'I can hardly speak highly enough of him. I have found him a most valuable friend, and am sincerely glad to be connected with him; but, tell me, is not this the sister about whom Percy made a slight mistake!'
'Oh! do you know that story? Yes, it was dear Annette! Otherwise I should never have known about Mr. Fanshawe. It was only a vague preference, but it was very fortunate that it prevented any attachment to Percy, or it would have been hard to decide what would be right.'
'Percy was much obliged to you.'
'He was very kind not to be angry. I could have wished it exceedingly, but I am so glad that I did not persuade Annette, and particularly glad of this, for she has been out of spirits, and rather wasting her bloom at home, without much definite employment.'
'I understand. And did you never wish that you had influenced her otherwise?'
'If Percy and Theodora had not been reconciled, I thought I might have done so. It did seem a long time to go on in doubt whether I had acted for her happiness.'
'But you acted in faith that the straightforward path was the safest.'
'And now I am so thankful.' She paused, they were passing the drawing-room, and saw Arthur lying asleep on the sofa. She stepped in at the French window, threw a light shawl over him, and closed the door. 'He did not sleep till daylight this morning,' she said, returning to John. 'Any excitement gives him restless nights.'
'So I feared when I saw those two red spots on his cheeks in the evening. I know them well! But how white and thin he looks! I want to hear what you think of him. My father considers him fully recovered. Do you?'
Violet shook her head. 'He is as well as could be hoped after such an illness,' she said; 'and Dr. L. tells him there is no confirmed disease, but that his chest is in a very tender state, and he must take the utmost care. That delightful mountain air at Lassonthwayte entirely took away his cough, and it has not returned, though he is more languid and tired than he was in the north, but he will not allow it, his spirits are so high.'
'I should like you to spend the winter abroad.'
'That cannot be. If he is able in October, he must join, and the regiment is likely to be in London all the winter,' said Violet, with a sigh.
'Then he does not mean to sell out?'
'No, we cannot afford it. We must live as little expensively as we can, to get clear of the difficulties. Indeed, now the horses are gone, it is such a saving that we have paid off some bills already.'
'Has Arthur really parted with his horses?'
'With all of them, even that beautiful mare. I am afraid he will miss her very much, but I cannot say a word against it, for I am sure it is right.'
'ALL the horses?' repeated John. 'What are you to do without a carriage horse?'
'Oh! that is nothing new. We have not had one fit for me to use, since the old bay fell lame three years ago. That does not signify at all, for walking with the children suits me much better.'
John was confounded. He had little notion of existence without carriages and horses.
'I shall have Arthur to walk with now. He promises Johnnie and me delightful walks in the park,' said Violet, cheerfully, 'if he is but well.'
'Ah! I see you dread that winter.'
'I do!' came from the bottom of Violet's heart, spoken under her breath; then, as if regretting her admission, she smiled and said, 'Perhaps there is no need! He has no fears, and it will be only too pleasant to have him at home. I don't think about it,' added she, replying to the anxious eyes that sought to read her fears. 'This summer is too happy to be spoilt with what may be only fancies, and after the great mercies we have received, it would be too bad to distrust and grieve over the future. I have so often thanked you for teaching me the lesson of the lilies.'
'I fear you have had too much occasion to practise it.'
'It could not be too much!' said Violet. 'But often I do not know what would have become of me, if I had not been obliged, as a duty, to put aside fretting thoughts, and been allowed to cast the shadow of the cross on my vexations.'
His eye fell on a few bright links of gold peeping out round her neck--'You have THAT still. May I see it?'
She took off the chain and placed it in his hand. 'Thanks for it, more than ever!' she said. 'My friend and preacher in time of need it has often been, and Johnnie's too.'
'Johnnie?'
'Yes, you know the poor little man has had a great deal of illness. This is the first spring he has been free from croup; and you would hardly believe what a comfort that cross has been to him. He always feels for the chain, that he may squeeze Aunt Helen's cross. At one time I was almost afraid that it was a superstition, he was such a very little fellow; but when I talked to him, he said, 'I like it because of our Blessed Saviour. It makes me not mind the pain so much, because you said that was like Him, and would help to make me good if I was patient.' Then I remembered what I little understood, when you told me that the cross was his baptismal gift to sweeten his heritage of pain.'
John was much affected. 'Helen's cross has indeed borne abundant fruit!' said he.
'I told you how even I forgot it at first in the fire, and how it was saved by Johnnie's habit of grasping it in his troubles.'
'I am glad it was he!'
'Theodora said that he alone was worthy. But I am afraid to hear such things said of him; I am too ready without them to think too much of my boy.'
'It would be difficult,' began John; then smiling, 'perhaps I ought to take to myself the same caution; the thought of Johnnie has been so much to me, and now I see him he is so unlike my expectations, and yet so far beyond them. I feel as if I wanted a larger share of him than you and his father can afford me.'
'I don't think we shall be jealous,' was the happy answer. 'Arthur is very proud of your admiration of Master Johnnie. You know we have always felt as if you had a right in him.'
Percy and Theodora here returned from the park, rejoicing to find others as tardy in going in as themselves; Arthur, awakened by the voices, came out, and as the others hurried in, asked John what they had been talking about.
'Of many things,' said John; 'much of my godson.'
'Ay!' said Arthur; 'did you not wonder how anything so good can belong to me?'
John smiled, and said, 'His goodness belongs to nothing here.'
'Nay, it is no time to say that after talking to his mother,' said Arthur; 'though I know what you mean, and she would not let me say so. Well, I am glad you are come, for talks with you are the greatest treat to her. She seemed to be gathering them up again at Ventnor, and was always telling me of them. She declares they taught her everything good; though that, of course, I don't believe, you know,' he added, smiling.
'No; there was much in which she needed no teaching, and a few hints here and there do not deserve what she ascribes to them.'
'John,' said Arthur, coming nearer to him, and speaking low, 'she and her boy are more perfect creatures than you can guess, without knowing the worst of me. You warned me that I must make her happy, and you saw how it was the first year. It has been worse since that. I have neglected them, let them deny themselves, ruined them, been positively harsh to that angel of a boy; and how they could love me, and be patient with me throughout, is what I cannot understand, though--though I can feel it.'
'Truly,' thought John, as Arthur hastily quitted him, ashamed of his emotion, 'if Violet be my scholar, she has far surpassed her teacher! Strange that so much should have arisen apparently from my attempt to help and cheer the poor dispirited girl, in that one visit to Ventnor, which I deemed so rash a venture of my own comfort--useless, self- indulgent wretch that I was. She has done the very deeds that I had neglected. My brother and sister, even my mother and Helen's brother, all have come under her power of firm meekness--all, with one voice, are ready to 'rise up and call her blessed!' Nay, are not these what Helen would have most wished to effect, and is it not her memorials that have been the instruments of infusing that spirit into Violet? These are among the works that follow her, or, as they sung this evening--
'For seeds are sown of glorious light, A future harvest for the just, And gladness for the heart that's right To recompense its pious trust.''
And in gladness did he stand before the house that had been destined as the scene of his married life, and look forth on the churchyard where Helen slept. He was no longer solitary, since he had begun to bear the burdens of others; for no sooner did he begin to work, than he felt that he worked with her.
