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Chapter XXVIII.

It has previously been mentioned that, for a time, Nellie had cut herself off from any communication with her native town. She had several reasons for so acting; the predominating one being to save herself, as much as possible, the constant remembrance of her previous pain. It was cowardly of her no doubt; the better part would have been to wrestle with those sorrows, as she had wrestled with the greater ones of her heart, they were only external troubles after all, and as down to spikes when compared with the internal conflicts. But do not expect too much from her, remember she is but mortal, with mortal weaknesses; remember she had been cut to the quick of her soul with the awful knife of Remorse, and she was now letting her blood fall into the basin "Too Late." Perhaps now that you have seen into her heart, you will understand why that Radiant Presence, which bore her away and "placed her in the arms of one of his own," should have spared her make her own defence, using those precious words: "I remember that you are but dust." It must also be understood that Nellie was no heroine; no superhuman being imbued in the womb with those sterling qualities which characterise the heroine. Indeed, judging from the external evidences, she was almost the reverse. Her childhood had by no means been free of those little deceptions and vice buds, which, according to the wise, disclose in the child the man, or as is in this case, the woman. Her character had to be fashioned, and beaten, and moulded; and being in the Good Potter's Hands, page 336was neither over-wrought nor underdone. It is not the fierce blaze of Celestial Striving, nor the steady accumulating of Terrestrial Burrs, which irregulates the working; it is the clashing of the two; the descent from Celestial Plains, to wrangle with Terrestrial Burrs. The mortal feels no intellectual strivings within, if walking on the broad road of Immortal Ignorance and Indifference; neither does the God-intoxicated Being, whose intellect lies in celestial raptures, feel the heaving and piling up of the earth beneath, and of the air just above the earth. But let the one descend, and the other ascend, and see what a confusion and strife floods the intellect of man. See what a mighty chaos of darkness and light, of weakness and strength, of motion and cessation, of hope and despair, of Christian faith and heathen despotism, rage in that small brain casket. It was but natural to her heritage of humanity that Nellie should seek, as much as possible, to walk free of the burrs while her brow was, on its journey to the Eternal Calm, passing through the Ether. Perhaps, with those Bird Judges, many are saying that she had no business to leave her home when trouble filled its four walls. You are right; she should never have left her home had she been Immortal and sojourning with Sister Spirits; but as she was Mortal, and a very mortal mortal at that, she possessed Mortal's limit to endurance, besides—but more of this anon.

Naturally enough Mrs. Remay felt not a little anxious at the arrival of two letters from Bonsby. She did not know the ins and outs of everything, but she sympathized with the emotions of the young girl, and she knew that the absence of the Bonsby mail was through Nellie's instigation. She had been sorely tempted to suppress those letters until she had investigated their contents. She did not care to see the girl so excited and feverish, and she was fearful of adding to her heightened tempera-page 337ture. Indeed when, on the night before, and that morning, she chanced to look at her neice's face, her heart grew still with a nameles dread, and her questions regarding that death bed froze on her lips. For many days past, nay, many weeks, ever since that penitent confession, which had drawn Aunt and Neice so much closer together, she had been filled with a strange sensation, which held in its nothingness a something. Now that something took shape; and, with half doubting, horrified eyes, she gazed at its spiritual form. It may be that from the ashes of Nellie's great sorrow there sprung up the embryo of a mortiferous disease.

There was something so uncanny beautiful, so Heaven-inspired in the large glance of the deep dark eyes, something so softly lovely in the expression of the peaceful mouth, some strange nobility about the grace and dignity of her every movement and word; that Mrs. Remay trembled while she gazed; fearing the very beauty she and her husband strove to teach, vaguely understood, and yearned to grasp. The promptings of Nellie's humanity seemed to be uttered in the Light of Eternity; and that Light hung about them as they floated to earth, making her actions appear mystical and absurd to those among whom her mortality moved. And once, when the bright sunshine was playing on the waters, and a brighter beam danced on her brow, and the whispering silence of spirits was around her, and the great eyes rested on the lambent sparkle of all, she sighingly turned, and in that brief glance, which was momentary and fleeting, and cast on her aunt's mortality, Mrs. Remay saw the golden blaze of the Homeland Lights. It seemed indeed, as Nellie had once said: "I feel that the travelling will be early. There is no night for me. I have passed through the only night of the soul. Already the Setting, which is but the con-page 338tinued radii of the Rising, rests upon my brow; while around my waist I feel the pressure of my silvery moonbeam girdle."

No wonder Mrs. Remay hesitated when she saw this strange new emotion stirring her niece's being. Could it be the visible beginning of that mystical continuation? Then she remembered that two odd numbers made an even; that the properties of one poison, when applied to the properties of another, often had the effect of destroying the lethal germs of both. She applied the antiseptic, and, from her secluded seat in the garden, she watched its effect upon her patient.

How still and motionless that white-robed figure. It might be cold and dead for all the life it displayed. And the half-reclining posture—had she sunk to sleep while under the incubation? Ah! no; for presently the stiffened limbs began to relax; their rigidity thawed; and the patient arose, and, lifting her eyes, gazed long into the great blue heavens. In her hands she clasped the crushed casket of the restorative. Then slowly she turned, and slowly, quietly, made her way into the soul-inhabited solitude of her room. The day faded; the minister returned from his pastoral visitations; the lamps were lit; for once for many a long day husband and wife supped alone.

"We are going to have tea by ourselves to-night, Nole," said Mrs. Remay, in answer to her husband's enquiring look. "Nellie is tired. She has had a great deal of excitement lately. Sit down, and I will tell you what I know, which is very little."

So they sat down and conversed long and earnestly about the events of the past two days. Dear loving souls! May the angels of God encamp round about you always, as they do to-night, while your hearts beat so lovingly toward the lonely little figure just above your heads. In the shadows page 339yonder I see a radiant hand place in your rainbow diadem a Small White Stone of priceless value, bearing in its transparent depths a name which only angels and spirits can read.

Tea over, they adjourned to the library, and continued their uninterrupted conversation, making the air rich and fragrant with kind suggestions and intentions regarding their more than daughter's welfare.

In the midst of a happy speculation, a gentle tap was heard, and a little white face with great dark eyes appeared in the doorway. "Am I disturbing you, uncle?" said a sweet firm voice.

"No, no, child; certainly not. Come in," answered Mr. Remay, rising and offering a chair with the courtesy and grace that looked so well, and which gave his aged form that humble dignity that claimed reverence from even the froward. Nellie sank into the seat, and for a few moments remained silent, her hands clasped, and her eyes bent thoughtfully on the empty grate. During that interval Mrs. Remay watched the girl's face through her half-closed lashes. There is a peculiar faculty in the human intellect which is, perhaps, a little difficult to explain, although it is by no means uncommon. It is agitated, in the first place, by a certain attribute, such as a turn of the head, a peculiar drooping of the eyelids, or such like, of the being of our contemplation. As time passes, and we become accustomed to the face, we forget the impression made upon us by that attribute; perhaps (for a very good reason) there is nothing in the face or form to keep alive that impression. Yet it must be understood that within us the faculty lies asleep. Long afterwards the dormant faculty may suddenly be awakened by the reappearance of that attribute; and with the reawakening of the faculty, returns also the remembrance of the circumstance which occasioned the appearance of the attribute. To speak more plainly:—In my intercourse with page 340my fellow men I make a new acquaintance. It need not necessarily be a new acquaintance; it might be a friend. We do not meet again for some time; and in the meanwhile a great calamity has fallen upon him. When we meet again, in the first glance I discover that attribute. There is a something about the person which betrays the working of the soul. I knew the nature of the calamity; knew the fortitude with which it had been met; and guessed the rest. From that time I saw the face continually, but it had lost that attribute. It had resumed its ordinary expression, and I forgot all about the circumstance, Years afterwards, that latent faculty within me is again awakened by the reappearance of that attribute. Although as yet I know nothing of the nature of the present calamity, I know there must be one; and I know also that it has been met with the same fortitude and success as its predecessor. My thoughts naturally turn to the former occasion; and that particular string of my intellect plays its own weird tune.

This is precisely what took place in Mrs. Remay's mind, as she scanned the young face before her. There was in Nellie's bearing that peculiarity which recalled to her remembrance the circumstances of its former appearance. And by the reappearance of that peculiarity she understood what as yet was unexplained. Naturally enough, her thoughts returned to the former occasion, and her heart grew strong with its hope. She saw two figures standing on a curved shining beach—a lady and a child. The waves were advancing and receeding, and lashing and breaking, with all their restless regularity. Stooping, the child lifted a piece of weed that lay at her feet, and threw it into the boiling surf. Backward and forward that tiny weed was borne. The anger of the waves increased. How dare this mite do battle against their giant strength? Fiercer and fiercer grew the fight, the weed slowly and silently advancing; the howling roaring page 341waves lashing it back again and again. But the mighty waves were spent, and the weed was calmly triumphant. Disgusted with the whole encounter, the foaming enemy lifted the quiet victor upon its crest, and tossed it into the great blue calm beyond.

The lady looked down at the child beside her. "What are you thinking of, little one?" said she, gently stroking the sunburnt cheek.

"I don't know. Yes, I do. But—but—Can you tell a think, lady?" With the perplexity of the last question, the attribute had vanished.

"Not always, dear. I am afraid few can." Then the child ran down to the waters and sported with their curling waves.

When childhood's uncertain utterances had given place to woman's purely pronounced words, the thought found a way of expression. One day, as they two were seated together, engaged in the sweet communion of saints, the woman-child, now a child-woman, lifted her great eyes to the lady's face, and in her earnest tones said, "O aunt, how like floating weeds are our Christian lives. By an Invisible Hand we are placed into the waters of an unknown ocean. And, oh! the thrilling delight of our new element. We gaze across the sea with scornful pride. With a single bound we are going to reach our haven; living, always living, in the intoxication of this new delight. Short-lived pride! Too soon the rising tide envelops us; too soon we are swallowed up But we appear again. We rise, impelled by an under-current. Then back to the shore we are cast, where, upon our knees, we struggle to beat off the hideous mixture of Carnal Sand and Spiritual Water. The under-current again lifts us, and bears us onward; and at last, over the great foaming breakers we are cast, and into the calm ocean we now float, until the form of our mortality becomes immortal, and we sink to rest beneath page 342our wave-washed sky. And O, auntie, that rest! Not the dead and silent rest of the grave. In the grave there may be less tranquility than on the earth. It is the Rest I feel now. The Rest that thrills my being, and awakens within me new worlds, new lives, new wildernesses of thought."

"My child shall win," murmured Mrs. Remay, as her eyes rested proudly on the fair face. "Victory leads on to victory."

Nellie's voice disturbed her quiet musings; and soon the three were engaged in an earnest consultation. At last Nellie lifted her head from her hands, whither she had let it fall for a few moments, and looked quietly, sadly at her uncle.

"You approve of my going? I could send, you know, but I hardly think it would be right."

"I entreat you to hasten, my child," said Mr. Remay, in a broken voice; "although God knows the separation will be hard to bear."

Nellie did not attempt to speak cheerfully; she was too broken in spirit herself. "When does the boat leave, uncle?" she asked.

"To-morrow evening."

"So soon? O, my child! my child! How shall I bear this wrench? The thought of it is killing me." Mrs. Remay flung her arms around the girl and pressed her passionately to her bursting heart, the tears streaming down her cheeks. For a moment Nellie was thrown off her guard, and sobbed liked a baby. But a fierce battle had to be fought, of which this was but the shadow; so, casting aside her grief as she would a cumbrance, she stood up calm and firm, and sternly ready for the conflict. In that painful parting, she alone, who really had the most cause for distress, was serene and cheerful. The same indomitable will, which for a time had lain asleep in the Arbour of Ease, sustained page 343her and gave her peace. With her uncle she arranged about everything concerning her departure. She left a few instructions, regarding her work, with her aunt. She charged them both to say good-bye to all the friends among whom she had been so peacefully happy; and then for the first time her voice shook a little. She arose and stood just before the two dear hearts—dearer to her by far than was her own.

"My aunt, my uncle," she cried, a world of love and tenderness shining in her earnest eyes. "My more than parents, How can I ever thank you for all you have been to me? To-night I feel so small, so weak, as I stand in the light of your own good natures. I have prayed that you might learn to love me. I have striven to be worthy of your love. I have twined my heart about yours until I feel I cannot stand alone. Is it wrong to pray for love? Twice I have asked and received; and twice I have had to renounce it. No! no! Not renounce my love, but renounce myself. My love for you will never fade. It shall be placed in the same casket that holds my father's. I never asked for my father's love, but I got it; and when I got it, I did not know how to use it." Then, throwing herself upon her knees, she took the hands of both in a yearning clasp. "Have I caused you one moment of regret? From the depth of my heart I plead forgiveness. Oh, forget my failings, and love me for my love."

What could they do but pet her? What could they say but that they loved her? Ere they separated on this their last night together for many many days, they knelt down and committed their ways unto their God. And the voice of the aged grew deep and mellow as he pleaded for Divine grace and blessing on this their wandering daughter.

The next day was too full of preparations to allow much indulgence in grief, and only once Mrs. Remay failed in her fortitude. It was when they three sat down to dinner, and page 344the kind loving heart pictured the lonely meal of the morrow. Two wilful tears forced their way down her cheeks and fell into her plate; and to hide her emotion she had to pretend there was something in the kitchen wanting her attention. Her husband and Nellie tried to look as if they did not suspect what was the matter, and succeeded admirably by feeling very sheepish. In the afternoon, Mrs. Remay and Nellie drove away from home, one never to come back again. Mr. Remay was to meet them by-and-by.

"You are sure you do not mind my going alone, auntie?" said Nellie, as they bowled along the dusty road.

"I would not go with you, dear. It would be wrong of me to wish to come. People speak more freely when there is not a third party listening. I shall let you down at Mrs. May's gate. You can walk the remainder of the way, as you will need to find the place by following my directions. Then we shall meet again, and all go down to the wharf together." She drew up, and the girl alighted, and stood for a few moments watching the little hooded gig as it drove quietly up a winding gravelled carriage drive and disappeared behind a clump of tall green trees. Then Nellie turned, and quietly threaded her path alone.