She leaned her head back against her chair, and the little hands caressed each other as they rested on her knee, while her countenance was eloquent with humble grat.i.tude for the success that G.o.d had permitted to crown her efforts; but she was silent.

"Do you intend to write a book of travels, embracing the incidents that have marked your tour? I see the public expect it."

"No, sir. It seems now a mere matter of course that all scribblers who come to Europe, should afflict the reading world with an account of what they saw or failed to see. So many n.o.ble books have been already published, thoroughly describing this continent, that I have not the temerity, the presumption to attempt to retouch the grand old word-pictures. At present, I expect to write nothing. I want to study some subjects that greatly interest me, and I shall try to inform and improve myself, and keep silent until I see some phase of truth neglected, or some new aspect of error threatening mischief in society. Indeed, I have great cause for grat.i.tude in my literary career. At the beginning I felt apprehensive that I was destined to sit always under the left hand of fortune, whom Michael Angelo designed as a lovely woman seated on a revolving wheel, throwing crowns and laurel wreaths from her right hand, while only thorns dropped in a sharp, stinging shower from the other; but, after a time, the wheel turned, and now I feel only the soft pattering of the laurel leaves. G.o.d knows I do most earnestly appreciate His abundant blessing upon what I have thus far striven to effect; but, until I see my way clearly to some subject of importance which a woman's hand may touch, I shall not take up my pen. Books seem such holy things to me, destined to plead either for or against their creators in the final tribunal, that I dare not lightly or hastily attempt to write them; and I can not help thinking that the author who is less earnestly and solemnly impressed with the gravity, and, I may almost say, the sanct.i.ty of his or her work, is unworthy of it, and of public confidence. I dare not, even if I could, dash off articles and books as the rower shakes water-drops from his oars; and I humbly acknowledge that what success I may have achieved is owing to hard, faithful work. I have received so many kind letters from children, that some time, if I live to be wise enough, I want to write a book especially for them. I am afraid to attempt it just now; for it requires more mature judgment and experience, and greater versatility of talent to write successfully for children than for grown persons. In the latter, one is privileged to a.s.sume native intelligence and cultivation; but the tender, untutored minds of the former permit no such margin; and this fact necessitates clearness and simplicity of style, and power of ill.u.s.tration that seem to me very rare. As yet I am conscious of my incapacity for the mission of preparing juvenile books; but perhaps, if I study closely the characteristics of young people, I shall learn to understand them more thoroughly. So much depends on the proper training of our American youth, especially in view of the great political questions that now agitate the country, that I confess I feel some anxiety on the subject."

"But, Edna, you will not adhere to your resolution of keeping silent. The public is a merciless task-master; your own ambition will scourge you on; and having once put your hand to the literary plough, you will not be allowed to look back. Rigorously the world exacts the full quota of the author's arura."

"Yes, sir; but 'he that plougheth should plough in hope'; and when I can see clearly across the wide field, and drive the gleaming share of truth straight and steady to the end, then, and not till then, shall I render my summer-day's arura. Meantime, I am resolved to plough no crooked, shallow furrows on the hearts of our people,"

At length when Mr. Manning rose to say good-night, he looked gravely at the governess, and asked:

"Edna, can not Lila take the vacant place in your sad heart?"

"It is not vacant, sir. Dear memories walk to and fro therein, weaving garlands of immortelles--singing sweet tunes of days and years--that can never die. Hereafter I shall endeavor to entertain the precious guests I have already, and admit no more. The past is the realm of my heart; the present and future the kingdom where my mind must dwell, and my hands labor."

With a sigh he went away, and she took up the letters and began to read them. Many were from strangers, and they greatly cheered and encouraged her; but finally she opened one, whose superscription had until this instant escaped her cursory glance. It was from Mr.

Hammond, and contained an account of Mr. Murray's ordination. She read and re-read it, with a half-bewildered expression in her countenance, for the joy seemed far too great for credence. She looked again at the date and signature, and pa.s.sing her hand over her brow, wondered if there could be any mistake. The paper fell into her lap, and a cry of delight rang through the room.

"Saved--purified--consecrated henceforth to G.o.d's holy work? A minister of Christ? O most merciful G.o.d! I thank Thee! My prayers are answered with a blessing I never dared to hope for, or even to dream of! Can I ever, ever be grateful enough? A pastor, holding up pure hands! Thank G.o.d! my sorrows are all ended now; there is no more grief for me. Ah! what a glory breaks upon the future! What though I never see his face in this world? I can be patient indeed; for now I know, oh! I know that I shall surely see it yonder!"

She sank on her knees at the open window, and wept for the first time since Felix died. Happy, happy tears mingled with broken words of rejoicing, that seemed a foretaste of heaven.

Her heart was so full of grat.i.tude and exultation that she could not sleep, and she sat down and looked over the sea while her face was radiant and tremulous. The transition from patient hopelessness and silent struggling--this most unexpected and glorious fruition of the prayers of many years--was so sudden and intoxicating, that it completely unnerved her.

She could not bear this great happiness as she had borne her sorrows, and now and then she smiled to find tears gushing afresh from her beaming eyes.

Once, in an hour of sinful madness, Mr. Murray had taken a human life, and ultimately caused the loss of another; but the waves that were running high beyond the mole told her in thunder-tones that he had saved, had s.n.a.t.c.hed two lives from their devouring rage. And the shining stars overhead grouped themselves into characters that said to her, "Judge not, that ye be not judged"; and the ancient mountains whispered, "Stand still, and see the salvation of G.o.d!"

and the grateful soul of the lonely woman answered:

"That all the jarring notes of life Seem blending in a psalm, And all the angels of its strife Slow rounding into calm."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

Immediately after her return to New York, Edna resumed her studies with renewed energy, and found her physical strength recruited and her mind invigorated by repose. Her fondness for Hattie induced her to remain with Mrs. Andrews in the capacity of governess, though her position in the family had long ceased to resemble in any respect that of a hireling. Three hours of each day were devoted to the education of the little girl, who, though vastly inferior in mental endowments to her brother, was an engaging and exceedingly affectionate child, fully worthy of the love which her gifted governess lavished upon her. The remainder of her time Edna divided between study, music, and an extensive correspondence, which daily increased.

She visited little, having no leisure and less inclination to fritter away her morning in gossip and chit-chat; but she set apart one evening in each week for the reception of her numerous kind friends, and of all strangers who desired to call upon her. These reunions were brilliant and delightful, and it was considered a privilege to be present at gatherings where eminent men and graceful, refined, cultivated Christian women a.s.sembled to discuss ethical and aesthetic topics, which all educated Americans are deemed capable of comprehending.

Edna's abhorrence of double entendre and of the fashionable sans souci style of conversation, which was tolerated by many who really disliked but had not nerve enough to frown it down, was not a secret to any one who read her writings or attended her receptions. Without obtruding her rigid views of true womanly delicacy and decorum upon any one, her deportment under all circ.u.mstances silently published her opinion of certain lat.i.tudinarian expressions prevalent in society.

She saw that the growing tendency to free and easy manners and colloquial license was rapidly destroying all reverence for womanhood; was levelling the distinction between ladies' parlors and gentlemen's clubrooms; was placing the s.e.xes on a platform of equality which was dangerous to feminine delicacy, that G.o.d-built bulwark of feminine purity and of national morality.

That time-honored maxim, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," she found had been distorted from its original and n.o.ble significance, and was now a mere convenient India-rubber cloak, stretched at will to cover and excuse allusions which no really modest woman could tolerate.

Consequently, when she heard it flippantly p.r.o.nounced in palliation of some gross offense against delicacy, she looked more searchingly into the characters of the indiscreet talkers, and quietly intimated to them that their presence was not desired at her receptions.

Believing that modesty and purity were twin sisters, and that vulgarity and vice were rarely if ever divorced, Edna sternly refused to a.s.sociate with those whose laxity of manners indexed, in her estimation, a corresponding laxity of morals. Married belles and married beaux she shunned and detested, regarding them as a disgrace to their families, as a blot upon all n.o.ble womanhood and manhood, and as the most dangerous foes to the morality of the community, in which they unblushingly violated hearthstone statutes and the venerable maxims of social decorum.

The ostracized banded in wrath, and ridiculed her antiquated prudery; but knowing that the pure and n.o.ble mothers, wives, and daughters, honored and trusted her, Edna gave no heed to raillery and envious malice, but resolutely obeyed the promptings of her womanly intuitions.

Painful experience had taught her the imprudence, the short-sighted policy of working until very late at night; and in order to take due care of her health, she wisely resorted to a different system of study, which gave her more sleep, and allowed her some hours of daylight for her literary labors.

In the industrial pursuits of her own s.e.x she was intensely interested, and spared no trouble in acquainting herself with the statistics of those branches of employment already open to them; consequently she was never so happy as when the recipient of letters from the poor women of the land, who thanked her for the words of hope, advice, and encouragement which she constantly addressed to them.

While the world honored her, she had the precious a.s.surance that her Christian countrymen loved and trusted her. She felt the painful need of Mr. Manning's society, and even his frequent letters did not fully satisfy her; but as he had resolved to remain in Europe, at least for some years, she bore the irreparable loss of his counsel and sympathy, as she bore all other privations, bravely and quietly.

Now and then alarming symptoms of the old suffering warned her of the uncertainty of her life; and after much deliberation, feeling that her time was limited, she commenced another book.

Mr. Hammond wrote begging her to come to him, as he was now hopelessly infirm and confined to his room; but she shrank from a return to the village so intimately a.s.sociated with events which she wished if possible to forget; and, though she declined the invitation, she proved her affection for her venerable teacher, by sending him every day a long, cheerful letter.

Since her departure from the parsonage, Mrs. Murray had never written to her; but through Mr. Hammond's and Huldah's letters, Edna learned that Mr. Murray was the officiating minister in the church which he had built in his boyhood; and now and then the old pastor painted pictures of life at Le Bocage, that brought happy tears to the orphan's eyes. She heard from time to time of the good the new minister was accomplishing among the poor; of the beneficial influence he exerted, especially over the young men of the community; of the charitable inst.i.tutions to which he was devoting a large portion of his fortune; of the love and respect, the golden opinions he was winning from those whom he had formerly estranged by his sarcastic bitterness.

While Edna fervently thanked G.o.d for this most wonderful change, she sometimes repeated exultingly:

"Man-like is it to fall into sin, Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, G.o.d-like is it all sin to leave!"

One darling rose-hued dream of her life was to establish a free- school and circulating library in the village of Chattanooga; and keeping this hope ever in view, she had denied herself all superfluous luxuries, and jealously h.o.a.rded her savings.

She felt now that, should she become an invalid, and incapable of writing or teaching, the money made by her books, which Mr. Andrews had invested very judiciously, would at least supply her with the necessities of life.

One evening she held her weekly reception as usual, though she had complained of not feeling quite well that day.

A number of carriages stood before Mrs. Andrews's door and many friends who laughed and talked to the governess little dreamed that it was the last time they would spend an evening together in her society. The pleasant hours pa.s.sed swiftly; Edna had never conversed more brilliantly, and the auditors thought her voice was richer and sweeter than ever, as she sang the last song and rose from the piano.

The guests took their departure--the carriages rolled away.

Mrs. Andrews ran up to her room, and Edna paused in the brilliantly lighted parlors to read a note, which had been handed to her during the evening.

Standing under the blazing chandelier, the face and figure of this woman could not fail to excite interest in all who gazed upon her.

She was dressed in plain black silk, which exactly fitted her form, and in her hair glowed cl.u.s.ters of scarlet geranium flowers. A spray of red fuchsia was fastened by the beautiful stone cameo that confined her lace collar; and, save the handsome gold bands on her wrists, she wore no other ornaments.

Felix had given her these bracelets as a Christmas present, and after his death she never took them off; for inside he had his name and hers engraved, and between them the word "Mizpah."

To-night the governess was very weary, and the fair sweet face wore its old childish expression of mingled hopelessness, and perfect patience, and indescribable repose. As she read, the tired look pa.s.sed away, and over her pallid features, so daintily sculptured, stole a faint glow, such as an ivory Niobe might borrow from the fluttering crimson folds of silken shroudings. The peaceful lips stirred also and the low tone was full of pathos as she said:

"How very grateful I ought to be. How much I have to make me happy, to encourage me to work diligently and faithfully. How comforting it is to feel that parents have sufficient confidence in me to be willing to commit their children to my care. What more can I wish?

My cup is brimmed with blessings. Ah! why am I not entirely happy?"

The note contained the signature of six wealthy gentlemen, who requested her acceptance of a tasteful and handsome house, on condition that she would consent to undertake the education of their daughters, and permit them to pay her a liberal salary.

It was a flattering tribute to the clearness of her intellect, the soundness of her judgment, the extent of her acquirements, and the purity of her heart.

While she could not accede to the proposition, she appreciated most gratefully the generosity and good opinion of those who made it.

Twisting the note between her fingers, her eyes fell on the carpet, and she thought of all her past; of the sorrows, struggles, and heart-aches, the sleepless nights and weary, joyless days--first of adverse, then of favorable criticism; of toiling, hoping, dreading, praying; and now, in the peaceful zenith of her triumph, popularity, and usefulness, she realized