And yet, for all, she could not keep back the overflowing tears, but hid her face, to conceal them, on her husband’s bosom.
Her true feelings Mr. Markland did not read: and often, as he mused on what appeared singular in her manner that evening, he was puzzled to comprehend its meaning. Nor had his vision ever penetrated deep enough to see all that was in her heart.
CHAPTER IV.
THE memory of what passed between Mr. and Mrs. Markland remained distinct enough in both their minds, on the next morning, to produce thoughtfulness and reserve. The night to each had been restless and wakeful; and in the snatches of sleep which came at weary intervals were dreams that brought no tranquillizing influence.
The mother’s daily duty, entered into from love to her children, soon lifted her mind into a sunnier region, and calmed her pulse to an even stroke. But the spirit of Markland was more disturbed, more restless, more dissatisfied with himself and every thing around him, than when first introduced to the reader’s acquaintance. He eat sparingly at the breakfast-table, and with only a slight relish. A little forced conversation took place between him and his wife; but the thoughts of both were remote from the subject introduced. After breakfast, Mr. Markland strolled over his handsome grounds, and endeavoured to awaken in his mind a new interest in what possessed so much of real beauty. But the effort was fruitless; his thoughts were away from the scenes in which he was actually present. Like a dreamy enthusiast on the sea-shore, he saw, afar off, enchanted Islands faintly pictured on the misty horizon, and could not withdraw his gaze from their ideal loveliness.
A little way from the house was a grove, in the midst of which a fountain threw upward its refreshing waters, that fell plashing into a marble basin, and then went gurgling musically along over shining pebbles. How often, with his gentle partner by his side, had Markland lingered here, drinking in delight from every fair object by which they were surrounded! Now he wandered amid its cool recesses, or sat by the fountain, without having even a faint picture of the scene mirrored in his thoughts. It was true, as he had said, “Beauty had faded from the landscape; the air was no longer balmy with odours; the birds sang for his ears no more; he heard not, as of old, the wind- spirits whispering to each other in the tree-tops;” and he sighed deeply as a half-consciousness of the change disturbed his reverie. A footfall reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw a neighbour approaching: a man somewhat past the prime of life, who came toward him with a familiar smile, and, as he offered his hand, said pleasantly—
“Good morning, Friend Markland.”
“Ah! good morning, Mr. Allison,” was returned with a forced cheerfulness; “I am happy to meet you.”
“And happy always, I may be permitted to hope,” said Mr. Allison, as his mild yet intelligent eyes rested on the face of his neighbour.
“I doubt,” answered Mr. Markland, in a voice slightly depressed from the tone in which he had first spoken, “whether that state ever comes in this life.”
“Happiness?” inquired the other.
“Perpetual happiness; nay, even momentary happiness.”
“If the former comes not to any,” said Mr. Allison, “the latter, I doubt not, is daily enjoyed by thousands.”
Mr. Markland shook his head, as he replied—
“Take my case, for instance; I speak of myself, because my thought has been turning to myself; there are few elements of happiness that I do not possess, and yet I cannot look back to the time when I was happy.”
“I hardly expected this from you, Mr. Markland,” said the neighbour; “to my observation, you always seemed one of the most cheerful of men.”
“I never was a misanthrope; I never was positively unhappy. No, I have been too earnest a worker. But there is no disguising from myself the fact, now I reflect upon it, that I have known but little true enjoyment as I moved along my way through life.”
“I must be permitted to believe,” replied Mr. Allison, “that you are not reading aright your past history. I have been something of an observer of men and things, and my experience leads me to this conclusion.”
“He who has felt the pain, Mr. Allison, bears ever after the memory of its existence.”
“And the marks, too, if the pain has been as prolonged and severe as your words indicate.”
“But such marks, in your case, are not visible. That you have not always found the pleasure anticipated—that you have looked restlessly away from the present, longing for some other good than that laid by the hand of a benignant Providence at your feet, I can well believe; for this is my own history, as well as yours: it is the history of all mankind.”
“Now you strike the true chord, Mr. Allison. Now you state the problem I have not skill to solve. Why is this?”
“Ah! if the world had skill to solve that problem,” said the neighbour, “it would be a wiser and happier world; but only to a few is this given.”
“What is the solution? Can you declare it?”
“I fear you would not believe the answer a true one. There is nothing in it flattering to human nature; nothing that seems to give the weary, selfish heart a pillow to rest upon. In most cases it has a mocking sound.”
“You have taught me more than one life-lesson, Mr. Allison. Speak freely now. I will listen patiently, earnestly, looking for instruction. Why are we so restless and dissatisfied in the present, even though all of earthly good surrounds us, and ever looking far away into the uncertain future for the good that never comes, or that loses its brightest charms in possession?”
“Because,” said the old man, speaking slowly, and with emphasis, “we are mere self-seekers.”
Mr. Markland had bent toward him, eager for the answer; but the words fell coldly, and with scarce a ray of intelligence in them, on his ears. He sighed faintly and leaned back in his seat, while a look of disappointment shadowed his countenance.
“Can you understand,” said Mr. Allison, “the proposition that man, aggregated, as well as in the individual, is in the human form?”
Markland gazed inquiringly into the questioner’s face. “In the human form as to uses?” said Mr. Allison. “How as to uses?”
