This is truly a sad house. Scarcely a sound is to be heard in it from morning to night. The door bells are m.u.f.fled, and the outer gates are barred; no carriage enters the enclosure, and even neighbors and friends, who come to inquire, tread lightly as they pa.s.s round to the back door. We meet and pa.s.s each other in the halls, or sit at table one at a time, often in the vain attempt to eat; but we dare not trust ourselves to speak, our hearts are too full. Each of us pour out in secret the overflowings of a burdened heart. We cannot even meet around the family altar. G.o.d, who reads our thoughts, knows our only hope is in his rich mercy, and that, from morning till night, our desires go forth to Him in whose hand life and death are.

For several days our darling, precious sister has lain at the point of death; and we have no well-grounded hope of her preparation to meet her G.o.d. Oh, dreadful thought! It is this which makes our hearts sink within us. Surely, "the sting of death is sin." If we could feel that Emily, _dear Emily_, was prepared to die, I think I could say, "it is well;"

but my heart cries out with Esther, "How can I endure to see the destruction of my kindred!" O, may G.o.d, in infinite compa.s.sion, restore our darling to reason, ere she goes hence to be here no more! She has lain for two days unconscious of all around her. I dare not ask Frank whether there is hope. There is none in his pale, mournful face.

_Friday, August 21st._

Dearest mother, rejoice with us! We are permitted to hope. My own dear Frank, who had not left the sick room for many weary hours, came noiselessly out of it this morning; advanced toward mother and myself who sat silently hand in hand, awaiting the long feared, and long expected summons.

"Can you command your feelings?" he asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. We bowed our a.s.sent. He led us to the bed-side of the pale sufferer, where, with emotions of joy and grat.i.tude which I cannot describe, we saw her, ghastly and pale indeed, but in a calm and natural slumber.

With a finger on his lip, Frank pointed to the sweet expression of the mouth, and the calm serenity of the brow, which had taken the place of the previous signs of intense suffering. Leaving the sympathizing nurse with her, we stole softly from the room. I wanted to get into the air.

My heart was swelling within me, and the tears, which I had forced back, were choking me. Frank accompanied us to the library, where we knelt together to express our grat.i.tude and praise.

How easy now to feel submissive to the will of G.o.d! When we arose, mother clasped her son's hands in hers, and burst into a flood of tears; the first she has shed. I know they will relieve her poor bursting heart. I feel that if Emily is restored to health and reason, I can never again be unhappy. I love every body. I want to sing--I want to scream for joy! I must have my sweet Pauline home, and relieve myself by embracing her. She has been with Miss Proctor every day for a week, only returning at night.

_Sat.u.r.day, August 22d._

Emily recognizes us. We have been in one at a time. She looked at us sweetly, and smiled. "O, Emily!" I even carried Pauline to her room, who just pointed her little finger at aunty, but did not speak.

The Doctor allows not a word of conversation. Now mother has been in, she will not leave, though Frank tells her the nurse can do much better.

Her pale, anxious countenance will do his patient no good.

_Monday, August 24th._

Still encouraging prospects! For the first time since Emily's sickness, Frank pa.s.sed an undisturbed and quiet night. Strange as it may appear, my mind has been so occupied with sister's immediate danger, I have never thought to inquire of her brother where he found her. It now appears that the young woman, he mentioned in his hurried note to me, was in reality the insane wanderer. But he lost all trace of her after dark, and was about to return home in despair of success in that quarter, when he overheard two women talking earnestly at the door of a house. His attention was arrested by hearing one of them say, "She is every inch a lady." The reply was in a lower tone.

"Well, I can't tell as to that," added the first speaker; "Here she is, away from all her folks, and what is to be done with her?"

Frank says, his heart sprang into his mouth as he rode up to them, and asked if they had seen or heard anything of a lady who had escaped from her friends in a sudden fit of insanity.

"She is here! she is here!!" they both exclaimed.

Frank speedily made arrangements for a driver, and for shawls to wrap around the poor girl, who was alternately shivering with cold or consumed with heat.

_Tuesday Morning, September 1st._

The nurse left us this morning. She was summoned to a family where she had been previously engaged, and we could not detain her. Mother, Miss Proctor, and I take her place. We succeed admirably. Each of us take our turn in sleeping on a couch beside the bed. Frank wished to take my place, but I decidedly refused. He is often called out during the night; and though he says he is used to it, yet I know he needs sleep when he can get it.

Emily requires but little attention. Only toast-water or arrowroot once in a while. She sleeps most of the time.

I rode to-day with Frank to see Caroline, who fails very fast. I was shocked to observe the alteration. She longs to depart, and wished the Doctor, when he was about to pray, to ask G.o.d to give her patience to wait her appointed time. Her mother appears deeply affected, and when Frank addressed a few words of consolation to her, she wept aloud. Then, after a short pause, "I am willing to give up my beloved daughter, if it is G.o.d's will; but it comes so suddenly upon me, I am not prepared for it."

As we pa.s.sed Squire Lee's, I begged my husband to stop and let me speak to Lucy. Mrs. Burns came to the carriage and said if I would alight and go into the parlor, she would take Lucy's place with her father, and request her to come down. I imagined the dear girl looked happier than she did when I saw her last. She said "Though my sad duty at home has prevented my going to you in your trouble, yet I have constantly thought of you."

Joseph is still away, and the Squire continues about the same; but Lucy hopes he will soon be better, as he takes neither wine, nor brandy. It was melting to me to hear her speak of him with such affection. What a dutiful heart he has trampled upon!

When I returned to the carriage, I asked Frank what he thought of the old gentleman's case.

"If he abstains entirely from the use of stimulants," he replied, "he may live for years. But his mind is very much enfeebled, and probably he will not be able to transact any business, hardly to leave the house.

Any sudden excitement would terminate his life. This I have tried to impress upon Lucy and the servants."

"Dear girl," I replied, "she seems perfectly happy in devoting her life to the comfort of her miserable father."

"Yes," added the Doctor, "and G.o.d will reward her."

CHAPTER XIII.

"The peace which pa.s.seth all understanding disclosed itself in all her movements. It lay on her countenance like a steady unshadowed moonlight." COLERIDGE.

_Thursday, September 3d._

We a.s.sisted Emily up into her chair to-day while Ann put fresh linen upon the bed. How she has changed! What a softened, subdued look there is about her! Mother was the first to notice it. Sister is very grateful for every attention, and has asked us to forgive her for causing us so much anxiety. Yesterday she called her brother to the bed, and asked him in a low voice if it would be too much trouble to call the servants to her room, and have prayers there. He was much affected during the service, while Caesar and Phebe sobbed audibly. She spoke to each one as they pa.s.sed out of the room in a most affectionate manner.

_Sabbath, September 6th._

I have been to church all day. I intended to remain with sister this afternoon, but at her special request her brother staid with her, and I went again with mother. A note was read requesting prayers for Caroline Leighton, lying at the point of death; that she might have the presence of her Saviour through the dark valley, and arrive safely at her heavenly home. This was her own dictation. Such notes are common here, and I think very appropriate and salutary.

When I returned from church and was pa.s.sing into Emily's room, Frank came out and led me to my boudoir. His eyes were inflamed as if he had been weeping. He sat down by me when I had laid off my bonnet, and said softly, "I know, dear Cora, that you will join me in giving G.o.d the praise, for salvation has come to this house." He then told me that soon after we left, Emily requested him to bring the Bible to the side of the bed, and read the parable of the prodigal son. He did so, and read in a low tone until he came to the eighteenth verse, when she interrupted him, and with her eyes closed, and her hands clasped as if in prayer, she repeated the words, "I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy child." She remained in the same att.i.tude for a few moments, when she put her hand into her brother's, saying, "dear Frank, G.o.d, my Heavenly Father, has forgiven me." He sank down by her side and buried his face in his hands. "Dear brother," she whispered after a short pause, "will you ask G.o.d to enable me to consecrate my life to his service?--My life, which has been heretofore worse than wasted." It was some time before he could pray audibly, though his whole soul was filled with grat.i.tude and praise. He had subsequently some delightful conversation with her, in the course of which she exhibited evidence of a regenerate heart.

_Wednesday, September 9th._

I have been with my dear husband this afternoon to attend the funeral of Caroline Leighton, who died on Monday evening full of peace and trust in her Saviour. Her last words were uttered but half an hour before she expired, and were, "For I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day." She had previously left messages of love for all her friends, together with some little parting token of affection. She begged her father to tell the Doctor what comfort and joy she had experienced in her dying hour; and when he suggested that she should send her thanks for all his attention both to her spiritual and temporal wants, she looked up to him with a smile, and said, "tell him no thanks of mine can repay him, but G.o.d will reward him." With a true refinement of feeling she presented me with a little collection of hymns which Frank had given her, and in which she had marked those which best expressed her feelings.

"Oh, Death!

Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee--but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey."

_Thursday, September 10th._

Frank is trying to arrange his business for a journey with me as soon as he can leave Emily, who gains daily. A very free conversation pa.s.sed between her and mother, relative not only to the new feelings and hopes which fill her soul; but also to her affection for Mr. Benson. On the latter of these subjects, she has heretofore maintained the most rigid reserve, excepting only the pa.s.sionate expressions which I heard. Since that interview a new tie seems to be formed between them. Mother no longer feels obliged to restrain the outward manifestation of affection for her child, while sister in her softened, subdued state heartily reciprocates her feelings and expressions.

_Sat.u.r.day, September 12th._

I went yesterday with the Doctor to make a call upon Mrs. Dr. Clapp.

From a variety of reasons I have been prevented from calling early, as I intended; but with these reasons both the Doctor and his wife were well acquainted. They have rented a little bird cage of a house, where the young bride performs the offices of cook, house-keeper and chambermaid.

The proud husband, who is still so unfortunate as to have plenty of leisure, showed us all their conveniences, and evidently thought himself the happiest man, and his wife the dearest woman in the country. She is obviously a keeper at home, shrinking like a sensitive plant from contact with strangers, but unfolding and expanding in the congenial atmosphere of home, and home friends. No doubt the grateful Doctor had set forth in glowing terms "the unprecedented kindness of Dr. Lenox."