CHAPTER XX.
"The feeling of a parent never dies
But with our moral nature; all in vain.
The wretch by cold and cruel spurning tries
To change that love to hate." Percival.
Afternoon.
Emily received to-day a hastily written note from Lucy Lee, requesting her to call as soon as possible. I long to know what has happened. The Doctor visits the old gentleman once in a few weeks. Perhaps I have not told you that he has several times met Allen there. I am afraid Joseph has come home, and found out that he has renewed his visits.
Wednesday, April 5th.
I was entirely wrong in my fears about Lucy. She had received a letter from a physician in the city who was called to Joseph, and who says he is now so ill, that he deemed it advisable to notify his family. Lucy inferred from the account, which was rather guarded, that it was an attack of the delirium tremens, brought on by his late excesses, hastened perhaps by the fact of his leaving home the last week extremely angry because his father refused to advance him any more money. Joseph ascribed it to Lucy's influence over the old man, and vowed revenge.
The forgiving sister no sooner heard of the dangerous illness of her brother, than she wished to go to him. She could not endure the thought of his being left alone in his sickness. Emily encouraged her to go at once, and offered to remain with her father, to which her friend gratefully acceded.
The Doctor whom they consulted, advised them to tell the Squire frankly where she was going, as if it resulted as they feared, he must then be told.
During the long, long months of his confinement, Frank had observed a gradual softening of the old gentleman's feelings, not only toward his daughter, but upon religious subjects. He thinks that the daily reading of the Scriptures by Lucy and also witnessing in her every-day life the religion of Jesus so beautifully exemplified, has produced a good effect on the heart so long hard and obdurate. Frank readily undertook to prepare his patient for the temporary absence of his daughter, while Emily assisted her in making arrangements for her immediate departure.
Nor was the Doctor disappointed. Squire Lee was indeed shocked at the dangerous condition of his son and heir; but he instantly sent for Lucy, and desired her to consult her own feelings and sense of duty relative to joining him. She took a most affectionate leave of her father, whose sorrow at parting with her might seem uncalled for, were it not remembered that the dear girl had been for a long time his sole companion, his nurse, daughter, friend and comforter. Her couch occupies a room where she is within the sound of his voice; and it is not at all unusual for her to arise at midnight to administer to him or to read a few soothing words to allay the restlessness which is almost invariably an accompaniment of a complaint like his.
Thursday, April 6th.
Mother will remain with me during Emily's absence. Pauline continues to gain in health and strength. I was very much affected last night at her tenderness of feeling. She was kneeling by my side to say her prayers before retiring, when all at once she stopped and began to sob.
"My dear little daughter, why do you cry?"
"Dear Mamma," she replied, still sobbing, "my cousin told me when he was going away, that I must pray every night, that God would help him to become a good man; and when I was going to ask God, I remembered that Joseph had gone, and it made me cry." She looked very earnestly at me as she inquired, "Isn't my cousin good, mamma?"
"I hope he is, my love," I answered, as I thought of his parting request to the dear child.
I was making a few purchases in the village this morning, when I felt some one slightly pulling my dress. I turned around and saw the sweet face of Anna Reynolds, lighted up with such a joyous expression, that it sent a warm gush of feeling through my heart.
"Please, Mrs. Lenox, excuse me," said she in a low tone and with far more than all the grace of a lady of the court. "I saw you here, and I desired to tell you how very happy we all are at home. My father has come back;" and she reached up to whisper, "he never drinks rum now, and we all go to church together. Mother says, who knows but Willie and I may live in Rose Cottage yet? You know that was once our home."
I requested her to wait a moment while I paid for my purchases, and then I took her hand and walked part of the way with her.
From her simple story, I learned in addition to what I already knew, that through the kindness of Thomas Jones, her father had procured steady employment for the summer with a farmer in the neighborhood, where he was entirely free from temptation. I warmly sympathized with Anna's delight at having a father. She had never before known the happiness.
I came home and told Frank the good news of the happiness of the Reynolds family. When I informed him that Thomas Jones had procured him work away from temptation, and had given him a whole suit of clothes so that he could go to meeting, he was very busy reading; but he looked up in a minute as if he had heard all, and with a queer look, said he was glad I knew how to rejoice with those that rejoiced, as well as to weep with those that weep.
Saturday, April 8th.
Lucy Lee returned rather unexpectedly last evening. Her brother Joseph did not know her; and the physician thought it not safe for her to be there. To say the least, it was exceedingly unpleasant to the dear girl. There were no women to be seen in the establishment. It required the strength of two men to manage him during his fits of frenzy. Lucy wept as she confessed she could have submitted to every inconvenience to be with him, were it not for his horribly profane and lewd conversation. He seemed living over again midnight scenes of debauchery. "Oh! Oh!!" exclaimed the poor weeping girl, "I never imagined anything half so awful." She only saw her brother twice, once on the morning and again in the afternoon of the day of her arrival. She said, even the attendants who were used to such scenes, confessed that they had never witnessed one half so bad.
Emily came home early this morning, and has interested us much in her account of Squire Lee. She says, it is hard for her to realize that he is the same man who so cruelly spurned his innocent, trembling daughter from his feet, so lovingly does he now speak to her.
At the usual hour for him to hear reading, Emily brought out the Bible and began the story of Christ's sufferings and death. Chapter after chapter was called for and listened to with breathless interest. When Emily closed the book, he looked around as if missing something, and sister saw his eye rest on a book of prayer. She arose and brought it to him, not exactly understanding what was expected. He shook his head.
"Would you like to hear a prayer?" He bowed his assent, and turning to the prayer for the day of the week, and kneeling near him, she read aloud.
His right hand supported his head, and when sister arose, the tears were trickling through his fingers and down upon his cheeks. Several times, she heard him say, "poor Joseph, soul and body—lost by rum—God forgive me." Many similar expressions fell from his lips.
Allen came in every day during Lucy's absence, and Emily thought that the old gentleman received pleasure from his visits. He was a great assistance to her in changing the position of the sufferer, whose left side is so paralyzed as to render it impossible for him to raise himself from the easy chair in which he sits.
One incident which occurred I must not omit. Squire Lee made a remark to which Emily naturally replied, "from what I remember of Mrs. Lee, Lucy very much resembles her mother."
This led to the mention of the portrait in the parlor. The old gentleman sighed, for he remembered how touchingly his kneeling daughter had appealed to it when he was last below. "I should think," said Emily, "Lucy would have it hung there, where you can see it from your chair," pointing to a vacant place on the wall.
After a moment's pause, he replied, "since it has been changed to the new frame I have not thought it as natural." Joseph had purchased and brought from the city some years since massive and heavy frames, and the sweet face so subdued and tender looked out of keeping with its surroundings.
After a few moments, Emily called the attendants to remain with her patient, and hastening to Mrs. Burns, asked if the old frames to the portraits were in existence. Together they ascended to the garret, found the very article for which they were searching, packed away with old rubbish. Almost trembling at her own daring, she carried it below, removed the picture from its massive frame with the ready assistance of the house-keeper, and soon had it replaced in its old case. The question now was how to get it into the room.
Mrs. Burns said, "Lucy would never dare to propose the thing to her father. She has been trodden upon so long, she has no will of her own." Determined to carry out her plan, now that she had gone so far, Emily arranged the cord and tassel so that she could hang it up in an instant, and setting it down at the door of the room, returned to her charge. She playfully suggested to him the idea of a look from the window, and wheeled the chair around for that purpose, when quickly catching the frame from its hiding place, she suspended it from the nail before the sick man had noticed her absence from his side. She stood by him combing his thin, gray locks until her heart began to beat more freely, and then wheeling the chair back to its usual place, awaited with no little trembling, the result of her project. She now magnified in her own mind the oft repeated necessity for perfect quiet and freedom from excitement.
She took a book, and sat down, when she saw her patient give a start that almost threw him out of his chair, saying in a half frightened, though joyful tone, "My wife! my wife!! my own dear Mary, do forgive me!"
Emily hastened to reassure the old gentleman who did not attempt to speak again for some minutes; but when she playfully told him of the pleasant surprise, she intended, he confessed that for a moment he thought his wife had appeared to him to upbraid him for his cruel treatment of her daughter. But now nothing could induce him to have her portrait removed.