At length, one day, the minister came, and as he walked up the steps of the front piazza, those who caught sight of his face, saw that it was pale and agitated, and that he looked as if important matters for him were at stake. And he asked for Emily. There was no bright blush in her cheek now as she descended the stairs; it was pale and cold as marble.

The interview was a long one, and when at length Mr. Malcolm mounted his horse and rode slowly away, his face was as white as when he came, but the look of suspense and expectation had pa.s.sed away, and in its place was that of settled and fixed despair. Emily went to her room, and to her bed, which she did not leave for some days; when she again appeared in the family she was calm and sweet as ever, but a shade more pensive.

And the young minister came no more. That was all.

He was sometimes seen in the distant road riding rapidly by, to or from the Hemlocks, but though the horse from long custom, invariably turned his head towards Mr. Wharton's lane, he was not permitted to follow his inclinations, but was speedily hurried by.

And Emily grew paler and thinner day by day, and there was sometimes a contraction about the brow which told of intense suffering; and sometimes, early in the evening she would leave the parlor, and not appear again for the remainder of the evening. On one of these occasions Agnes followed her, as she had observed the deadly paleness of her countenance, and feared she would faint before she reached her room. As Emily ascended the stairs, Agnes thought she heard groans, as of one in extreme pain. Emily closed her door and Agnes stood upon the outside; and now the groans were plainly to be distinguished.

"Cousin Emily," Agnes called, "dear cousin Emily, may I come in?"

There was no answer, but those same deep groans and now and then a plaintive moaning. Agnes opened the door gently, and saw Emily upon her knees, and yet writhing as if in intense agony. She seemed to be trying to pray, and Agnes caught the words, "Oh, for strength, for strength to endure this agony, and not to murmur."

Putting her arm around her, Agnes said: "What is it, cousin Emily? Can you not tell _me_?"

Emily started at finding that she was not alone, and then said:

"Help me to rise, Agnes, and hand me those drops. I am glad that it is you: better you than any of the others. Fasten the door, Agnes."

Emily reclined upon the sofa, weak and exhausted, the cold beads of perspiration standing on her brow. Agnes sat in silence beside her, holding her thin white hands in hers. At length Emily said:

"Agnes, I try to be patient; I make an endeavor even to be cheerful; but I am indeed a great sufferer, and the anguish I endure seems, at times, more than mortal frame can bear. It is only by escaping to the solitude of my own room, to endure the agony in secret, that I am enabled to keep it to myself. I am obliged to practice evasion to escape aunty's anxious interrogatories; for, in her present state of health, I would not for the world cause her the anxiety and trouble which the knowledge of my sufferings would bring upon her."

Then, with frequent pauses for rest, Emily told the weeping Agnes _all_.

"And now," said she, "dear Agnes, you are very young for scenes like this; but I know that you possess uncommon nerve and courage. Can you, do you think, sit by my side, and hold my hand through a painful operation? I _can_ endure it alone, dear, and I intended to; but as accident has revealed my sufferings to you, I feel that it would be a comfort to me to have my hand in that of one I love at that time."

"I _think_ I can, cousin Emily. I believe I could do _anything_ for you, dear cousin Emily."

"I do not want aunty and uncle to know of this till it is all over, Agnes. They go to the Springs to-morrow, to remain some days, as you know: and I have arranged with Dr. Rodney to come while they are gone, and bring a surgeon from the city, and it will all be over before they return."

"And is there no _danger_, cousin Emily?"

"Danger of what, dear?--of death? Oh yes; the chances are many against me; and even if the operation is safely performed, it may not arrest the disease. But to one who suffers the torture which it is the will of Heaven that I should bear, speedy death would only be a happy release.

And yet, Agnes, do not misunderstand me; I would not for the world do anything to shorten my life of suffering. Oh no! 'All the years of my appointed time will I wait till my change come.' The course I am going to pursue is advised by the physicians, and it may be the means of restoration to health, at least for some years. Agnes, pray for me."

When Mrs. Wharton kissed Emily for good-bye, and told her to be a good girl, and take care of her health, she little imagined the suffering through which her gentle niece was to pa.s.s before they met again. No one dreamed of it but Agnes.

The next day, in answer to a message from Emily, the physicians came.

They found her courageous and cheerful; for she was sustained by an arm all-powerful. Strength was given to her for the day and the occasion; a wonderful fort.i.tude sustained her; and the precious promise was verified to her--"When thou goest through the waters, I will be with thee."

And Agnes, who sat with one hand over her eyes, and the other clasping that of Emily, knew only by a sudden and long-continued pressure of the hand that the knife was doing its work. There was not a groan--only one long-drawn sigh--and it was over; and the result was better than their most sanguine hopes.

Mrs. Wharton returned, after an absence necessarily prolonged to some weeks. She found Emily sitting on the sofa, looking much as she had done when they parted; and it was not till long afterward that she discovered what had been the cause of Emily's illness, and learned how much she had endured. She understood many things now which had been mysteries to her before, realizing, in some degree, the torment of mind and body through which this gentle one had pa.s.sed, and the reason of the bidding down of the tenderest feelings of her heart.

Poor Emily! None but He who seeth in secret had known the agony which wrung thy loving heart to its very depths, causing even the keen torture of physical suffering to be at times forgotten. But He can, and He _does_, give strength for the occasion, whatever it may be, and however sore the trial; and leaning on His arm, His people pa.s.s securely through fires of tribulation, which, in the prospect, would seem utterly unendurable, and come out purified, even as gold from the furnace.

X.

The Tutor and the Pupil.

"Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert."--HENRY VI.

Mr. Wharton had endeavored to give Mr. Malcolm a correct understanding of the nature of the case he was about to undertake, in becoming the instructor of the spoiled and wayward Lewie. He told him of his natural good qualities, never suffered to develop themselves, and of the many evil ones, fostered and encouraged by the unwise indulgence of his fond and foolish mother. And yet, when the young clergyman had fairly entered upon his duties as tutor at the Hemlocks, he found, that "the half had not been told him."

Lewie chafed and fretted under the slightest restraint, and had not the remotest idea of doing anything that was not in all respects agreeable to his own inclinations. The idea of compulsion was so new to him, that he was overwhelmed with amazement one day, when his tutor (after trying various means to induce him to learn a particular lesson) finally told him that that lesson must be learned, and recited, before he could leave the library. Master Lewie, fully determined in his own mind to ascertain whose will was the strongest, and whose resolution would soonest give out, now openly rebelled, and informed his master that "he would _not_ learn that lesson."

With his handsome face flushed with pa.s.sion, he struggled from his tutor, rushed to the door, and endeavored to open it; but Mr. Malcolm was before-hand with him, and quietly turning the key in the lock, and putting it in his pocket, he walked back to the table. The frantic boy now endeavored to open the windows and spring out, but being foiled in this attempt likewise, as they were securely fastened, he threw himself upon the floor as he had been in the habit of doing when crossed, ever since his baby-hood, and screamed with all the strength of baffled rage.

His anxious mother was at the door in an instant, demanding admittance.

Mr. Malcolm unfastened the door, stepped out to her in the hall, and gave her a faithful account of her son's conduct during the morning.

"And now, Mrs. Elwyn," said he, "the promise was, that I was not to be interfered with in my government of your son. As long as he hears your voice at the door, and knows that he has your sympathy on his side, he will continue obstinate and rebellious."

"But, Mr. Malcolm, excuse me, but you do not know how to manage him, you should soothe and coax him; he will not be driven. Oh, I cannot bear to hear him scream so," she exclaimed, as a louder roar from Lewie reached her ears; "Oh, Mr. Malcolm, I must go to him."

"Not unless you desire, madam, that I should resign at once, and forever, the charge of your son," said Mr. Malcolm, laying his hand upon the lock to prevent her carrying her purpose into execution. "I have spent this whole morning," he continued, "in expostulation and persuasion, and in endeavoring, as I always do, to make the lessons plain and interesting to my pupil; but Lewie is in one of his perverse humors, and nothing but decision as unyielding as his own obstinacy, will conquer him. If you will return to your own room and allow me the sole management of him, I will remain here to-day till I have subdued him, if the thing is possible."

"You will not use _severity_, Mr. Malcolm," said the weeping mother.

"Never in the way of corporeal punishment, madam. When I cannot govern a pupil without having recourse to such means, I will abandon him. But I must stipulate that untill Lewie submits, and learns that lesson, which he could easily learn in a few minutes, if he chose, he goes without food, and remains in the library with me. I am deeply interested in your son, Mrs. Elwyn; he is a boy of fine talents, and of too many good qualities of heart, to be allowed to go to destruction. I would save him if I can, but he must be left to me. I have the hope of yet seeing him a n.o.ble and useful character, but I must do it in my own way."

Mrs. Elwyn silently acquiesced, and withdrew to her own room very wretched. If she had been willing to inflict upon herself one t.i.the of the pain she suffered now, in controlling her son in his infancy, how different he might have been, as he grew up towards manhood.

Mr. Malcolm returned to the library, and told Lewie that his mother had decided to leave them settle this matter between themselves. He should remain there, he said; he could employ himself very agreeably with the books. Lewie might lie on the floor and scream, or get up and study; but until that lesson was learned, he would not leave the library, or taste a morsel of food.

The shrieks were now renewed in a louder and more agonized tone than ever, and were plainly heard in Mrs. Elwyn's sitting-room, where, in a state bordering on distraction, she was hurriedly pacing the floor, at times almost determined to insist upon being admitted to the library, that she might take her unhappy son to her arms, and dismiss his inexorable tutor; and then deterred from this course by the promise she had made, and the deep respect which she could not but feel for the young minister. She could not but confess, too, in her inmost heart, that this discipline was really for the good of her pa.s.sionate boy, though the means resorted to seemed to her severe. Of the two, she was more wretched than Lewie, who really had no small sense of enjoyment, in the consciousness of the pain and annoyance he was causing to others.

The screams now ceased, and the anxious mother really hoped that Lewie was about to comply with his tutor's wishes, and that she should soon clasp him to her breast, wipe away his tears, and soothe his troubled heart. She was already, in her mind, planning some reward for him for condescending at length to yield his stubborn will. But the quiet was only in consequence of the utter exhaustion of Master Lewie's lungs, and he took refuge in a dogged silence, still rolling on the floor. Mr.

Malcolm sat reading, as much at his ease, and apparently with as much interest, as if he were the only occupant of the library.

At last the young rebel was made aware, by certain ringing sounds, and divers savory odors, that the hour of dinner had arrived; and his appet.i.te being considerably sharpened by the excitement through which he had pa.s.sed, he began to entertain the suspicion that he had been rather foolish in holding out so long in his obstinacy. He really wished that he had learned the lesson, and was free for the afternoon; but how to come down was the puzzle now. He determined to be as ugly about it as possible, thinking that his tutor might be pretty weary by that time as well as he, and might hail joyfully any tokens of submission.

So Master Lewie began to call out:

"I want my dinner!"

"What is that, Lewie?" said Mr. Malcolm, looking up quietly from his book.

"I want my _dinner_, I tell you!" roared Lewie.

Pushing his book towards him, Mr. Malcolm said, in a quiet, determined manner:

"You know the conditions, Lewie, on which you leave this room: they will not change, if we remain here together till to-morrow morning. This lesson must be learned and recited perfectly, before you taste any food."

Lewie murmured that "there was one good thing--his teacher would have to fast too."