an bear it lope ! What you insist (nee of the ,t had V)een |ho rest you Mrs. Elhs- , when she Ihe deserve? Ivater for a life, Hope jnant face, ^ What can J which has [ore, which lave no in- lining her, Ing up her very life ? Sinful she may be, in that she. does not accept the strength Christ offers her in her weakness ; hut it becomes you and me, mamma, to be sparing of denunciation ; and when we would resort to handcuffs and prison-diet, let us begin with those whose right it is to bear them ; and not with the poor, unhappy child who is staggering under a burden laid upon her by others ! " Mrs. Ellisson looked at Hope with amazement. The honest directness of her words, the indignant flash of her eye, made the unhappy woman recoil within her- self, for they not only .silenced the weak sophistries with which she had been accustomed to satisfy herself, but they gave added sternness to the already accusing voices within. She had, a few times before, seen something of the fearlessness of which Hope's gentle nature was capable, and she shrank from calling it forth any further upon such a theme. Her husband's life-long vice, and their mutual un- faithfulness to their children, were what she was least willing at any time to face ; and closing her eyes with a sigh, she merely said : " Good night, Hope ! as Eva has retired, I will not disturb her to-night, I shall see her in the morning." The next minute she was alone, and yet, not alone ; for there w^ere with her voices that would not be silenced, and memories that would not depart; and the white, still face of the dead youth below, which she had looked on but once since he was brought home, but which, in its awful calmness, seemed hovering about her pillow, haunted her torturing thoughts like a living presence. Thus the long night dragged on, and it was not until the dawn was again paling the east, that she sank into the deep, unrestful sleep that follows utter e.ihaustion. , The day of the funeral at length arrived. A short time before the appointed hour, the bereaved family, with two or three clergymen, and a few friends, as- ^1' 298 SOWING AND REAPING. ■ !"■ sembled in the silent apartment of death, quietly and unobserved to take a last look of the dead, before the arrival of those who.n the widely circulated funeral notices would naturp,lly bring top^ether. First came the domestics, to look for the last time on one who, though little loved . by any one of them while alive, had, by his untimely death, cast a dark shadow over all ; then the few personal friends ; and lastly, the family, with the attendant clergymen and the family physician. Augusta, who had spent her holidays with a young friend in St. Louis, and but recently returned to the Academy, had only reached home the previous even- ing ; and now, with Eva clinginut I don't care, she needn't ask me suoh a question. She might know 1 wouldn't wear it on my engagement linger, if he had given it to me! but she took it all in with the most charming credulity ! " " Oh, please Augusta, don't deceive mamma, or allow yourself to say what is not true to any one! Oh, I'm sick, sick of those old sinful \vays we used to en- courage each other in! If I ever get well, 1 shall lead a very different life from what I used to. But there ! why do 1 talk about getting well ? I shall never be well any more !" " Nonsense, you stupid little thing! yes, you will get well ! You are down in the dumps now, and no wonder, having Hope at your elbow night and day, pouring her doleful moralizings into your ears, the silly, canting thing ! But I am reminded I must have a care what I say about 'your father's daughter.'" ' Hope is a dear sister, and you need be ashamed to speak of her ns you do ! " exclaimed Eva, her eyes flashing indignantly. " She isn't at all what you used to try to make me believe she was. But for you, I should always have loved her; and since she has told me so sweetly about Je.sus, and the love He has for poor sinners, I love her as I do my life, indeed, I do." Eva had raised herself upon her elbow, her eyes were radiant, and the deceitful hectic flush that burned upon her cheeks, lighted up her face with an almost unearthly beauty. "Oh, that's the string you are harping on!" said Augusta, with a sneer, " but I'll forego the music just now, if you please ; so lie down again, and when I've tucked you up, you can take a nap while I write a letter." " Augusta, do let me speak to you a little while, if 'm i 5 " 'if, '1 \\ 306 SOWING AND REAPING. it is only a few words ; I may never have a,»iother chance ; let me t;^ll you — " " No, T won't ; I'm in earnest. You are not going to serve me up a dish of Hope's cooking to-night, for I won't listen to you ! Besides, your mother told you to be quiet ; arid if you've turned pious, you know it's your duty to obey your mother. But there's no use shamming, Eva. You've had your attacks of piety before now, and you and I know what came of them. I know you of old, you are no more pious than I am ; and if you were up, and out of this, and away from Hope, you wouldn't be a whit better than you used to be. There you are, now ; and all you have to do is to sleep like a top while I write my letter." That old, imperious will ! as ever, the weaker bent before it. Augusta shaded the light from her sister, seated herself to her writing, and Eva, hiding her face in the pillow, wept in silence. There was much she longed to say to her sister, but her words, " You wouldn't be a whit better than you used to be," had silenced her, and thrust her back, weeping and almost broken-hearted, to the very brink of despair. " * You wouldn't be a whit better than you used to be ! * those were her very words," thought Eva ; " and I dare say I shouldn't be. Oh, how foolish I have been, to think Jesus would ever care for, or think of me ! Even Hope said I was ' weaker than a broken reed ; ' what, then, have I to live for ? Go where I will, in all this wide world, the old temptation awaits me ; and the moment I meet it I shall fall. Oh, I thought, before my last failure, I was strong ; but now I sec plainly I shall fall again, for, even thinking of it, sets my brain on nre. No, no ! it's best I should die ! Just to think, for one moment, of living to have people point their fingers at me and say, ' that girl is a drunkard ! ' " and, with a shudder, she buried her face in her pillow, with bitter weeping. A half -hour before, she would have almost confessed that Christ had accepted her, and given her the wit- SOWING AND REAPING. 307 3 s no use ness that she was forgiven ; now, with despairing anguish, she turned back to her sinful heart, her weak will, her inability of herself to resist the cruel de- mands of appetite, and all the light, and comfort, and peace, she would have spoken of, seemed lost forever. " Afraid to live, and still more afraid to die ! no security in life, and no hope in death ! oh, why, why was I ever born ? " Thus her torturing thoughts ran on, while her sister's volatile pen glided with rapid motion over the white pages. " And now, my dear Herbie," such were the conclud- ing words of her letter, " I shall expect you, according to arrangement, to visit me at L , where I shall be, a week at least, before your return from Boston. I told you it would be a little difficult for us to meet, ii it were known just what were our relations to each other, as young ladies are not allowed to receive visits from any gentlemen, except fathers and brothers. But I shall tell Miss Norton, i s soon as I return, that I am expecting a visit from my brother at such a time ; and when you come, all you have to do is to send up your card as Mr. Herbert Ellisson, and ask to see- your sister. Then we shall be allowed a nice long visit in the Re- ception hall." Augusta's letter being finished, she roused the be- wildered housemaid, and, charging her to 'take the best of care of Eva,' hurried away to her own room, and was soon fast asleep. Herbert Warren, the young gentleman to whom Augusta had been writing, was a " vacation " acquaint- ance, whom she had first met in St. Louis during her short stay in that city. He was the son of a merchant, supposed to be immensely rich ; and this casual acquaintanceship rapidly matured into a marriage en- gagement. Augusta expected to " graduate " — though what that means in many schools is more easily asked than answered — and Herbert to be admitted to a part- nership with his father not far from the same time ; they, were, therefore, looking forward to a speedy 308 SOWING AND REAPING. nnarria|Te. But, for reasons not very clear even to themselve55, they had resolved to keep their engage- ment a profound secret; and yet, with the usual amount. of consistency, had already entrusted it to an almost unlimited number of "confidential frirnds," who had, in turn, each committed it to the keeping of other confidential friends, until there were few, who had any interest in either of the pnrties, that had not been put in possession of the momentous secret, except those most deeply interested — ihe parents of the happy lovers themselves. The night wore heavily on, and the unconcerned housemaid was sleeping soundly in her chair, alike unconscious and regardless of her unhappy charge ; while Eva, who had not slept at all, was tossing and muttering in the delirium of fever, brought on by nervous excitement and mental suffering. - " Yes, I will have it ! " she exclaimed at length, springing from her bed, " I am dying of thirst ; and 1 will go myself and get it — I know where they keep it!" and, snatching a night-lamp, she darted out of the room. Colonel Ellisson, who had been spending the evening out, had just returned ; and, in a half-intoxicated state, entered the library for yet another draught from hia secretly-hoarded supply. It was the first time he had spent an evening from home since his son's death ; but, weary at len2:th of the sorrowful quiet of his home, he had nuulc a pre- tence of business, and returned to his former haunt and the more congenial companionship he found there. Just as Eva, in her delirium, reached the library door, where she seemed to expect to find what she wanted, she encountered her father. It was a sad picture — the half-drunken father, and Jiis young daughter hastening in her wild delirium to find relief from her torturing thirst in that which was already setting his own brain on fire. "Girl! girl!" he shouted, regardless of the deep SOWING AND REAPING. 309 even to ■ engage- he usual I it to an frirnds," eeping of few, who t had not •et, except the happy [Concerned hair, aUke >y charge; Dssing and on by Tht at length, irst ; and 1 ly keep it!" lout of the the evening jated state, ,t from his ining from length of »ado a pre- ler haunt [und there. iie library what she lather, and lelirium to kvhich was tbo deep silence that reigned throughout the house, and forget- ful of the impossibility of her being there, except as madness had given her strength, " where are you going — what do you want ? " " I want wine, papa — I must have wine ! " and Eva's eyes glowed with a frenzied light. " I have come for it, and I will have it ! It's there — there in that room — there's where you keep it, you know ! give it to me this minute ! Don't you hear me ? give me wine, I say?" Colonel Ellis.son stared vacantly at his child stand- ing thus in his path, and repeating her cry of " Wine, wine — give it to me ! " his bewildered mind toiling vaguely for some explanation, when Hope, who had heard the first sound of voices, appeared on the stairs. •' Eva, Eva !" and in a moment Eva was at her side. " They told me you'd gone, and never would come back again ; and oh, I'm so thirsty, and my head aches so dreadfully ! But you'll take me home, won't you ; and you'll give me wine — gallons of wine ! for you are good ; you are always good 1 " " Poor child ! poor child ! " sobbed Hope, taking the trembling young creature in her .arms, while her father stood by in speechless bewilderment, " come to your room — come quickly ! " " Perhaps this isn't the most suitable place or time," maundered the father, thickly, " to demand an explana- tion of this affair ; but I shall require it in the morning — depend upon that, girls. Your conduct is, I must say, unusual — quite so ! You — you will please under- stand, this thing mustn't be repeated. Go straight to your room, Hope ! good night, Eva ! " and, with a strange mixing up of ideas, Colonel EUisson shuffled away to his own room. Mrs. Ellisson. who had been roused from sleep by the sound of voices, had just risen and thrown a dress- ing gown around her, when her husband entered. " You're up late, Amy," he said ; " been out ? " There was a mixture of anger, contempt, and grief in the face of Mrs. Ellisson, qs she glanced at her nu8- 81 nl ill mm m m Ui^Ha HI ' it 310 SOWING AND REAPTNO. = ■ m% band, and tlie disgusting truth flashed upon her ; then, as though they had been uttered but an hour before, her father's words came back to her from the buried vears like the far-off wail of a breaking heart : " Amy ! the time must never, never come, when you can look back from the dreary desolation of a drunkard's home, and from the degradation that in- evitably falls upon a drunkard's wife, and say, ' My father never warned me of this ! ' " With a groan, Mrs, EUisson rushed past her husband, and would have fled from his presence ; but in an in- stant the woman, the wife, suffering, stricken, yet ever strong in the might of her affection, asserted itself; and, turning back, she assisted him to undress, smoothed his pillows, and helped him to lie down ; then, with- out pausing to weep or to pray, she hastened to her daughter. CHAPTER XLVI. Hope and her mother passed th(3 remainder of the night with Eva, striving to quiet the excited nerves, and allay the fever. At length, as the sun was rising, she fell asleep, and Mrs. Ellisson went to her own room for a little rest. But in vain. Her recent terrible bereavement, Augusta's unfaithfulness to the trust she had reposed in her; Eva's alarming pros- tration both of mind and body ; the dreadful certainty that her husband's evil habit was strengtnening daily, and its only too obvious effect upon his health and temper, all crowded upon her mind at once, and, struggle as she would, sh.e could not escape from them. At length, springing from the bed and dressing herself hastily, she left the room, and walked slowly along the halls, glancing first into Eva's room where Hope was still keeping her patient watch, then pausing for a moment at the bedside of Jack, who had not yet wakened from the quiet sleep of boyhood and eturning health, and then, with a sigh, ias she reraem SOWING AND REAPING. 311 bered that he who had never been her favorite was now her only son, she passed on till she reached the room that had once been Lee's. It had never been entered since the fatal night he left it, and as she drew near the door whose splintered fragments were still scattered through the room, she turned shudder- ing away., but an undefined impulse to enter caused her to turn back, and, pushing open the mutilated door, she entered the room. Sweeping back the curtains and raising the window, she fiung open the shutters, and the morning sunshine burst into the room, pouring a flood of golden radiance over the undisturbed bed, and flashing back from the tall mirror opposite with intolerable brightness. We realize many things most keenly by being brought into contact with their opposites ; and thus it was with Mrs. Ellisson. The horrors of that dreadful night, and all the ruin and desolation it had brought to her heart and home had never seemed so appalling as when the rejoicing sunlight burst into that desolate room, streaming over the bed where her boy had once lain in peaceful slumber, flashing along the pictured walls, flaming back from the mirror, and bringing out into almost life-like beauty the exquisite designs of the rich carpet and ottomans, and of the rare and costly ornaments that adorned the mantel. For a moment she stood half paralyzed in the intense brightness, then like one in haste to escape from some intolerable torture she sprang forward and closed the shutters again, crushed back the heavy curtains into their place, and with a despairing cry cast herself upon her son's bed, and gave way to the anguish that for hours she had been sternly holding in check. " Yes, yes, my father ! " she moaned, " you did your duty by me, and you went to your rest ! Oh ! let me alone now, you bitter, bitter memories ! I have enough to bear, heaven knovrs, without your torturing voices ! my son, my son ! cut down in the flower of youth ! my husband, reeling upcn the brink of ruin ! why have I lived till now ? what have I done ? oh, wh«^t 312 SOWING AND REAPING. have T done to be so chastened ? Why should my life be blighted, and others have only prosperity and hap- piness ? Why should my son be snatched away thus. and other mothers' sons live on, honored, and praiscrl and admired ?" "Mamma! mamma!" Mrs. Ellisson heard the call ; she knew it was Hop^^'s voice, and sprang from the bed ; but her head grew giddy with the suddenness of the movement, and as she clung to a table for support, her eye fell upon what seemed to be a letter, partly hidden by a bock. She snatched it up, and saw it was addi'es.sod to her husband in Lee's handwriting. Again the cry, louder and more imperative than before, sounded through the house, and, thrusting the letter into her pockft, she ran to see what was wanted. She found Hope supporting Eva with one hand, ami with the other holding a sponge to her lips. " Send for the doctor quickly, mamma, the hemor- rhage has returned. O ! I think Eva is dying ! " Eva, who was quite conscious, looked up, and there was an expression of wondrous joy in the bright eager eyes, as her gaze rested upon Hope's face, which seemed to say more plainly than words could, " Yes, yes, dying ! and I am glad ; oh, so glad ! " The phy.jician was quickly called, and again, after much effort, the more alarming symptoms were con- trolled, and Eva was pronounced better. But the hectic flush was gone, and with a face as white as marble she lay upon her pillow, like a pure lily, its loveliness undimmed, its fragrance unspent, yet speed- ily to wither and decay. " No, Mrs, Ellisson, 1 regret to say I can give you no encouragement," said the doctor, as he was leaving the house. " Your daughter h'is never had much con- stitution, and what she had has been giving way for years, as you are doubtless aware. Her stay with you is now only a question of time : it may be a month, it may be only a day. In the meantime, nourishment SOWING AND REAPING. 313 and quiet are all I shall prescribe — medicine can be of no permanent use in her case." " Where s Hope ? " said Colonel Ellisson, in a surly tone, as he pushed aside the dessert that had been set down for him at dinner, and drained his second glass of brandy, " It seems to me we are never to have the family together at table again! I'm tired of all this moping and crying ! Go and call her, Augusta ! " Augusta glanced at her mother. " Hope is with Eva, Hugh ; she had her dinner sent up." " With Eva, Amy ! One day she is with Eva, and another she is with Jack ! She is just killing herself with all this nursing, and I will not allow it any longer. Eva must bestir herself and get out of that ; she has shut herself up long enough ! " " Hugh ! " said Mrs. Ellisson, tears springing to her eyes, " don't speak so unkindly of Eva, she is really very ill ! " "I tell you, Amy, it's all humbug! what Eva wants is a little more energy. No wonder she is ill, shut up in her room for weeks together ! and as though that was not enough, Hope must be killed with nursing her. I'm not going to put up with it another day ; not another day, Amy. " Eva must have air and exercise, and I am going to insist upon her beginning this very afternoon." "Augusta, 1 will excuse you, if you have finished your dinner," said Mrs. Ellisson, turning to her daugh- ter, for when the reaction after excessive drinking set 'in, Colonel Ellisson was occasionally harsh and un- reasonable, and she shrank sensitively irom having even her children present at such times. " I did not ask to be excused, mamma ! " " i know, my dear, but you will oblige me ! " Augusta was far from willing to leave the table at that stage of the conversation. Nothing would have gratified her more than to hear, as she believed she was about to hear, Hope's actions called in question by 314 SOWING AND REAPING. li ii iif jl i J'::;,i<' li I li i her father; and to be assured that Eva was less ill than she had been led to suppose, would have helped to quiet the slight self- upbraiding she could not but feel for her cruel neglect of her the previous night. Her father noticed her hesitation, and turning to- ward her, he said, sharply : " You heard your mother's request, I presume ! " Augusta colored, and hastily left the room. " I think that was quite uncalled for. Amy," he said, with increased irritability, when Augusta was out of hearing ; " the girl isn't a child, you know." " Hugh, I wished to speak to you alone about what you are even now scarcely in a condition to hear ; can you listen to evil tidings ? " " What do you mean. Amy ? " he said, in a changed tone, touched by his wife's evident sorrow. " The doctor has told me to-day, my dear, that Eva can never recover ! '' "Amy!" " Yes, Hugh ; she has had a return of hemorrhage this morning, and is very low ; she may leave us any moment ! " and covering her face with her hands, Mrs. Ellisson burst into tears. " Why did you not call me. Amy ? Is my child to be dying, and I not know it ? " " I think I need not tell you, my dear, why you were not called ? " Mrs. Ellisson 's tones were those of sorrow, rather than upbraiding ; and her husband shaded his face with his hand in shame and self- abasement. " Why, Amy ! " he exclaimed at length, with a start, " I recollect now, I met the child at the library door last night crying out franticp.Uy for — " " For wine, Hugh ! " " And did she get it ? " is that the — the cause of the trouble ? " " No ; she was delirious from fever. Augusta, whom I had placed in charge, left her in the housemaid's care; and Eva took the opportunity while the girl w'-s asleep, to go to the library, hoping to find there urn SOWING AND REAPING. 315 less ill helped not but ight. ling to- »e ! he said, bs out of 3ut what ear ; can , changed that Eva smorrhage ive us any Mids, Mrs. y child to why you e those of husband and self- bh a start, trary door ise of the sta, whom lusemaid's the girl hnd there what she wanted. Possibly she took cold, I cannot say, but this morning she wan seized with a coughing tit, which ended as 1 have told you. By the way, my dear ! " she added, suddenly recollecting the letter, " here is a sealed paper I found in poor Lee's room this morning, addressed to you. I should have given it to you at once, only you were sleeping." " Say drwiik, Amy ! that's considerably nearer the truth, and 1 know it was in your thought. 1 tell you there's no use shamming auy longer ; we may as well call thiiigs by their right names. Amy 1 why did 1 not stop — why did you not make me stop ! " he continued, fiercely, " years and years ago when your influence over me was stronger than this accursed appetite ? Why did you not follow up Gordon's work, and bring me to your level as you might, instead of sinking yourself down to mine ? " "Hugh!" " I know I am desperate, unreasonable, cruel ; but the truth is, Amy, I'm a slave, self-doomed, ruined in body and estate. Don't tell me I rave ; I am speaking sober truth. God help you when you come to know it all as I know it 1 " and with a look of desperation on his face. Colonel Ellisson tilled his glass to the brim, and drinking its contents, stretched out his shaking hand for the letter. " Here, give me that paper, I'm able to read it now; " and tearing oft" the envelope, he read : " So you'll not trust me with a few thousands, eh ! I could easily win them from you in spite of your teeth, if you'd only play a game or two with me, instead of some others that you and I know of. Doubtless you think I'd make a bad use of money, but let me assure you that when I can't play without losing ray ten thousand a night, as some one you and I know of has been doing of late, I shall try some other way for getting rich. By the time you havo read this I shall be hundreds of miles away ; when you see me again I shall not need to ask you for money. I expect then to be able to favor you with a few thou- 316 SOWING AND REAPING. n sands, if you need them, as doubtless you will at your present rate of progress. I shall spend the evening with some of my particular friends, and before day- light shall be a hundred miles from New York. You need not try to follow me up, as .1 shall not be easily traced. "Lee Ellisson." With agonized impatience, Mrs. Ellisson had watched the rapid changes of her husband's face as he read, ami when the letter was finished, stretched out her hand eagerly for it; but he crushed it in his own, and thrusting it into his pocket, said in a husky voice : "No, no, Amy, this is not for you to see!" and without another word, he hurried to the library, locked himself in, and was seen no more until the following day. When he appeared again in the midst of his family, he looked as though weeks of suffering had passed over him. His form was bent, and his face wan and haggard. The secret of that long night's agony re- mained untold ; but the dark shadow it left upon hira was never lifted. The burden of its unuttered woe bent the already drooping form lower and lower, blanched the already whitening locks still whiter, and gave added intensity to the cruel thirst that preyed upon him more and more fiercely continually. CHAPTER XLVII. " I wish you would be persuaded to remain at home, my child," said Mrs. Ellisson, on the morning of the day that had been set for Augusta's return to L . " It seems a heartless thing for you to leave home while Eva is in such a critical condition." " My staying or going can make no difference as to the result of Eva's sickness," replied Augusta, coldly, " but if I fall behind my class it will put me back for f: ,' ' SOWING AND REAPING. 31V a whole year. If I do not graduate this year, I shall not do so at all — that is settled." "But Auf^usta, you are very young; a year can make no diiierence — " " It will make all the difference in the world with me ! " interrupted Augusta, snappishly, as she glanced furtively at her engagement ring ; " I have my own plans ! " " What plans do you allude to ? " — and Mrs. EUisson looked anxiously at her daughter. " All my plans for the future. Do you suppose I have reached my present age without any plans for life ? If you think so you are much mistaken." *' Augusta, there is no call for any show of temper in regard to this matter. I thought your own sense of propriety, to say nothing of affection fbr your sister, would be sufficient to guide you without any interference on my part." " My sense of propriety, however, dictates quite another course, as it happens ! " " I said there was no occasion for anv exhibition of temper, Augusta ! You may go if you choose ; but remember this : whatever occurs you will not be sent for. Do you understand ? " " Yes ; and I accept the condition. I tell you Eva is in no danger, nobody can make me believe it. The idea ! it's too absurd to think of ! If you'd keep Hope EUisson away from her, with her solemn croaking about religion and all that, Eva would be well in a fortnight. But you just give in, and let Hope hang over her with her owlish face and solemn nonsense, and then expect me to stay at home and take care of her ! I do like consistency ! " " That will do, Augusta ! you have said quite enough in that strain. I hope you will not force me to com- mand you to keep a civii tongue while speaking to me ! If you go away, there is no probability of your ever seeing your sister again. Now, answer me once for all, will you not stay and be a comfort to us in 1 .11 I \ 318 SOWING AND REAPING. this time of attliction ? or will you go back when it is not in the least necessary ? " " I shall go back, it' it's all the same to you. I don't believe in anticipating trouble that is not at all likely to come ! " " You know it is not all the same to me, Augusta ! I wish you to stay for Eva's sake, and for your own credit's sake, to say nothing of any other motives." " Well, the short of the matter is, mamma, that I shall go if you do not forbid it; if you do, I nmst submit, of course." "1 shall not forbid it, Augusta; but you will bear in mind the condition I named just now, and also the fact, that, in going, you carry with you my serious displeasure. You can take your choice ! " Mrs. Ellisson had expocted that, as a matter of course, her daughter would yield when it came t) that ; but she had the mortification of finding herself mistaken. Three hours later, Augusta was sweeping on toward L , thinking very little of the aching hearts she was eaving behind, and intent only on the "good time that awaited her, and the grand consummation that was to follow her graduating triumph. " Hope, is the sun shining this morning ? " " Yes, Eva, it is a very beautiful morning. Why do you ask ? Would you like the sunshine in the room !*" " Yes, if you please ; i am wearying for the light. Oh, that is lovely ! " she exclaimed, as Hope threw back the shutters, and the softened beams of the Indian-summer sun streamed into the room. "Lovely! " she repeated softly, stretching out her thin hand for the light to fall over it, " I am so glad the morning is beautiful — shall I tell you why, Hope ? " " Yes, Eva, if you think you are strong enough." " Well, 1 have been thinking since my last attack— for you know, dear, I have not once seen the sunshine, and hardly been allowed to speak even to you — that we do not know how to value the commonest things SOWING AND REAPING. S19 and the commonest privileges until we are deprived of them. " I am sure I never did. I never realized what a delight it was to walk about in the sunshine, and talk, and laugh, and sing, until I couldn't do so any more. Last night, as 1 lay here awake, I got to thinking of the beautiful city you were reading about, where there'll be no darkness, and no need of the sun or moon because of the greater glory it will receive from the presence of God and the Lamb; and I thought, ' Well, I shall soon be there, where the sweet light of God's face will forever shine around me, and I'll never be sick, and never be closed up any more in a darkened room. " And then I thought I should like to see our own deai^ old sun once more — not that I am sorry to go away from this world which it makes so beautiful — but, somehow, I thought I'd like to see it just once more. So I said to myself, ' Now, if I stay till morning and it shines, I'll ask to have the shutters opened so that I can see its beams for a little while ; and then I'd bid it good-bye, till I wake up in that other light which will be so much lovelier.' " Please, Hope, let me speak a little more," she urged, seeing the protest in her sister's face ; " it will not hurt me ; and besides I shall soon be away, you know." " I hope not, Eva. The doctor expressed himself much pleased last night to find you so comfortable. He says that if you keep on strengthening, after a little, perhaps, we can take you away to some one of the warm, sheltered valleys of the south-west, and so keep you some years with us. It has made me feel very glad and hopeful, Eva." " Hope, dear, darling sister, don't say that ! Worlds could not tempt me, if I might choose, to remain any longer in this world ! " and a terrified look came into the poor girl's face. " Oh, I can never, never stay to fight that old hopeless battle over again ! I see you are not willing for me to talk, but please listen to me just a little while/ for I have longed so much to have a little i; , 'i i 320 SOWING AND REAPING. talk with you before 1 go away. That's right, lift my head a little higher; and now sit just there, where I can see the sunshine rippling over your hair — it makes me think of that glory-crown you are going to wear up in Heaven by-and-by. There, that's so sweet! and now hold my hand so, between your own, and I'll rest a little, and watch the sunshine in your hair, it is 80 beautiful. " It is true, Hope," she resumed, after a few minutes' rest; "it is true, as I have told you several times already, that I am resting in the love of Christ, of which you have told me so much. The dreadful doubts and fears that came to me that night Augusta was with me, are all gone now ; and I am happy all the time, only when I think of the possibility of my .staying here ; for I know just what that means. " Of course I do not doubt but that if God wants me to stay, He will help me through the trouble I know I shall have ; but, oh, Hope ! if He will but take nie away from that terrible craving which from my earliest childhood I have had, — if He will but set me free, and take me to Himself, I think I shall be like the poor woman you read to me about — I think I shall want to go and lay my head down on His blessed feet, and ween floods of tears upon them, just for jo}' and gratitude. " But, there, Hope, I will not think of staying in this world, for He's not going to leave me here ; I know He's not ! He sees just Low weak I am, and what a hard flght I'd have, and how I'd be almost sure to give way ! He knows, too, how awful my terror and dread of relapsing would be. At home, and probably away from home too, temptations would be always assailing me, and how could I escape ? " Dear Hope, it is only a little while since I realized the shame and misery of the course I was pursuing, not to speak of the sin of it, and in that little while you can never, never know what I have suffered ! Oh ! what will become of me, if He does not take me away ? " A look of unutterable terror came into Eva's face as she spoke, and she clutched Hope's hand with an energy that alarmed her. SOWING AND REAPING. 321 "Eva! Eva, be calm, my darlinf^l you are safe in tlie Good Shepherd's care. Has He not said, con- cerninsf His sheep, ' I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, and none shall pluck them out of My hand ? ' Rest assured that if you are His, there is nothing within yourself, or without either, that can divide you from His love, or take you from under His protection ! He who gave Himself for your redemption will surely complete His own work in you, and bring you oft' conqueror at last. You believe that, do you not, Eva?" "Yes, I believe it, Hope," she murmured, as Hope wiped the tears from her pale face, " but oh, sister darling, don't ever say again you hope I'll stay here, and I so weak, so powerless to resi.st ! you won't, will you? " No, my precious one, I will not. It would be selfish and wrong for me to wish you to stay, if God is pl(3as0d to take you ! " " Thank you, Hope ; and now I would like to thank you as I ought for your dear, patient care of me, and for your teaching me aVjout Jesus, and helping me to come to Him. I wish I could tell you, but I never can, how sweetly those beautiful texts you repeated came to me as I lay here in the dark, lonely room, shrinking from the light like a disgraced and guilty thing, as indeed I was, and how I repeated them over and over again after you went away, until I fell into such a long, sweet sleep. It did really seem to me when I woke as though Jesus had given me rest. Then I remembered that sweet ' Come unto me ' that Aunty Green taught you, and you taught me, years and years ago, when we were wee, little girls together in the old home at Weston. Do you know, Hope, I have never felt the same as I did before you spoke to me that day, except for a little while that evennig Augusta was with me. Everything seems so new to me, and what you read in the Bible so full of mean- mg. A slight movement behind her made Hope look 322 SOWING AND REAPING. ih lit; :l '•'4 Ih around. It was Jack, who had entered the room unobserved at the beginning of the conversation, and had heard it all. "That puts me in mind, Hope," he said, coming round and seating himself on the edge of the bed, " of what you said to me, a few nights ago, about the Bible proving itself like, to them that get to love it. But, Eva," he added, abruptly, "you mustn't talk so about not wanting to get well ; I wanted awfully to get well after I got over being light-headed, and it helped me to try. Now, you just try to get well, and you'll see you'll be all right." A look of suffering passed over Eva's face, and for a moment she turned away her head. But the emotion soon passed, and releasing her hand from Hope'a ; :.o laid it upon her brother's. " No, dear Jack," she said, almost in a whisper, " it is difft rent with me from what it is with you. You will grow to be a strong, self-reliant man, while I — oh. Jack, I should be a source of endless anxiety to you all, and, perhaps, in the end, should fall beneath the power of a dreadful appetite ! You do not know — oh, pray God you may never know in your own experience — what I mean ! " " But you'll get over that, Eva," said Jack, choking back his grief. " You say — you just said, that — that God would help you if He wanted you to live ; now you just try to get well, and you'll see He will ! Hope and I will do all we can to helo you along, won't we Hope ? " There was a long silence. Hope's tears were falling silently, unseen oy Eva, and try as he would. Jack seemed unable to find the right words to fit the occasion. Eva was the first to speak. " Hope, I used think I should like to live a long, long time in this beautiful world. I seemed to love every- thing, the flowers and the birds, and all the grand and wonderful things I saw around me ; and as I grew older I thought I'd like to be a poet, and discover, as poets do, the sweet inner voices and melodies of nature, SOmNG AND „EAP,^„ of M,.,,, 'Bfowni^^V rt?' f''' <='"'••""•"? poem fancied the anj,eI.,"savL ,t*"!''..'° ">« things" he 'leath on the crosVand ? tt ""*>, "'^ ^"^'O"'- and Hk could only .rite lie htr - ' tdlh "^ /"J^f O". ^I " one woman could think .li^" ^ '"''^ '« myself ■nay not Ir You see H^De T Tf' ''"^"^ '"^"y then what a weak v„L ?^^i- '^"^ "ot think in,t should be. and I r^soCfto*''^^' ^ ^''^' ^"'' alway, '■ke her. and see if I too co^Id'^Tt '^ ^reat scholar ffreat one, I was not v-a n LnonlT' ^' " P««t-not a thought it would be mr/, „ • " . '", ^'^P^'" 'hat. but I thought, out in .sweerln i'"^ '" ^ *'>'« '« siU my pleaded for j„.st another mintt:"'"" ''"'«'• '>"* Eva 'hen rwifcP'T;'«' "■« '"'- -« -rd more and fildish weepinl that fust^tr* t° ''''>^' "">' ft"- 'Ws forgave my llns: and gC^'^e^^^^™? found me, and . ambition ; and now He i, „^ . , "'«''«■■ and nobler -^'-eamt of. and moTe I hink^ V'* ""^ '^'^^i^ al I "•''"•h He is bringin; me And"*"'*' ^^'''"^ home to - ^t to Himself."l "owe ft M^ %l-\ '^T'*"^ ^^P^- iffl , '^t" ^ <*"' away, and U it It'^^ "^ "''"' '^^'^^ 111 ^"i" ""■« 'he one dear 't^'?'^''*"y'"^'-«'hoIe told me of Jesus, and led me f^! K^^'ou^ 'eacher who heart I thank you i? ^ "^ '" ^im ; and with all mv Jack rose hastily went t^ *i, ■ *«■""' and then wUh more than K^""""' '"^''«'' hack ness managed to say : ""*" '">' "™al awkward- that's just about what TV! i;i x I can't say it like Eva of col ' t? '"y- "»?«- only for ever so long to tel? 'you tWr ^ ^' ^"«" «'»''*"« just about where she 1,1 guel r""' "'""''• *«"^ ' '' ''""■'' -- ">'^' 'utrta.^ yo«^:u?ht 324 SOWING AND REAPING. P about the Bible, and it comes easy now. I've found out, too, that what you said about the Bible proving itself true to them that like it, is a fact. I like it now, and believe it, too, and I'm not ashamed to own it ! There's a lot of things in it I understand now, that I couldn't have got a bit of meaning out of a month a;:fo. But the fact is, just as Eva said, if it hadn't been lor you, I shouldn't have found out these things for — for — well, most likely I never should. I'm not much good at thanking anybody in the proper sort of way ; but there, I do thank you, Hope, and I want you to know it ! " Hope had listened to Jack with amazement ; now with a joy that had no words for its expression, she caught him to her heart, and wept for very gladness. CHAPTER XLVIII Eva had not long to wait. The terrible dread of ever again having to renew her fierce struggle with the cravings of appetite, or ever again falling beneath its power, of ever losing her conscious hold upon Christ, and finding herself anchorless upoix the wild sea of temptation, was never to be realized. She had fled to Christ for refuge, and her trust was not to be disappointed. " I am as one whom his mother comforteth," she would often whisper to Hope, as she turned the heated pillows, and helped her to change her position during the unrest of the last few days of her life ; " and surely no mother ever comforted her child more tenderly than my Saviour comforts me ! It fjeems so strange, Hope, 80 marvellous that He should stoop to me, and lift me from the utter ruin in which I was sinking, up to such a place of privilege at His feet ! Oh ! is He not good — inexpressibly good?" she would repeat with loving emphasis, as though words were utterly inade- quate to convey her sense of that goodness, "so to pity my weakness as to be willing to take me at once where SOWING AND REAPING. 325 t'e found i proving ce it now, ) own it 1 )\v, that 1 lonth af»o. i been ior s for — for not much *t of way ; mt you to cient; now cession, she y gladness. read of ever le with the beneath its ipon Christ, wild sea of jr trust was orteth," she I the heated ition during [' and surely jnderly than lanjre, Hope, land lift me king, up to ! is He not j-epeat with [terly inade- V "so to pity once where I shall be quite out of the reach of the temptation I fear so much, and be forever safe from sin ? And you will come too, darling Hope ! I shall see you again, and shall thank you as I never can hope to here for helping me to tind Jesus, or rather, for helping me to realize how iovinjjlv He was seeking' me — seekinjx to gain admittance to my sealed-up heart, that so He might enter in, and make it His own temple where He will dwell and reign forever. And oh, to think He found me at last ! " she would repeat, with a look of unutterable joy, " a wandering sheep, blind and way- ward, and far away ; and drew me into His own sweet, safe fold ; and now is bringing me nearer the beautiful mansions He is j^reparing for His saved ones ! " It was one of those autumnal evenings when winter seems lingering far beyond his time, as if loth to dis- turb the dreamy quiet, and nature is basking in a luxury of repose unknown to any other season of the year, that Eva closed her eyes upon earth, and opened them upon the beauties of the heavenly land. The change came so gently, so imperceptibly, that while they thought her musing, she had passed away. Hope bent over the sweet, pale face, closed gently the eyes whose wondrous beauty had passed with the happy spirit that had irradiated them, and, turning to her father and mother, said gently : " Dear Eva has gone ! Papa, mamma, we have no Eva now on earth ; but I know she is where there is no sin or temptation or pain ! ShaU we follow her there, or is this parting to be eternal ? ' Colonel Ellisson came quickly forward, and laid his hand upon the white forehead ; a shudder passed through his frame, but he did not speak ; he gazed upon his child's face for a moment, and then, with an unsteady step and flushed face, he left the room. Mrs. Ellisson stood for some time with clasped hands and dilated, tearless eyes, gazing on the beautiful clay ; then, stooping, she kissed the placid brow, and with a passionate outburst of tears, followed her husband. 88 326 SOWING AND REAPING. Hope drew her brother to her side, and, leaninf* her head upon his shoulder, repeated softly : " ' I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and he that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die. Believe^t thou this ?' ' The sister's arms tightened around her vouno: bro- ther ; he felt that the question was intended for hira, and for a moment he stood silent and pale, lookinj^ down into the calm face of the young sleeper bel'ore him ; then, lil'tin<2 his head, he answered, in a low, steady voice : " Yes, Hope, I believe it ; though I'm not quite sure I understand it all. I know Eva believed in Jesus, and because He rose from the dead, I suppose she will rise, too, when He comes again." " Yes, dear Jack, and God has made her resurrection so sure in Christ, that He looks upon her, even now, not as dead, but alive. Jesus has really abolished death for those that believe in Him, by Himself over- coming it; and, by His own resurrection. He has proved that, as death could not hold Him in its chains, neither can it ^^old them that put their trust in Him. My darling, you are not afraid to die, are you ? " " Me, Hope ? " exclaimed the boy, a shudder running through his frame. " Yes, Jack." " I'm not afraid Jesus will let me be lost ; not that, Hope, but somehow it seems awful to die ! " " I understand j'ou, my darling ; we all shrink from dying, and the love of life is strong. We have to be raised above the shuddering and dread death naturally causes, before we can think of it calmly, as something we must ourselves pass through. But Jesus has taken away the sting of death, and transformed the terrible foe into a messenger of mercy to His people. He has not wnly redeemed their souls, but their bodies ; and He is going, in His own time, to raise them up out of their graves, all glorious like Himself ; and then our Eva will ao^ain inhabit this beautiful house she has SOWING AND REAPING. 327 ciinf? her am the 1 in Me, he that Believest ling bro- t'or hira, 3, looking? ,er bclore in a U)w, quite sure in Jesus, se she will :»surrection even now, abolished inseH over- n, He has I its chains, ,st in Him. lou ? er running ; not that, lived in so long; and we, if we, too, are God's own children, shall see her, and talk with her, and she will never again be parted from us." Auffusta was not summoned home to her sist^ir's funeral. A telegram announced the fact of Eva's death, and this was followed by letters from both 1 3r motlier and Hope ; but there was no intimation that she was ex- pected. She had fully believed, notwithstanding her mother's assurance to the contrarv, that, should tliat event take place, she would be called home ; and at first she was grieved and disappointed. Eva's death touched her more deeply than anything else ever had, and for a little while she wept bitterly ; but, giddy and volatile always, she was soon engrossed in prepa- rations for a fresh mourning outfit, and, by the time it was complete, the cause of her mourning was half lost sight of in the hollow gratification of appearing in the costly attire which was to proclaim her bereave- ment to others. That long-delayed visit, too, the speedy expectatioh of which had prompted her unseemly haste in leaving home, was now near at hand ; she, therefore, solaced herself by writing home a pathetic letter, full of shal- low sentiment, and thus, in a few days, had laid aside all outward show of sorrow, except what was suggested by her dress ; but for which, no one would have dreamt that death had ever cast his dreary shadow across her pathway. As soon as Eva's funeral was over, Colonel Ellisson absented himself more than ever from home, some- times spending whole days, and even nights, away, and seldom returning without being more ur less in- toxicated. Hope watched his downwarrl progress with an almost breaking heart ; but any attempt on her part to check or prevent it was no longer of any avail. Sometimes ho was sullen, sometimes violent ; and at 328 SOWING AND REAPTxTG. 'i I ■ l ■■ length, as his brain became maddened more and more, he repelled h(5r approaches with harshness, borderinjir upon cruelty. The old generosity and tenderness of his nature was fast giving place to the moroseness and violence engendered by excessive drinking, until even the wife who had loved him with blind idolatry shrunk from him with dread and apprehension. Sometimes for a little while his better nature would assert itself, and he would weep bitter tears of shame and humiliation ; but these hopeful symptoms gradu- ally grew less and less frequent, and every lapse was more hopeless always than the last. Added to all these came financial perplexities, of which, a few months before, Mrs. Ellisson had scarcely dreamed. Hardly a day passed that did not bring bills she had no money to pay, and when she appealed to her hus- band he met her appeals either with harshness, or a sullen indifference almost harder to be borne. The winter was thus wearing slowly away amidst ever- increasing perplexities, when one morning a servant handed her the mail, and she was startled by seeing a letter postmarked "L ," and which she instantly recognized as being in the handwriting of Miss Morton, Augusta's preceptress. Hastily opening it, she read : " My dear Madam, — " I deeply regret the necessity under which I am placed of communicating unpleasant tidings to you, knowing, as I do, the deep afflictions with which you have of late been visited, and that what I am about to say will be a source of intense grief and mortification. The circumstances of the case are briefly these : " Some time ago a young gentleman, an utter stran- ger to me, called and asked to see your daughter, announcing himself as her brother, and giving his name as ' Mr. H. Ellisson.' When I showed his card to your daughter, she was in raptures at the arrival of her ' dear brother,' whom, she said, she had been look- SOWING AND REAPING. 329 ing for for months ; therefore, not dreaming of any deception, I granted the desired interview ; and after spending an hour or two in her company, tlie gentle- man left. " I thought no more of the matter until a few weeks after, when h^ called again, saying he was on his return to the West from New York, where he had been visiting his parents, and from whom he was the bearer of some messages to his sister. " Not loni; after this second visit, some things occur- red that excited my suspicion that all was not right, and after some delay I ascertained that the gentleman was one whom Miss EUisson met last summer in St. Louis, and to whom she then became engaged. " At first, she stoutly denied having deceived me, and insisted the person was really her brother, but at length, finding concealment impossible, she boldly announced her engagement, and boasted openly of the ' good joke ' she, had had at the expense of her teachers ; and, when remonstrated with, became so insolent and defiant as to make it necessary for the good of others, as well as herself, that she should be removed from the school. " Learning in some way that she was going to be sent away, and probably believing that she was to be publicly expelled, she hired one of the servants to aid in carrying out her plans, managed to send a telegram to her intended, and last night, before we had fully decided upon our wisest course in regard to her, he arrived in town, and, aided by the servant girl and her room-mate — who was in her confidence — they effected a meeting, and were privately married. This morning I received a note from her, a copy of which you will find enclosed. Awaiting your commands in regard to the things she has left, I remain, " Yours very sincerely, " E. Morton." The enclosed note was as follows : " Madam, — Before you will have read this, I shall be ■M 330 SOWING AND REAPING. * lia married and away on my bridal tour ; thanks to your unjust treatment of me, which has resulted in brinorinrr about, sooner, by a few months, than it could other- wise have been, a consummation very ardently desired both by ' m?/ brother' and myself. " You can write to my mother, and tell her we shall spend a few months in Europe, and then return to bet,' pardon of her and dear papa, receive their parental blessinor, and then settle down to the felicity of domes- tic life. "Doubtless, mamma will notify you in due time what disposal to make of the trunks, band-boxes, etc., I am leaving on your hands ; meanwhile, I trust they will be no serious inconvenience to you. I shall write my parents from London or Paris, to inform them that I am w(dl and happj-. Deeply sympathizing with you in 3'our severe disappointment in not having the opportunity to expel me, as I know you intended. I remain, as ever, " Your (dis)obedient "Augusta." Mrs. Ellisson read the letters two or three times over before she seemed able fully to comprehend their meanmg ; then handing them to Hope, she walked to a window, and gave vent to her grief and mortification in tears. " This is so strange, so utterly incomprehensible ! " she said as Hope returned the letters. " I knew Augusta was wayward and rash, but I did not dream of her being capable of .such conduct as this ! Hope ! how am I ever to tell your father of this ? he is so broken already by our late afflictions ; so — so unable to bear any more ! " and Mrs. Ellisson rose and paced the floor in deep distress. Hope strove to comfort her, but in vain. " No, no ; poor child, you can't help me ! It would be hard enough to bear, if your father were able to share it with me ; but as things are I have no one to turn to but you, and you are breaking down, too ; I see SOWING AND REAPING. .331 it more and more clearly every day, under our accu- mulating miseries, some of them such as you oufjlit never to have been called to share." " Don't say that, mamma;, whatever concerns papa and you must always concern me ; in the past I have onl}' done my duty, and it' I could do more I should." " I know, I know you would ; ijon^ at least, were always a jjoojI child, and a comfort!" and with bitter vveepinfT Mrs. EUisson hurried to her room, and lockinj^ the door, gave way to the bitterness of her grief. Later in the day a servant tapped at the door, to say that Colonel Ellisson had brought some guests to dinner ; and as Miss Hope was too ill to go down, would Mrs. Ellisson please come down, and give some directions. It was true that Hope's strength, so long overtaxed, had at last given way. Her mother's fresh trouble, and the despairing way she had alluded to her husband — a thing so unusual to her — the anguish of seeinor that even she was beginning to lose courage were more than Hope, already so deeply crushed beneath her own sense of her father's deplorable condition, could bear ; and Mrs. Ellisson, as the girl had said, found her ill — in a burning fever ; while Jack, in trouble and per- plexity, was bathing her head, and doing all in his power to give her relief. "Don't be anxious mamma," she said, seeing Mrs. Ellisson's look of dismay, as she bent over her, " I think this will prove only a sick headache, and you see what a splendid nurse I have, he is taking the best of care of me. See this!" she added, with a bright smile, holding up a letter she had just been reading, " it is from Gordon, and he will be home in three or four months ! Here, Jack, lay it in my desk, if you please, and then give me a drink of cold water. Thank you, dear ; and now go and see if you can assist mamma in' any way ; and when I have had a nice sleep, I shall be quite well again. 332 SOWING AND REAPING. f I t i CHAPTER XLIX. Jack complied with Hope's request, but he did not remain long away ; and Hope, who was unable to sleep, was not sorry to have him with her. He would not go to bed that night, but insisted upon lying on the sofa in Hope's room, so as to be ready to do anything for her that was needed. But, with trll his good intentions, he was soon fast asleep, and neither saw nor heard anything more until late the following morning, when the first objects that met his gaze were the doctor, sitting by Hope's bedside, anxiously noting her symp- toms, and his mother, with a pale, careworn face, bend- ing over her pillow. Three days later, Mrs. Green was standing at the door of the old parsonage cottage, Weston, readin a telegram that had just been placed in her hands, ran thus : " Can you come to us without loss of time ? Hope is very ill, and in her delirium is constantly calling for you. Do come ! " Phoebe Green was the woman for an emergency. Patient, plodding, and disposed to keep the even tenor of her way with no very rapid tread, she was, never- theless, quick to resolve and swift to perform whenever it became necessary ; and, in this case, all her native force and energy were brought into immediate action. " I say, Thompson," she said, thrusting her head into the dining-room where that personage was eating his dinner, " you harness Ben as quick as ever you can, and drive me to the station. 'Taint a minute morn'n half an hour before the train's in, and I must catch it, if I have to fly. My dear little girl down to New York is sick, and all the time a-callin' for me, and I must go to her this very minute ! Here, Jane, you come quick and put up my best gown and cap, and mebby two or three other things, while I dress ; " and the next minute she was tossing together the things Jane was SOWING AND REAPING. 333 id not » sleep, Id not tie sofa ng for ntiona, heard , when doctor, syuip- 5, bend- at the adin a ids. Hope ling for Irgency. In tenor never- \enever native action, lad into Lin2 his ;)U can, Imorn'n itch it, York lust go quick Itwo or next le was to pack, dressing herself at tlie same time, and talking ince.ssantly, yet, with singular self-possession, and never making a mistake or false move. " I'm awful glad 1 hain't got to borrow money ! " she soliloquized, producing a plump wallet from a drawer in her bureau ; " this comes of always keeping a sharp lookout after the small change ; as the old say- ing goes : ' Take c^are of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves.' There, that'll do ; here's Thon)pson and Ben ; good-bye ! " and the next minute Ben was tearing away at a furious pace for Weston. The station was reached barely in time — not a moment even for purchasing a ticket ; but nothing daunted, she flung her good-bye at the bewildered Thompson as she ran, saying, " I'll pay on board, or else they'll have to take me for nothinir, for go I will ! " and, springing upon the steps while the train was already gliding away, she found herself, she scarcely knew how, panting and excited in one of the seats, and rushing away with the speed of the wind toward her destination. But, oh, how slowly to her impatient mind the train moved on ! " Nearly a mile a minute ! " she exclaimed, as the conductor, with a suppressed smile, replied to her repeated entreaties that he would " hurry up," by informing her what was her present rate of travel. "Nearly a mile a minute ! dear me, that's awful fast! but, after all, it don't seem so very much when you think that half the folks in New York might be dead before you could reach there even at that rate." " Well, aunty," said the conductor, with a dash of impertinence in his tone and manner, " you'd better try and be comfortable as you are ; for if we should drive our iron horse much faster he might fly to bits, and where do you think you'd be then ? " Mrs. Green was herself in an instant ; and with a quiet dignity, not unmixed with haughtiness, cut off" all further approach to familiarity by saying : " I beg pardon, young man, if I've bothered you with my nervousness! Of course you can't under- 3S4 SOWING AND REAPING. stand how one feels whose nearest and dearest lies a dyin', I might have known that myself;" and turning her flushed face to the window, to hide her tears, she was not Ions: in reasoning herself into her wonted calmness and composure. Arrived in New York, however, she found herself in dire perplexity : for though she had repeated street and number to herself scores of times, she had no sooner stepped from the train into the noisy, jvostling crowd, than they were gone ; nor could she recall the faintest suffjiestion of either. While she was walkinor up and down, and vainly racking her mind for the vanished clue, a light hand was laid upon her shoulder, and the next instant she found herself caught by both hands, while her captor cried out : " I knew you'd come, though mother thought very likely you wouldn't. I saw you the moment you stepped off the cars ; but I couldn't get near you Tor the crowd. Don't you know me, aunty ? " " I dare say mebby you're Jack, by your knowin' me so well ! " "That's who I am, aunty; yonder's the 'bus I ordered, it will he here in a minute." " And you're Jack ! well I never should have known you in the wide world ! Dear me, how you have spindled up! but how's Hopie?" she added, her voice tremulous with anxiety and fear. "She's awfully ill, aunty! The doctor said this morninr, if you didn't come he was afraid of the con- sequences ; for she frets so for you ; and besides she cries and raves so much about father and Lee. Isn't it odd she never says a word about Eva ? what do you suppose is the rer.son ? " " Because, my dear, her mind's at rest about Eva and vou too, so she told me in her last letter. Poor little love, she's had that much to comfort her along of all her troubles, thank God ! But as for the others, it's no wonder, no wonder I " The last rema. k was lost, as she intended it should bo, amidst the mingled sounds of voices and vehicles ; SOWING AND REAPING. 335 in a few rpinutes more they were moving rapidly away, and very soon Mrs. Green stood by Hope's bedside. " My precious lamb ! " The large, brown eyes opened wide at the old famil- iar word, and a look of recognition swept like a sun- beam over Hope's pale face, hut in a moment it was gone, and the darkened mind was again wandering amidst its bewildering fancies. But from that hour her mind became calmer, her delirium assumed a milder type, and her symptoms slowly but steadilj' changed for the better. Two nH)nths ! how swift their iiioht ! how sweet their memories to the happy ! but how different to those whose days and nights drag on under the bur- den of a hopeless sorrow like that which was darken- ing the home and crushing the heart of Mrs. Ellisson. The long two months which elapsed before Hope could t'airlv be called convalescent, seemed to her an age of suffering. Until Hope was laid aside, Mrs. Ellisson had never realized widi what a weight she had been loaning upon her uncomplaining child ; and now the thought of losing her, just as she was beginning to realize how dreary life must be without her, was almost more than she could endure. She felt appalled at the recollec- tion of all Hope had done and endured, and the little importance she had ever attached to that unwearied and unobtrusive service. " Oh ! I might have spared her more ! " she exclaimed again and again, as she watched the progress of the remorseless fever, and saw how the fragile form grew weaker and weaker every day. " I might have taken more of this upon myself ! " she would repeat, with vjver-increasing bitterness of seU*-upbraiding, as she took up the burden of domestic care and the over- sight of her household, and found herself forced to sustain alone the anxieties of the sick-room, and the increasing querulousness and irritability of her bus- hi i^ > n I i ;i i '! 3S6 SOWING AND REAPING. band ; "but 'adeed 1 could not have believed she wa.'s so sorely burdene: ''"''' *'"■• "'« '»« time danger; but it was me^i^l'^hltfJ- '" ^'^''^''^ ^' "™ "Oh ' well f,,- „ . •' "'''"en from her. to gloom and in l^,"^ ^"^ h'^'f fro.u our eye, ■ to hear Hoa,l;rdt,tTt 'iVl''" "«<' .^""e. _^-k, with a foted lugh''"?L7;r;"^' «°P« •' " - mist seemed creeping over her pale lips, and the room swam in darkness before her ; the next she knew she was lying in a dimly-lighted room, and her nurse and Mrs. Leeds, with sad and anxious faces, were haniriivr over her. For a • moment she wondered what had happened, then the dreadful consciousness of it all came back, and with a wailing cry she buried her fav.e in the pillow and sobbed convulsively. In his letter to his uncle, Gordon wisely omitted the harrowinfj details of Colonel Ellisson's death, leaving them mainly to be supplied by the imagination of his leader. As we have already learned, he arrived in New York the day before the terrible delirium set in, and in the deep gloom of which Colonel Ellisson passed away. His disappointment at not finding Hope was at first keen, but when he looked into her father's face, and saw recorded there, in characters that could not be mistaken, the tale of that father's ruin, he felt secretly glad that she was gone, that for a little while, at least, she could not see the bloated and besotted face of the parent to whom she had clang with such unwearying devotion. " I had intended to proceed at once on my journey," so the letter ran, "but seeing how matters stood, I resol ved to stay over a day or two, and try and induce my brother-in-law to leave New York at once, and return with me to Weston. I knew by a letter from Hope, which I found waiting me, that she had already prepared the way for my eflfort by proposing the same thing ; so I flattered myself it could be easily and speedily arranged. But the moment I spoke of it I noticed a look of distress pass over my sister's face, and before I had finished speaking, she rose, and left the room in great apparent agitation. " Colonel Ellisson seemed confused and uncomfor- table, and, after a good deal of stammering and evasion, he said, glancing at his watch, as though pressed for time: "'Well, Gordon, I will think about it; in the mean- time you are tired and need rest, and, as I have some SOWING AND REAPING. 3 ''"■^ "ffain. If vou think it tn'"*^',""'^ '^'^ "'"' 'alk "f ''nd you,- sister in the nn 1 " Y'-^ '° ■■«'''•«. you wiM matter with her ' P"'"""' ''»'' y" can talk „p This ?r unwiilinj, to e'^pl°"„ '^; ^,"' /''.^ '^''^ either^,„ab e >ng wliat was onlv fnn „ "' *"'J' finally nlenrl she retired. ^ '"" parent, severe in,ii.spoSt™„ troulltnratJ:J;;Xf,--^" li' -- -hat wa" the of things of which bot h itSpe all T '^'''".'"'"S » ^'ate of which my si.ster was wel 1 L "''*'? 'Knorant, but ^^I left the room, irhalsoulrf ' ?"'' *''^'' ''^ oon dnnk; to what puroo^e xf^,^ *°.''''°^^n thou-^ht in you that, after CS/t?"? ?^^ J"''g-'. when I tel" sank under the horrors of thL'^r'n^';''"'*'"' ""ture ft-ek gloom of which his snWt !""'" ■^•^'"'"'n. *» the passed away without onrcCeio'rioTPP'''^' '""" <>« „ -I shall not dwell imo„ n, "*"'' or word ^ the kind I had teT^it^teT'r ',' "^^ "'^'fi^^t bethetet! Oh. I thouX conl,' n °'' S^™"' ■' "ay here and witne.,.s the end of Vb " "" ^'°""" """> stand would they not be warnccU "'""' '""•^«™'« ''"inker ^oor, dear Bu'n go.ng away in the darkne^, Af "T''^'" ''^ ^ saw . f would gludly-'lay down „,v Iff . '"'='' " '^'^''th, that "reeked .nanhood and thi 7 ■ '° '"'^'tore him his waited life. """^ ""^ Slonous possibilities of his ^ou know something of her pr^of":^^ ^S^Z 356 SOWING AND REAPIN(5. :,\ ; I £ \ ance; but you cannot possibly picture to yourself adequately the frail woman in her unutterable agony, white, tearless, silent, uttering neither cry nor moan through it all, unless it was in the silence and solitude of her own room ; and, when it was all over, takinf( up the burden of her ruined fortune.* with an outward show of calmness th?.t, to me, was more dreadful than the wildest paroxysms of grief. " Immediately after the funeral, she took me aside, and told me that the Weston estate was sold, and the money gone ; she could not say how or where ; and then the mystery of my first night in the house needed no further explanation. At her urgent request, I at once proceeded to an investigation of my brother-in- law's affairs ; and, aided by the best counsel I could secure, I have reached this result : The vast wealth with which Colonel Ellisson began life is utterly dissi- pated; and with it all that was Hope's in her own right through her mother. I got an unexpected clue to this appalling waste, by means of a crushed and crumpled letter that I came upon among a lot of old papers — a letter which it appears Lee left in his room on the fatal evening of his death, and which my un- happy sister destroyed as soon as it was read. " I knew years ago that Hugh was addicted to the vice of gambling — a vice he once most pathetically warned me against ; but I had no idea to what lengths it had carried him, until I read that letter ; sad proof, at once, of the ruinous habits of the father and the unrestrained recklessness of the son. " In the meantime, a great many debts are coming to light, which can only be met in part, I fear, though my sister insists upon selling everything that can be converted into money, even her jewellery, in order to meet every rightful claim ; a resolution, by the way, from which I do not attempt to dissuade her ; for I cling strongly to the once honored and honorable rule, that every honest debt should be paid, whatever be the self-denial and self-abnegation it may cost. *' I hope to be through these entanglements in a few SOWING AND REAPING. 357 mrself igony, moan )Utude takinf,' itward il than J aside, ind the •e; and needed 33t, I at ther-in- I could wealth ly dissi- ler own bed clue hed and ,t of old lis room my un- Id to the letically lengths ^d proof, ^nd the coming though can be jrder to le way, |r ; for I ole rule, Lever be In a few days ; and then I must hasten to Weston ; unless, in- deed, Hope's condition should be such as to demand my immediate attendance upon her, a result of which I am in ajjonizinfj dread. I have allowed Jack to jjive her a sort of outline, in his own way, of things, so far as he knows them, poor lad, which is not far ; still, Hope must never know the details of this sad history, even to the extent I have outlined them to you. I need not say be careful of her, for I know what tender and loving hands she is in, but I shall look with in- tense anxiety for daily information concerning her. " Yours faithfully, "Gordon." CHAPTER LII. For many days Hope never left her room except when, at the urgent entreaty of her nurse, or Mrs. Leeds, she suftered herself to be led out upon the sunny balcony, upon which her window opened, for a little while to breathe the fresh air, and look out upon the beauties of nature just bursting into the life and animaiion of the early summer. But she soon wearied of the gladness that filled all ths voices of nature, and begged to return and lie down upon a couch from which she could gaze up through the open window into the soft blue sky beyond. The thousand kindly attentions lavished upon her were gratefully received, but she seldom smiled or spoke, except in reply to what others said. Even Gor- don's frequent and affectionate letters failed to rouse her; they were read, wept over, and carefully put aside ; and then the sad, longing gaze would wander away froDi all the anxious faces around her up into the deep blue of the summer sky, or, at night, where the stars kept silent and solemn watch above the changeful scenes of human life, as if seeking to pierce the universe in search of something too deeply loved, too surely lost. 24 ! ■ 358 SOWING AND REAPING. WB M At length the physician became alarmed. " Some- thing must be done," he said to the anxious family, who always crowded round him when he came from Hope's room, " to rouse her from this state of despon- dency, or her reason will become fatally impaired ; and I confess I don't knovv what that something is. Can- not you, sir, suggest something ? It certainly is not in the power of medicine to reach the source of Miss Ellisson's trouble, for it is purely mental. Physically, there is nothing wrong with her except weakness." " I know of no more I can do, sir," said Mr. Leeds, despondingly. " I confess I am baffled. Both Mrs. Leeds and myself have exhausted our powers of inven- tion in trying to devise some new methods for divert- ing her mind. I think I will write to Gordon to-morrow to come and spend a day or two before he goes on west. Perhaps I have delayed longer than 1 ought ; but this business i" New York has been taxing him so severely that I hav o tilirunk from adding to his burdens. But, if you say so, I will telegraph in the morning. " Do so, sir, by all means, if there 's the least hope of his presence and influence doing anything for Miss Ellisson — I, for one, can do no more." Mrs. Green had followed the doctor down stairs to see what he would say to the family about Hope ; but, as she listened to the sorrowful utterances of one and another, her heart swelled with inexpressible pain ; and at length, feeling she could endure it no longer she fled to the garden to be alone. Casting herself down upon a rustic garden-seat, she sat for a long time in deep thought. Then, looking up to the evening sky, she repeated slowly, as if carefully weighing the meaning of every word : " If any of you lack luisdom, let him ask of God who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering." Again and again she repeated the same words slowly and deliberately; and, at length, dropping upon her SOWING AND REAPING. 359 knees, remained lon^j in .silent prayer. When slie arose, her face was very pale, but there was in it .such a look of settled peace that even Hope noticed it when she took her place beside her, and, lookinf^ up, she .said languidly : " Why, auntie, lo\ •, how sweet you look ! what has happened ? " " Notliing, my darlint(, except that 1 have been out in the garden talking to God about you ! " " Aunty ! " "Yes, dearie, that's just what I've l)een doing; and I think I've got my answer." " Aunty, tell me about it ; " and Hope's sad eyes grew almost eager in their interest. " Well, my precious child, it is just this : I have been feeling very bad about you, for a good many days ; because I couldn't help thinking you was doing very wrong — really sinning against God by acting as you've been doin' since you heard of the trouble at home. " I've often felt as though I oufjht to tell vuu so ; but somehow I didn't feel as if could, I really didn't. You were so crushed and heart-broken already that I kept a-sayin' to myself, 'Tain't of no use, 'twould kill her and done with it, if I was to tell her just what \ think of her conduct.' " I see you're astonished, my child, but let me finish, now that I've begun, for it's laid on ray heart to do it to-night, and you mustn't interrupt me. Well, this evening I followed the doctor down stairs, just to see what he would tell the folks about you ; but I couldn't stand the way they all talked. Really, it .seemed to me that Mr. Leeds, minister though he is — and mebby I shouldn't .say it — but it did seem to me he hadn't one speck of faith ; and I got out of the hearing of the talk as quick as ever I could. Of course you don't need that I should tell you 'twas about you they were talkin' — the melancholy way )'ou are allowin' your.self to get into, and how you are ever goin' to get out of it. " Well, as I was sayin/ I got away from it as quick as ever I coul 1 ; and after thinkin' a good deal, and 360 SOWING AND REAPING. h Ril '>^i praying a good deal, I've come to do my plain duty towards you, Hope, and let God take care of the con- sequences, as I know He will, if I do what's right. •' Now, it's clear to me, my child, that you're doing wrong; really sinning against God ; andif you realized what your conduct implies — as of course you don't to the full extent — acting wickedly in His sight." Hope raised herself slowly upon her elbow, and fixed her eyes wistfully upon her nurse's face. But she did not interrupt her; she was listening solemnly, heedfully, as to a voice from heaven. " It's just this," continued Mrs. Green, a little dis- concerted by Hope's earnest gaze, " you ain't reconciled to God's will ; you ain't satisfied that the Judge of all the earth has done right ; for if you was, you wouldn't, you couldn't, lie there a hugging your grief, and turning your face away from the clear shining of His blessed countenance, down into the shadows of the dismal, dark grave. I say you couldn't, for if you had believed in your very heart that He had been right and just — hadn't made any mistake or done any wrong, you'd get right up and go to Him like a loving, affec- tionate child, and let His dear love make you glad, as of course it would. " I ain't findin' fault with the way you endure trouble, 'tain't that, dearie, but simple endurance ain't all ; you may endure with the fortitude of a dozen martyrs, and yet not have a crumb or grain of sub- mission in your heart. Trouble taken in that way don't do a bit of good, to yourself, I mean. Of course it makes the folks around you more comfortable, and, so far, it's just as it should be ; but there ain't any ser- vice to God in it ; for He who sees the very secret intents of the heart sees it's all for the people around you — not a bit for Him. Mebby in some cases it might be called a kind of outward service of the life, all right of itself, but 'tain't the inner sorvice of the heart, and both have to go together if we expect to please God. " Why, dearie love, our gracious heavenly Father don't expect us to clutch the treasures He's lent us so tight ii f • SOWWo AND RBAPINO. gg, ^^'ve, like children who V„„t T ^^ ^"'•" «"etter, or rnore to be favn.l i i ^^® ^'O" wiser or ^our was ? and vefc H,-! J .f ^ ^^^'^ ^ou^- blessed Sn chastisernent • oY tl^;;!!^^^ '^^ ^" ^'"^ ^t who?e' darling, your tronKi P^*'® '^"^ »nine ' OIi Hv. • ^e.idej;/C;ttoVhr^rhi^ i. ain't w„^^ fe He did from His beloved S„n ^," '"«« f™'" you a, ^ ''But He was suS • -•^°" '"""^ "'at ' through the whole of (1^"^ '" ^is heart of heart, not My wiJI, but Thine f ' ^'^" ««' father !^ , iVow, dear child r * ji "ght or act right t^l there^^ill.rir"'^' >">" '^""'t be you and. God; and that nL "' °"« »''" between '«^e me, theri won't h« I?, t ^'""' *'"' "^"t His Be there oughtn't tTb^ Lf .„ °°*' "''" « Heaven'- and hf. either, with the true oLw ?'"'"'' ""'^ there 'won't h.«proper place!" "* "^''"■''"'" ^hen he gets into ^rs. Green cpACAri on. . nestly, d her words had' no"' bT'^-" ™P'^"^' -". rested her pale cheek i,n„^ ? v ^" '" ^aiu- Hone obeyed. ''"''^ ■"" "'""e. aunty!" and M,.. Green As soon as the door was closed H„ «'<»ed, Hope sank upon her * hi t.i' »i ir 362 SOWING AND REAPING. knees, and she did not rise until the victory was gaine»i, and ' Even so, Father,' Vjecame the conscious breath ino; of her chastened yet submissive spirit. How long she had been in prayer she did not know; but when at lenjrth she raised her tearful face, she saw her nurse, who, after lonj^ waiting, had stolen into the room unobserved, standing patiently beside her. " Is it all right, my love ?" " Yes, auntie, it is all right ! " whispered Hope. " dear, dear friend, more than a mother to your weak, erring child, how shall 1 ever thank you as I ought for the lesson vou have tauo-ht me to-riififht ? Now help mc to undress and kiss me, and leave me, for I shall sleep to-night in the arms of that infinite love which so sweetly enfolds me. Yes — ' My heart in resting, O, my Grod ! I will give thanks and sing I— My heart has found the secret source Of every precious thing ! ' " The next morning all were surprised to see Hope enter the breakfast-room leaning upon her liurse's arm, and sought eagerly to know what had brought about such a pleasing change. Hope said but little until the meal was over ; then in a few words she gave the substance of what has just been narrated, and begged that special thenks might be offered to God or her behalf. When devotions were over, turning to Mr. Leed.^, she said : " I think, sir, from sorae things I have gathered from your remarks, thct you know more about my dear father and his affairs than I do ; but I have never had the heart to ask you any questions. If there is anything you think proper to communicate that I do not know, I can hear it this morning." " Are you strong enough, my child ? " " Strength will be given lae according to ray need," SOWING AND REAPING. 363 y was nscious b. know ; ?he saw nto the ii pe. -0 r weak, 1 ou£fht ? Now fie, tor I lite love iee Hope |r nurse's brought [but little she gave ,ted, and io God OP \ Leeds, jrathered Ibout iny \,ve never there is Ithat I do need," said Hope, meekly ; and folding her thin hands across her lap, she listened silently and with bowed head to the little Mr. Leeds thought prudent to tell her. "Poor, poor mamma!" she sighed, when Mr. Leeds ceased speaking, "h^^w will she ()ear all this? O, sir, we must pray for her ! Gordon has told me she once professed to love Christ, but she has long worshipped at other shrines than His. Dear Mr. Leeds ! " she added with sudden energy, as thouL^h a new thougfht had dawned upon her, " to study, and hibor, and pray for her restoration, must be much, very much of my future work ! Will 1, do you think, ever see her brought back ? " " My child, ' if thou canst believe, all things are pos- sible to him that believeth .' ' " " True, true," said Hope, thoughtfully. " Oh, sir, my life must be a different thing in the future from what it has been in the past. I have lived too low ; I have been too fearful and half-hearted in all I have ever attempted for Christ, Will you pray for me that my life, if spared, may be one of greater progress ? " " Yes, Hope, but you must not disparage the work God has already permitted you to do for Him, You have already seen some precious results from your prayerful service of your Lord. You do not forget, do you, that He has given both Eva and Jack to your faith ? — the one, a poor, trembling, tempted lamb, safe in the blessed fold above ; the other to be, as we trust, a laborer in some capacity for many years in His vine- yard below," Hope did not speak — her heart was too full. At length she said, softly, yet more to herself than to her listener, " Dear, dear Jack ! my own ordy brother ! how glad — how thankful I am, that his feet are set in the safe way ; perhaps he, too, may aid in bringing back his poor mother to the way of obedience ! " That evening, when Dr. Leonard called on Hope, he was amazed to find her sitting with her portfolio before her, writing a letter. " Why, how's this ? " he exclaimed, seating himself 1' 364 SOWING AND REAPING. %-% (M I*] '* ,1 .'! beside her. " Onlv last niojht we were all clown in the dolefuls about you ; and to-night you're not only out of bed, but at work! Give me this portfolio, if you please, Miss Ellisson ; — th^re ! " he added, smilingly, closing, and tossing it under tlie table, "let that lie there at least three days and three nights before you even venture to pick it up, or you run the risk of my severe ard lasting displeasuic. " And row, be so good as to inform me what has wrought this marvellous change. You look as though you had taken a new lease of lite, except that you have no color yet." Dr. Leonard was not a Christian, not even a believer in the Bible; and though too well bred to scoff at religion openly, he was nevertheless averse to its teachings, and made no secret of it. Hope knew this ; she knew, too, that his aversion to the religion of the Bible had been the one barrier to his becoming more closely allied to the family of Mr. Leeds ; and it was because Laura Hastings would not trust herself in the neighborhood of the fascinating infidel whom she loved, and to whom she well knew she was as dear as his own life, that she had again returned south, whence he had followed her on her coming north two or three years previously. Hope had more than once observed a smile flit across Dr. Leonard's face when their conversation had taken a serious turn ; and he had once ventured in her presence to express his regret that Gordon Leeds, his " old friend and pupil, should have thrown away his splendid talents upon such a medley of inconsistencies as the Christianitv, so called, of the Bible." Hope had not replied to this, but she now felt that she was called upon to answer Dr. Leonard's inquiries frankly and without any disguise. For a moment she felt she could not gain courage to tell him the simple story of her last night's experiences, and of the sur- render of her own will to the will of God, which He had then enabled her to make ; but a consciousness of her duty to Christ and to the man before her was too K't I SOWING AND REAPING. 365 in the i\y out it* you ilingly, hat lie ire you of mv hat has though ou have believer scoff at ! to its ew this ; a of the ng more d it was If in the lom she dear as whence or three lile flit bion had |d in her seds, his Iway his [stencies 3lt that iquiries lent she simple the sur- lich He tiness of ras too great to allow her to be silent ; and looking up timidly, she replied : "Doctor Leonard, if you would only beliove that what I have to tell you is real, as real as the setting of the sun yonder in the west, as the singing of that bird o\itsi(le the window, as your own existence, I should love to tell you — but — " " But what, Miss Ellisson ? I am surely not so blind as not to see that a great change of some sort has visited you ! Be so good, then, as to explain this ' miraculous interposition ' of whatever kind it is ; for I am impatient to hear ! " The doctor's light words, the slight tinge of irony that characterized them, but above all, the half amused, half critical look with which he regarded her, embar- rassed and disconcerted Hope ; but after a momentary hesitation, she proceeded with what she had to say. CHAPTER LIIL At first Hope spoke slowly and hesitatingly, as she recounted some of the sorrows that had preceded her late illness ; spoke of her parting with her father in the expectation of only a brief separation ; of the crushing weight with which the tidings of his death had fallen upon her, and of the abject despondency, bordering upon despair, to which she had so long been yielding herself a prey. " But last night," she added, " I was made to see that I was acting the part of one who had lost confi- dence in God ; or, more properly, as it seems to me, of one who had never had any; virtually calling in question His wisdom and goodness, as well as His riofht to do as He would with both mine and me ! " She then very briefly and concisely gave the sub- stance of what her nurse had said to her, of her repentance and humiliation before God, and of the victory of faith He had given her, by which she was able to leave everything in His hands, trusting ua- ii i Sf'i,' 366 SOWING AND REAPING. il. t;i' Hi !■' % questioningly to His unerring wisdom and perfect jjoodness in regard to all the events of His provi- dence. " I am very glad, Miss Ellisson," said Dr. Leonard, gravely, for he had evidently been a deeply interested listener, "that your spiritual enthusiasm — for I can call it by no higher name — has been aroused by some means, and while I gravely question your conclusions, both in regard to yourself and the nature of the help you have received, I congratulate you none the less upon the results, mental and physical. You arc evidently in a better state in both respects, and as long as you keep in your present tone of mind your health will improve. " But you must beware of reaction ; and I advise you to hold frequent conferences with that wise nurse of yours, for she evidently possesses a subtle skill ' for ministering to minds diseased,' to which I lay no claim. When you are strong, however, I intend to wage war with some of your notions ; you see I do not call them theories, for they will hardly bear the name ; perhaps, in the meantime, you will devote a portion of your leisure to furbishing your weapons for the con- flict!" There was a look of pain and d ppointment in Hope's face, but she answered, quietly : " There is none of the enthusiasm of a vain super- stition in all this. Dr. Leonard. The reality of what I have been speaking of is no matter of conjec- ture, is the result of no meaningless, spiritual ecstasies. I trust, sir, you will sometime realize, as perfectly as I do, the truth of these things, by a consciousness of certainty that admits of no question. I shail not need your advice further as a physician, I trust, but I shall always think of you as a friend ; may I beg your acceptance of this little book, as a token of the interest T feel in your happiness and welfare ? " and Hope took from the table an elegantly bound copy of the Scriptures, and extended it toward him. It had been a parting gift from hei cliss m tb SOWING AND REAPING. 367 Sunday-school at Wont »n, and in it rIio bad marked many precious texts; it was hallowed by a thousand tender memories of l^^.va, under whose pillow it had lain for many weeks her constant companion and study ; l)ut notwithstandin<( all that, she offered it freely, yet with tremblinf,' dread lest it should be refused. Dr. Leonard colored, hesitated, and at length shook his head. " Pardon me, Miss Ellisson, that old history has no chnrms for me. I have no faith in it as a religiociH guide, or as a correct exponent of truth. I woidd rather not accept your gift." " Doctor Leonard, I entreat you to accept it ! Oh, sir, the universe cannot purchase its treasures from you, if once you make them yours ! " The doctor took the book mechanically from her hand, and for a minute stood balancing it upon his finger. "And you expect me to read this book, Miss Ellis- son — possibly to believe it ? " "1 shall certainly pray, sir, that you may be led both to read it and to believe it, as I do ! ' "^.s yovj do, Miss Ellisson ! — ha, ha ! " and Doctor Leonard laughed his merriest laugh, as he still poised the little book upon his finger. " Now, listen ! F will read this book ; and in one year, if we both live to see the day, I shall undertake to disabuse your mind of two things — first, of its power to change my opinions, much less my heart ; and, secondly, of th'. ellV'/icy of your prayers in bringing about the reswili you jiiteml to pray for ! " Doctor Leonard slowly placed the book in his pocket; the smile had faded from his face, and there was a sternness on his finely formed lips that Hojn' had never seen there before. But it passed as quickly an it came, and, with a pleasant " Good-bye," he was gone, " I tell you, Mr. Leeds," said the doctor, as he encountered the mininter at the door, " your power of 368 SOWING AND REAPING. ij 1=1 1' i influencing and persuading is corapletel overmatched. Here you have been doing your best for the last two or three years to accomplish what your fair enthusiast upstairs has accomplished in little more than the same number of minutes. Look here, sir ! " and Doctor Leonard held up the Bible. " I am actually committed to two things — first, to read tJds hook — think of that ! and, secondly, to prove to Miss EUisson, within a speci- fied time, its powerlessness to change my opinions; and, also, the powerlessness of her prayers to bring about the result for which she has promised to pray ! " " I can assure you, then, Dr. Leonard, you are very bold ! Now, sir, beware ! You are entering the lists not simply against that book and Miss EUisson's prayers, but against the Holy Spirit of God, who will accompany them both ! " " You think, then. I stand u chance of being defeated ? " I do, sir ! " " Well, we shall see ! " and Doctor Leonard slowly replaced the book in his pocket. " Your friend, sir, is much better ; keep up her spirits now, and she's all right. Good-night ! " and the next minute the doctor's quick, energetic footfall was heard along the sidewalk as he hurried away to make his round of professional calls. That evening, in spite of the doctor's prohibition, Hope finished her letter to Gordon, and, by due course of mail, received the following answer : " You will have seen, by the post-mark, before open- ing this, that I am not, as you supposed, in New York ; having been summoned to Weston by an urgent mes- sage from Doctor Eberly, who felt he could not spare me another day, and I could not lay his patience under any further tax by asking him to do so. " I left my sister with her business nearly closed up; and, as you now know of her changed cirumstances, 1 may speak freely to you in regard to them. She had resolved to sell everything, even to her jewellery ; and portraits, keepsalce.s boot etc ° \k"'='^ "« '""'ily other article, which I nee.1 n^f^V f^^"" ^^'"' many «'hich will be to her of il ?• ?? '° enumerate but not dare tell tou of th •""""''''* ^a'»«- I shouW precious assurance Igail'"^„7,,^'''-'/°g. ''"' *°' "h me. that yo„ have "7 Wh f' V ^"«^ "before ^trensth ; and, with your Tt k1 P"^ ?'"= ^ock of can bear the da.shin™o/ thei ^^^ I''""*"'' ">ere Ohnstmn calmness and fortitul °m"^' ^''''^'^ ^ith rirfr:'?» ^^'"' "'ankful„esf ?or ^^ ''^'' ^''"' i» reel that lor you, at lea«t fk ''"'' = and I now " My sister ha.s reaHzf d "'T * '' ?<*»'• satisfy, th„„„h not 7u fr o''"^ *T .''" ^"""-ces to and they have ffeneroush ' n 11 ?l™'''' ''"'' creditors her con.fWtable"twThe Srei "„r'\'^r,v'^r"«'' *° "at' who, I thmk. would have d ed nf I".' '>erand Norah separated from her mistre« tf , ^""^ '' »''« had been ■ng. not, however, wT« 'r^^lMZ'^ '°"- '■ ''^v- sistevs consent to return to''o^^r .?"""■>'■ "^-^nred my £'""• ^^ -- - ^ - i- SedTKre^r a goodtlwTet SoneT' *'"' ' "-^ '- help • and ^'he day. Poor Zy^T^'aHr^il^^S^"^ '-"-""f to «o back to the old Ttl!! -.7 '',^'' '» consent towers of ft-airie House lonlf^ ' ":'"' "'e roofs and 01 her; but what could I °do 'f , *'/ ^eart ached ^a.d, «o to Augusta, if yo„ can b I ^- ^^°"''' ''ave ''"t as you have learnen mm f , "'','P'"'" "•'«' lier- reus are bankrupt Her e"r 1," "" ' 1 '"^^''^ "'« Wa -' 'ank clerk on a very me„' ,„ , ''''''^" " Position as I,«awof Augusta, r auTsT .'"''"■J'; ''"''. f'"», 7lZ »>y sister K f reKtht' ^^^ ' ^ ner go away, and I 370 SOWING AND REAPING. 1 ! i' > I I, .i. A' 11 il"\ w .. m am sure I did ; for, as there was no help for the trouble, her ceaseless raurmurings were peculiarly hard to bear. " My sister, at one time, had her mind made up to rent a house in some country village, and go back to her old occupation of dress-making ; and it was only when I assured her that, unless she returned to Wes- ton, I could not possibly carry out my plans for Jack, and when he united his entreaties to mine, that her resolution seemed at all shaken. Indeed, I greatly doubt if she would have given way even then, but for something I have yet to speak of. " ' But what of Hope ? ' she said to me, one evening, after we had for some time discussed the question of her return to Weston ; ' I tell you plainly, Gordon, I can never ask her, after her all is gone, to sit down with me in that dreary place. I want to go among strangers ; and endeavor, with my own hands, to make some amends to her for the ruin that has been brought upon her.' " ' Hope,' said I, ' belongs to me. Amy. My home is to be her home ! ' " Never shall I forget the look she gave me ! ' Gor- don,' she said, ' do you mean to tell me that Hope is to be your wife ?' ' _ " ' Yes, Amy, that is precisely what I mean ! ttopc has been my very own ever since that sad, June night, when she opened her eyes in the dear old cotiiiuci- home in Weston ; mine by solemn troth since the any she was eighteen ; and she is coming to be the sun- shine and joy of my home, as soon as I can get one prepare amon«,' to make brought home is Gor- |ope is to ttopc le night, cottiigf^ the day the sun- cret one lared she I, sitting- ;ad upon before, jmetimes Ihe stern, herself " After a long time, she raised her head, and, wiping away her tears, said, with somewhat of her old state- liness of maimer • " * Gordon, am I to understand that all these years, since Hope has been betrothed to you, you have, of your own free choice, left her in my house, knowing all she was doing and suffering, all the risks of every kind she has been running ? ' " ' I confess to you. Amy,' I said, ' that when I knew the troubles that seemed impending, I tried hard to induce Hope to come to me, and let me provide for her an easier and happier lot. But she refused. I will give you her own words, for they are indelibly fixed in my memory. After refusing to leave home, while she saw any chance of doing good there, she wrote : " ' Write to me, comfort me in my loneliness, encour- age me in my toil, soothe me in my bitter grief if you can ; and, above all, help me with your stronger faith to cling to Christ, or I shall die under the burden that comes rolling on, and which, unless God interpose, is as inevitable as doom ! I have never told you, I may never tell you, all that seems impending over my beautiful home. You know, in part, what I refer to, you know my darling father's frailty, and oh, if the anguish might stop there ! But it is not likely to ; and in all this great household, I alone .seem gifted to .see !' "Dear /lope, it may seem to you cruel that I should have repr/ited Uijs ; but I did, and I do not regret it. Jt was well, it was only just to you, that my sister should know it; nw\ I think it will do her good. '"There, Amy,' I said, 'you have the secret of all these years of waiting You .se^ how deliberately Hope tof>k up the task to which she consecrated her- self with such a heroic will , t*dl me, Amy, do you not think she has done her duty, and deserves her re- ward ? ' " My sister did not answer. She buried her face in her hands, and for a long time seemed struggling for composure ; at length she raised her head, and in an unsteady voice, replied : , r Ml ' i i Mi |: " f l, ;:■]' m n ''^i I/? I 372 SOWING AND REAPING. " ' Gordon, 1 have wronged you, and wronged Hope I was jealous of you both ; and, blinded by that jeal- ousy, I misjudged you both. I knew you were very fond of each other, though I did not dream of what you have just told me, and I made myself believe that, in caring so much for each other, you did not care as you ought for me and mine. " ' And this, this daily sacrifice on the part of you both, but particularly of Hope, has extended over all these heart-breaking years; consuming your youth and eating out the freshness and buoyancy of both your lives! " ' Dear, patient Hope ! dear, uncomplaining child 1 Gordon, do you think she will ever forgive me ? will you, can you forgive me?' and my poor sister drop- ped her face again upon my knees, and wept bitterly. " ' Do not name it, Amy,' I said, as soon as she could hear inc, ' do not name it, knowing us both as you do ! And now, what of Weston ? ' " ' I will go, Gordon, if you will allow me to ! I will go, if it is only that I may now and then see my dear husband's best beloved child ; and sometimes kiss her hand ; Heaven knows, Gordon, it is more than I am worthy to aspire to ! ' " Thus it was at last arranged. I have been here only three days, but I have workmen already at the old parsonage, freshening it up, and making some ad- ditions, and I expect, in a month or so, to have it in readiness for my sister to come to. In conclusion, I have a favor to ask of you, which I beg you will not grant, if it is going to be at the least self-sacritice or inconvenience. If, when you get a little stronger, you can spare her, I should like much if you would send Mrs. Green to me. I shall need her wise counsel, and, perhaps, a little of her help ; and, as she is to live with us, I am sure she will be willing to help me plan the details of our cottage. " And now, my own little love, I foresee that you are going to get strong and well very fast; and in the early autumn, if God will, you are going to come home ; ona, ieavinjr the ^n,l i '^ CHAPTER LIV. ing frtt' rii t^- -^'^';n. the ,,,te. an., ,ay. Scut :- :.';t ^ ^^''^'' 3^0-^.-^1^^^^^^^^^ pannofc speak. Doub Ue " f '"''''•^^'■"'i. and of which I read I .ill re.,t ^.t'ra n"f U"?"', T' «''''" you the other «ide of the room and H '' ?°P" walked to " tr' b«ied her flushed Cntr""",? ''""^'^ "P"" Mrs. Green adjusted l,„^ ? ""^ P' "ows. "^ Presently she pushed un her M ""^ ■?-»"" '» wad a' Hope, but her face I,, F f '""■ '""'^ed ea.»erlv comprehending that shT "°' '" 1^^ -^"en, and afif spectacles to their place „'Y ^"^"'^i '""ered her reading. ?'■*««' and proceeded with her Ping"th:'i:t::"1rfte^d'tr' h" '^'rPPf ^'>°^'. »nd ^rop once more the f^ll t ^'^"'^^ above her h^J u^l checked the'LtmaUrsr t" >^ f«ep n.' «?a.nsa>zinsthe letter she read on u' '" ""'^'> »°3 her eyes and her glasses „ow * ' ?''^'""'''<'^y wipinc her foot, and nowlhakL ^ tPP',"^ *''« floor with 2'l^g, as if under the p4,te or' '"" "°'^'""? -"J emotion. pressure of some extraordinary 7<]o;ittttrit1t''?^-'°"'"-'- ''"'"'™- closely in her arms hu^ Jf,? „ "i^"?"' »"'' daspin-r her her as though she &£,?"! '''^'''' ''"d cried'over «any times "called her *"^ ^^^ ^^^ babe she so 2S ' ^ ^^^< IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 ^^ lit |ii2 12.2 1.1 IL25 nil 1.4 |2g ^^ 6" Hiotographic Sciences Carporation ^"^ 3>^ <^ ¥^^ '<■ way to theS^^tnTK newfl ttutt r ""'■ •^''""'"■■' 'his is sudden; no bad M;;:;""'""^^'--'^— na.ein woman acted eonseientiS„ C f ^*"™- If ever a you ; and she ha^done r"t' ' ^^ ''"^ '"='^'' '" '°«'a'd: has acTed ZCZ'm^3r'-S^ - a noble la.ly and ?f right, and I be. your na f.?' 'f '""'«^* oonvi'^li?,", ;n the least disres^-i^X? ButM. ^ """""' '"'"'^^ nark you. / hate it, I L .L^,*""* ^ "-"'igion, si,- between souls that ov» ^"'^/r' "J"* ™ch lines the mSe^?."'^ >-°" ' hut what of your practice in him'wfcai^i.?'" '"'"""'«' ^ y°- may consult "'"' """""■ P-"—. hut indeed I wish you Ji:' 1 378 SOWING AND REAPING. would not go ! You are only running into the teeth of another disappointment ; I speak as a true friend to both yourself and Laura." " Be so kind, my dear sir, as to spare both yourself and me any further remonstrance. My mind is made up, and I am not to be turned from my purpose. " Pardon my giving you the trouble, but will you oblige me by handing this to Miss Ellisson ; and please remember my compliments both to her and the other ladies. Good-bye, sir ; my time is short, 1 see," and glancing hurriedly at his watch. Doctor Leonard walked rapidly away. Mr. Leeds stood for some time watching the recedinn; form. "Poor fellow," he said with a sigh, "I was hoping he had given up all thoughts of Laura. His visit will only be a renewal of the old pain to both ol' them, for he need not dream of her ever alterinjr a decision based upon such considerations as hers is. Laura has too much of her mother's nature not to follow her own convictions of right, no matter what sorrow or heart-aching it may involve. But what is this ? Really, it is the Bible Hope gave him. What of his promise to read it, I wonder, and to convince her of tue povverlessne.ss of her prayers." Mr. Leeds walked thoughtfully to the house, and handing the book to Hope, retired at once to his study. " Why, it's my Bible ! " exclaimed Hope, as she removed the paper in which it was loosely wrapped, and as she did so a note fell upon her lap. Unfolding it she read : " Miss Ellisson, — Please pardon my returning this little book, but I see by the inscription that it is a present which I am sure you must value very highly; and therefore I cannot consent to keep it. " But that you may see I do not return it from unwillingne.ss to read it, allow me to assure you I have read the greater part of it already ; and shall — remem- bering my promise to you^^promptly purchase another, SOWING AND REAPING. 379 ana finish the perusal. Whether I ever redeem the remainder of my pled(,'e, remains to be seen. "Yours, "Leonard." Hope was disappointed. She had prayed much that the Bible Doctor Leonard had so reluctantly accepted might V)e made a great and lasting blessing to him ; and she had believed she was praying in faith. Was this all that was to come of it ? Had God failed to hear her prayer ? If so the fault must be hers, not His ; for He had promised to hear the prayer of faith. Perhaps she had been placing more contidence in the written word she had placed in Doctor Leonard's hands than in the power of the Holy Spirit, without whose gracious influence that word would be ineffectual to reach the proud man's heart. Hope was deeply humbled. She went to her room with a sad heart and there laid the case before God in prayer. When she rose from her knees it was with comfort and renewed confidence. No one knew, till long after, how Mr. Leeds had spent that long summer day ;, but at evening, when he rejoined his family, Mrs. Leeds read in. his face the records of a day spent with God, and she believed it had been in prayer for Doctor Leonard. " The doctor is evidently in trouble," he said to her, later, when they were alone. " I never saw him looking so care-worn and unhappy, and there was a tinge of bitterness in his language that very often betrays a burdened heart." " We must still trust our heavenly Father to guide him," said Mrs. Leeds. " Many prayers have followed him for many years, and I cannot suppose they will be lost. Gordon does not forget him we may be sure, and poor Laura will never ce&se to pray for him until she ceases to live. •* And," added Mr. Leeds, with solemn emphasis, " *the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much!'" I, 380 SOWING AND REAPING. CHAPTER LV. Doctor Leonard did indeed carry with him a bur- dened heart. His reading of the Scriptures had not led him to repentance ; had not, indeed, convinced him of his lost state and his need of salvation, but it had disturbed and unsettled him, and forced him upon trains of thouglit which for years he had persistently avoided. Questions of momentous interest had again sprung up in his mind, each demanding more sternly than ever before, a solution that should satisfy his reason. Yet toil as he would amidst the unsatisfying tlieories in which he had entrenched himself, he could find none. Nature, man, the universe, God, each, all, confronted him with baffling mysteries, yet mysteries from which he could find no escape. At length, disgusted with himself, dissatisfied with his surroundings, and angry with God, he resolved to leave home for a while, hoping in change to find peace of mind. For many days he fought the hunger of heart he felt to see the woman he loved, and make one more desperate eflfort to shake her resolution never to marry a man who was not a sincere follower of Christ. He loved her deeply, but he just as deeply hated her religion, and he felt that in making her his own, he should at once achieve a triumph over that religion, and secure the happiness he had so long coveted. But as he stood on the deck of the steamer in which he was to sail for New York, where ho intended to spend a few days before proceeding South, and heard on every hand the murmur of cheerful voices ; as he looked out upon the placid waters, and up to the glowing sky, ho realized that change, of itself, can give no release from torturing thought. He felt deeply conscious of being out of harmony, not only with bis surroondings, but with himself and the SOWING AND REAPING. 381 whole universe of God, and turning away he sought a retired place where he could nurse, undisturbed, his gloomy and dissatisfied thoughts. Presently a young man approached, evidently intent, like himselt', upon finding some quiet retreat, and taiving a seat not far from where he was standing, took from his pocket a small hook, and, opening it, was soon absorbed in its perusal. It was no ordinary face that engaged Doctor Leonard's attention for the next half-hour, and in which he felt himself every moment growing more and more interested. It was a pale, delicate face — one which bore unmistakable evidence of disease, yet one almost faultle.ss in outline ; the broad, white forehead, and the clear, spiritual eyes, bespoke a mind of the high- est order. " A student, no doubt," thought Dr. Leonard, as he turned away, und walked slowly up and down the deck, yet unable to quite withdraw his attention from the stranger, he could not go far away, and at length approaching him, he remarked with a smile : " You are very studious, sir ; may I ask what it is that engrosses you so much ? " " Certainly, sir," replied the stranger ; " do you read Greek ? " And, handing the doctor the little book, watched, with curious interest, the expression of his face, as he turned leaf after leaf, alternately glancing from the text to the pencilled notes along the margin, and back again to the text. " A Greek Testament," he said, at length, returning the book ; " it seems to possess a peculiar fascination for you ! I hope it is the inexhaustible riches of the grand old language in which it is written, rather than the stupid story it tells, that attracts you so much." Doctor Leonard felt, rather than saw, that those earnest eyes were searching his face with a sad, sur- prised expression ; he bore it for a few seconds, and then, looking round, said, with a forced laugh : " I see, sir, you are surprised, perhaps shocked, at my remarks ; but, if y )u arc, why, so be it ; I have only spoken what I feel 1 " 382 SOWING AND HEAPING. The stranger rose quickly, and, brinj^ing his chair in front of Doctor Leonard, opened his Greek Testai/ient, and layint; it on hi^ knee, entered at once, not into a defence of the Scriptures, but boldly and fearlessly assuming their truth, as a revelation from God, in a calm, earnest, and loving spirit, proceeded to unfoM to his listener the wondrous plan of salvation therein re- vealed, and to entreat him, as under the just condem- nation of the Divine law, to flee to Christ for refuge and eternal life. Doctor Leonard listened with amazement. It was the first time in his life that anyone had dealt with him thus. Instead of grappling with his objections, and seeking to match argument with argument, as others had done, the stranger quietly, but firmly, waived all controversy, and, turning from everything of the kind to God's Word, he preached to his surprised and attentive listener the cross, Christ crucified and risen from tlie dead, as the only hope of perishing men. From that hour the two young men were insepar- able ; and, long before they had reached New York, Doctor Leonard, almost without intending it, had opened his whole mind to his new friend, and heard from him, as something of which, till then, he had had no real comprehension, the Gospel of Christ in its ful- ness, in its simplicity, and in its complete adaptability to all the wants of man. " Do you stop in the city ? " said the doctor, as they two stepped upon the wharf. " No ; I proceed west by the first train." There was little time for conversation ; they ex- changed cards, with mutual assurances of interest each in the other, and premises to correspond ; and in a few minutes one was gliding swiftly away toward a distant goal and an early grave, the other, walking slowly and thoughtfully along the thronged streets of the city, with a strange, new gladness at his heart, as yet in- comprehensible to himself, but soon to be revealed to his consciousness as the perfect rest of faith in the finished work of Christ SO^ NO AND REAPING. 383 Soon a crowd of persons, moving toward the open door of a lar^^e hall, attracted his attention ; and he heard one say to another, "Will you come to the prayer-moeting ? " Instantly his resolution was taken, and he entered with the rest. The brief reading of the Scriptures, the sinjpjinjr of the hymns, the prayers that followed, the impiomj)tu bursts of praise, and then the brief but stirring recitals of individual experience ; how strangely, yet how sweetly they stirred his soul ! Now, a sailor rose to his feet, and told how God had found him far out upon the ocean, and had there put a new song into his mouth, even praise to His own holy name. Now, the son of a widowed mother, long a profligate and scoffer, told liow and when Christ had found him, and, lifting his feet up out of a horrible pit of miry clay, had set him upon the immovable rock. Now, a little child told in sweet, simple utterances of Jesus' love to him ; and now, a hoary-headed man, in faltering tones, and with many tears, told of the Divine iove which, even at the eleventh hour, had found him awa> off upon the mountains of unbelief, and brought him and set him among the sheep of His own flock. Suddenly, in the momentary hush which followed a burst of sacred song, a tall, manly form rose, and, while all listened with breathless attention, told a story of almost life- long unbelief and opposition to the truth ; of a little Bible, reluctantly accepted, and read under the pressure of a hastily-uttered promise to do so ; of the unrest, the hostility, the bitterness of spirit it had stirred up within him, in the heat of which he had fled from home, seeking relief in change of scene. Then he spoke of a pale stranger who, instead of seeking to match him in wordy argument, as so many others had, told him the simple story of the cross, at which he had long scoffed as something in which to beUeve was dishonoring to man's intellect, and stulti- fying to his reason ; who had fearlessly set before him 384 SOWING AND REAPING. his ruin, and held up to his gaze Jesus Christ crucified as the only hope and refuge of the perishing. Then he spoke tenderly yet joyfully of the hope, the trust, and the confidence he felt springing up in his soul, the sweet assurance that the Saviour, so lovingly set before him, had indeed revealed Himself to his faith as his Saviour from all sin ; and as he sat down, the whole assembly, as by one consent, burst forth into the grand old song, old, yet always new — " Praise CJod from whom nil blessings flow ! Pruiao Him all creatures here below ! Praise Him, above, ye heavenly host ! Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost \ " Then the large assembly quietly dispersed ; and amidst affectionate greetings and words of warm wel- come. Doctor Leonard passed out again into the busy city, with a calmness of mind and a sweet peace per- vading his whole being, to which he had hitherto been a total stranger. "I shall not attempt to fulfil the rash promise I made you, Miss Ellisson," so he said to Hope, a few hours later, in a letter which tilled all that quiet par- sonage with rejoicing, " for I know now somewhat of the power of prayer ; and I realize that it is in answer to the prayers of many earnest souls that I have been disarmed and brought, a willing captive to constrain- ing love, into the peaceful fold of the Great Shepherd. " I have just turned from the perusal of the story of the demoniac who, freed from his merciless tormen- tors, sat lovingly down at the feet of Jesus, clothed, and in his right mind ; and as I laid down the book I said, ' that is just a portraiture of myself ! ' " Not many days ago I rushed from the presence of Mr. Leeds like one goaded on by tormenting fiends, as doubtless I was. But Jesus met me in the way, showed me His love and His compassion, opened my blind eyes to see Him as He is, itnd now, like him of whom I have been reading, I can only sit at His feet and plead that I may be with Him forever ! " SOWING AND REAPING. 385 CHAPTER LVl. Mrs Green's promise to go to Gordon as quickly as the cars would take her, was literally fulfilled ; and as she stepped upon the platform at Weston, Gordon, to whom Hope had sent a telefjram to be expectincj her, was waiting to meet and conduct her to the old par- sonage. It had undergone many changes since she left it. The old foundation had been removed, and a more substantial one had taken its place ; partitions had been taken down, thus making larger and pleasanter rooms ; a suite of apartments had been added for Mrs. EUisson's private use; every window that commanded a view of Prairie House had been closed up; the whole interior had been freshly plastered or papered ; and there remained very little, either without or within, to remind one of what it had once been. Only one room was changed in nothing except in the freshness of a newly plastered wall and carpeted door; and that was the study. The little book-case stood in its old place, the books retained the same position as in former years, and the chairs and tables kept their old-time positions about the room. " This,'' said Gordon, " I could not have the heart to change. It is the only room that will speak to my sister of the past; and I hope the memories that cluster here will do her good ; the rest of the house will have little to remind her of what has been, or to awaken vain yearnings for what is not. " This room. Jack," he said, turning to his nephew, " was your grandfather's study. It was here your mother learned her alphabet at his knee ; and here I learned mine at hers; and here I used .to bring Hope when she was tired of play, and rock her to sleep in that old chair, in which, years before, your mother rocked me." " And where I will now rock myself by way of a 386 SOWING AND REAPING. change," said Jack, laughing and seating himself. "But what will you say, Uncle Gordon, if, in after years, I should make this my study as my grandfather did before me ? " " Why, bless your heart, child !" exclaimed Mrs. Green, turning sharply round, " don't you know your grandfather was a minister ? " " Of course I do, auntie ! " said Jack, his face sud- denly assuiT'ng a look of deep seriousness; "and what's to hi.^ier my being a minister too ? Mr. Har- vey told me only last night that he was beginning to feel thg need of a young arm to lean upon. You don't begin to know how mLcch work he gives me to do even now ! " Gordon watched with genuine amusement the vary- ing expressions of the good woman's face as she glanced first ac Jack and then at him, as if to ask what it all meant. At length he said quietly, " Jack is verj*^ fond of his old pastor, auntie, and his pastor of him, I think, for I often see them walking arm-in-arm from prayer- meetings and Sabbath-school to Mr. Harvey's study, where they spend long hours together. What will come of it I cannot certainly predict ; but I know this, that Jack seems bent upon thwarting my plan for his education ; and spends an hour or more every evening at the parsonage getting lessons in Greek and Latin." " Well, 1 know, if you don't!" said Mrs. Green, im- pressively, wiping away the tears that were already filling her eyes ; " I know just exactly what'll come of it. Oh, how little I ever dreamed of her son's becom- ing a preacher of the Gospel 1 Her son, his son ! " she added, in a half whisper, as she walked to a window. " I ain't never again goin' to limit the grace of God by my weak faith, if I can help it ! Our Jack a minister ! well, well, if that don't beat everything ! " In a few weeks the work of repairing and re-fur- nishing the cottage was finished, and Gordon had written to his sister that everything was ready for her arrival. SOWING AND REAPING. 38^ " No, my dear, I won't go to meet her," said Mrs. Green, in reply to Gordon's question ; " you and Jack will go, and I will just meet her here as quietly as possible. Poor, little dear, it'll be hard enough for her without me to witness her trouble ! No, I'll just stay and help Jane about supper; and see that everything is as comfortable and cheerful as it can be for her when she comes." The sun was sinking in the west when the train arrived ; and as Mrs. Eliisson, followed by her faithful Norah, stepped upon the platform, its almost level beams dazzled and blinded her for a moment, and before she had time to recover herself, her brother's arm was around her waist, and Jack was stooping to give hci his kiss of welcome. " This way, mother ! " he said, leading her to a carriage which was standing near; ai?,d, almost before she was aware, wnth Gordon and Jack on either side, and Norah and her parcels in front, she found herself rapidly driven away. So skilfully had all been managed, that they were out of town and whirling rapidly along the quiet country road before she fairly realized she had been in Weston; and at last, when the carriage halted before her old home, she looked at Gordon in surprise and asked : " Why, what place is this ? " * " Only our old home in a new dress. Amy ! " said vxordon, cheerfully, as he lifted her from the carriage ; and leaving Jack to look after Norah and her parcels, he led his sister through the gate, and ushered l^ dis- covered that for yourself weeks ago ! You haven't made as much capital as I have out of Leeds' fixing up the old cottage lately, and bringing his sister back to it ; of course he must set her up with some little show of style, poor thing, until other things are put in train for the great event ; all that, however, is just for the sake of appearances and nothing else. They all know what they're about, you may be sure of that ! " " Well, I must say you do see deeper into things than I pretend to ; but isn't it all clear enough ? I don't see how it is I have been so blind ! " " Nor I, either. I've seen through the whole thing from the first." , " As of course one might ! Well, all I have to say for the old doctor is, he's a precious fool ! He might marry any woman in Weston ; and now to go and take up with her — as poor as poverty, and as proud as she is poor ! But I've always said that all the fool of human nature comes out when a man makes up his mind to marry. EUisson proved it once, and now old Eberly is going to confirm it ! " 392 SOWING AND REAPING. While this conversation was j?oing on in one part of the busy town of Weston, quite a different one was in pro<(ress in the back pailor of a pleasant house not a stone's tlnow from Mr. Harvey's residence, where a group of girls of varying ages was assembled, each busy at work ; and as the nimble fingers plied deftly their several tasks, the quiet talk kept even flow with the busy hands, except that now and then a silvery laugh rippled musically above the undertone of talk, or some exclamation of " Isn't that sweet ! " " Isn't that just lovely ! " caused every 'read to turn, and every voice to chime in with the general buzz of admiration. " Wasn't it good of Mr. Harvey to tell us she's coming, and give us a chance for all this ? " said one ; " I wouldn't have missed it for anything ! " " Nor I," " Nor I," ran round the room, and still the busy hands worked on — some at bead-work or em- broidery, some at a dainty pair of slippers, and some at exquisite bits of point-lace ; while mats, otto- mans, rugs, tidies, and a dozen other pretty things, ornamental or useful, which ladies are so quick to devise and skilled to make, were to be seen lying about in every stage of incompleteness, or else finished and spread out to view on a large table in the centre of the room. " I'm so glad she's coming back," said one, holding up to the light a gossamer-like piece of point-lace she had just finished ; " I hope she'll be my teacher again. I was just a little girl when she went aw^ay, but I loved her more than any other teacher I ever had ! " " And I, too ! " said another. " But, Nellie dear, she can't teach us all, you know, for some of us will have to be teachers ourselves very soon," said one of the older girls, as she folded up the last piece of an elegant toilet set she had expended her highest skill upon ; " but we can all love her just the same ! " "Mr. Harvey," said Nellie Ames, a rosy girl of fifteen.iooking up from a " Welcome " she was weav* SOWING AND REAPING. 393 )lding le she Lgain. Ibut I Irl of reav- ing in the centre of a wreath of moss-roses and lilies of the valley, " said she would be sure to have the vounix ladies' Bible-class wljen she conies, and next year 1 am to be sent up, so of course she will be my teacher for ever and ever so long ! " " Do you know, girls," called out a new voice from a distant part of the room, "that Miss Wild and Miss Grey, who have just returned for good from Rock- bridge Seminary, are painting a pair of companion pictures for her dining-room ? My teacher says they are perfectly lovely ! " " Miss Wild and Miss Grey," replied another, " were in her very first class, so they told me. They were little bits of girls then, not bigger than Rosa Allen, here, but they love her dearly yet, as I wonder who doesn't that ever knew her as we did ! " And thus, through that long summer afternoon, the work went quietly on ; a labor of love for the coming of Hope, to whom such a reward would be as new as , it would be sweet and comforting ; and still the „ ripple of silvery laughter with its quiet undertone of talk kept even flow with the young fair hands, till the shadows, darkening round them, warned them it was time to disperse. " Here is something for you, my dear," said Mr. Leeds to his wife, about a week after the receipt of Hope's letter from Dr. Leonard. " It is from Laura, I see, and doubtless we may guess at its contents without risk of being very wide of the mark. I trust the bitter pain of those many years for both her and Leonard is now drawing to a close. Here, Hope, is a letter for you, too, and I am pretty sure it is the bearer of good tidings, for I have one from the same hand, giving what, doubtless, will be the most welcome item of news you could receive." Hope blushed deeply, as she took the letter, and hastened to her room to read it unobserved. Mrs. Leeds hastily broke the seal of her daughter's letter. It ran thus : 394 SOWING AND REAPING. "My dearest Mother, — I have many thin^js I want to tell you, but my heart is so full of thankfulness and joy that I scarcely know how to begin ; I will, how- ever, hasten to tell you what is of the deepest interest to me, well knowing it will be to both papa and yourself a source of gladness second only to my own. "Last Sabbath, when our pastor had finished his morning sermon, he came quietly down from the pulpit, and, without dismissing the congregation, said : •* * There is a gentleman present, well known to many of you, who earnestly requests Christian baptism at the close of this service. He does not shrink from telling his story thus publicly before the church and the congregation, and I have great pleasure, dear friends, in affording you this opportunity of hearing from his own lips of the gracious dealing of God with him. He needs no introduction here. You nearly all have known him as a gentleman of probity and high .intellectual attainment, but a radical and out-spoken - foe to Christianity. He comes now to tell yoD a new story, and to recommend to all, who were once like- minded with him in his hostility to Christ, the religion he once despised and denounced ; and I know the church will most heartily unite with me in bidding him welcome to its ordinances and its fellowship.' "He motioned the stranger to come forward; and now imagine, if you can, my surprise and joy to recog- nize in him no other than Doctor Leonard, whom, un- til that moment, I had believed to be following his customary pursuits in your town. " In his relation of Christian experience, he went back to his childhood, to impressions received at his mother's death-bed, and which, for some time, were deepened by sorrow for her loss. " Then came a long, sad story, the outlines of which you already know — and it is the history of thousands of young men — the fatal drifting away from truth to- ward error in its ten thousand forms, and which, in his case, as in that of many others, is the work, not of one year, but of many, until his early impressions were SOWING AND REAPING. 395 either stifled or wholly lest, and he was ready, boldly and defiantly, to avow his hostility to the Bible, and his contempt to the God whom it reveals, fondly be- lieving he had not only cut loose from Christianity and its restraints, but was never again to be fettered by its supposed delusions. " But at length, in an unguarded moment, he accepted a Bible from one of his patients — I now know from whom — and, with vain temerity, pledged himself, not only to read it, but to prove to her its powerlessness to change his opinions, as w jll as the powerlessness of her prayers to lead to his conversion. " He did read the book ; and the old unrest of soul, from which he had fancied himself forever set free, revived, and with it all the bitterness of which his nature was capable toward the religion it revealed. At length he resolved to travel for awhile, hoping that change would give him back his lost peace. " On the steamer in which he sailed for New York, he met a stranger — and, while he spoke of him, I think there was scarcely a dry eye in all that congregation — who, without wasting one precious moment in useless controversy, into which Doctor Leonard had always been able to draw others, and in which he had ever taken such pride, he boldly and fearlessly told him of his ruin, and the just condemnation that rested upon him ; and, with a faithfulness and tenderness never to be forgotten, pointed him to Christ as an All-SufRcient Saviour. " In New York they parted, probably to meet no more on earth ; but, for him, the meshes of unbelief were rent away ; the spell with which Satan had so long held him was broken ; and he went on his way, rejoicing in his newly found freedom. " Then followed his baptism, an event which brought joy to every Christian heart present; but oh, my mother ! can you imagine what it was to me, who had waited and prayed for it until both faith and hope — I blush to say it — had well-nigh died out of my heart, and I was fast yielding to the dreadful belief that he 396 SOWING AM) HEAPING. was going to drift farther and farther from the truth, until, at last, his feet would slide into irrevocable ruin. Dear mother, if you and papa loved and e-steemed Richard so truly when he was an enemy to Christ, how much more will you now, when he is meek and lowly in heart, a true and sincere believer, and, like Paul, a bold defender of the truth he once despised ! " And now, my darling mother, you have, I am sure, already divined what is soon to follow this blessed event. I have resigned my position in the academy, and in about a month you may expect me at home. " Richard will leave to-morrow for the North, and be with you in a few days ; my coming must be delayed until the new teacher, who is to take my place, is a little familiarized with her work. Richard will make you acquainted with our plans, although you will already have anticipated them, " Knowing that you and dear papa will rejoice with us in all we look forward to, and trusting to see you very soon, I remain, as ever. .. y<,„, „„„ lauea." " And here is another face that is eloquent of good news ! " said Mr. Leeds, as Hope took her place at the tea-table. '* Read this, my love," said Mrs. Leeds, handing her Laura's letter, " and you will find the sequel of the little story of your Bible, over the return of which you grieved so much." Hope took the letter, and with a deep flush handed her own to Mrs. Leeds, saying, as she did so, " and you shall read mine, dear Mrs. Leeds ; it is only due to you and Mr. Leeds that I should give you my fullest con- fidence." An hour later Mrs. Leeds read the letter quietly with her husband ; while Hope, with a heart overflow- ing with gratitude, was reading another W^hich told her of the double joy which had come so unexpectedly to two lives in which she had long been deeply in- terested, and of the almost equally unexpected answer to her own prayer. SOWING AND REAPING. 397 "And so our Gordon is cominjr .soon!" said Mr. Leeds, as his wife replaced the letter in the envelope. " Well, he has waited lonjjf and j5atiently for his ' little love,' as he always calls her, and I'm sure his weary waiting will be amply rewarded in the possession of such a treasure ! " There was not much sleep that nijrht for Mr. and Mrs. Leeds and Hope ; the former, too happy in a happiness which so nearly affected their own home and hearts, were wakeful for joy and thankfulness; while Hope's unselfish thoughts were occupied less with her own sweet hopes, so rapidly nearin^ their fruition, than with the sorrows of the lonely heart- stricken mother, far away in the old parsona^je at Weston ; and among her most fondly cherished hopes that night, was that of soon being able to shed some gleams of sunshine over her desolate and blighted old age. "And there, too, is dear Jack," she thought, "my own only brother ! what a joy it is to know that his purposes are settled for a noble and useful life ! that he is not going to float for a number of years aim- lessly on with the current of events, ready to take any direction it may give him ; but with comprehensive and far-reaching aims, is starting out in his early youth for an earnest and useful life." CHAPTER LVIII. It was a quiet morning in the dreamy month of October, when the hills were sleeping in the. uncertain purple of autumn, and the woodlands were flushed with her richest and rarest tints, and while a cloud- less sun was pouring its softened beams through the blue haze of an Indian-summer sky, that the four young persons whose history we have so long followed, stood side by side in Mrs. Leeds' pleasant drawing- room, and were united in marriage bonds. This double marriage did not take place as a pre- 398 SOWING AND REAPING. arranged event, but came to pass through one of those happy coincidences which not unt're(|uently occur in life, and are none the le.ss pleasant b(!ca>ise seemingly accidental. Gordon had arrived just the evening after Miss Hastings reached home ; and as it was necessary that he should return to Weston with as little delay as pos- sible, it was settled that the marriage of herself and Dr. Leonard should take place at the sauie time with that of Gordon and Hope. Acccordingly, on the morning of the fourth day after his arrival, the minister's family assembled to witness an event which was to till every heart present with gladness. There was no parade of dress, no osten- tatious display of the trappings of wealth — for not one of the little company was rich, in the modern sense of the word but all were happy; and as the two fair brides, in their soft gray travelling dresses, took their places beside the men they so truly revered and loved, we may well believe that neither of the happy husbands, as he looked into the face of his bride, wasted an instant in regrets that diamonds and gold and costly laces had no place in her simple and tasteful attire. The wedding breakfast differed in very little from what was ordinarily served at the minister's table, and the conversation was even more subdued and quiet than usual, for all felt deeply that in a few hours their happy circle was to be broken, and one who had long been in the minister's family as a brother and son was, with the sweet bride whom they loved scarcely less than he, to leave them for a distant home, in all the coming years to be but rare and occasional guests in their houses. Breakfast over, Mr. Leeds engaged in prayer, com- mending all, especially the two who were going to leave them in a few short hours, to the gracious care and keeping of God ; and then they all walked to the pretty cottage, not a hundred yards away, which Dr. Leonard had made ready for his bride, there to spend SOWING AND REAPING. 399 the remaininj^ time until the hour arrived for Gordon and Hope to leave for their weHtern home. After some time spent in conversation, and looking over and admiring Laura's pleasant new home, and its simple but tasteful furnishings, a family prayer-meet- ing was proposed. " It is only meet," said Mr. Leeds, " that d portion of the time that remains before we are separated should be devoted to the worship of Him who has given us this auspicious day— a day so long