“Had Coldstream any illness, anything like sunstroke on the voyage?” asked the doctor.
“Not he; no one had better health,” replied Pogson.
“But he was a bit melancholy, perhaps—had occasional fits of depression?”
Pogson burst out laughing at the question. “Coldstreamwas merry as a lark,” he said. “He was the life and soul of our party.”
“Then there must be a taint of hereditary madness,” mused Pinfold, as he again went on his way. “I don’t pretend to be a saint, like Coldstream, but I do say this for myself, that had I been in his place I would not have done so unprincipled, so cruel a thing as to have linked my fortunes with those of a bright, happy, trusting young creature like Io!”
CHAPTER V.
ANCIENT TRADITIONS.
Io had been obliged in her interview with a medical adviser to give a detailed account of occurrences which had caused her the keenest pain; she had had to draw back a curtain to reveal a picture of the past on which it was agony to gaze. But Io’s naturally bright and buoyant disposition did not allow her to nurse her griefs for the past and her fears for the future, as some sufferers seem to find a morbid satisfaction in doing. The curtain was dropped again over the picture of woe. “Let the past be—as far as possible—forgotten; and for the future,” thus mused Io, “is there not a pitying Father who hath promised that all things shall work together for good to them that love Him? Can I not trust that promise, and so lay down my burden of fears? I have so much, so very much, to make me thankful and happy. I am the cherished wife of one of the noblest of men. Oscar has wonderfully recovered from his distressing illness, and though everything is not yet bright, I believe—yes, I do believe—that joy is coming. I will trust, and not be afraid; but oh! I would give all that I have in the world to hear Oscar laugh again.”
Io was like the fair lily which refuses to sink though the waters encompass it around. It lifts its bright head above them all, and smiles in the face of the sun. It even covers over those dark waters with the verdant leaves of hope; and if some drops, like tears, rest on the spreading leaves, even those tears, like diamonds, glitter in the light. It seemed less impossible to Io than it is to most people to rejoice always, for her trustful, restful spirit had found the secret of peace.
Mrs. Coldstream had also a perpetual source of pleasure in giving pleasure, of comfort in comforting others. She found delight in receiving the poor Karen as a gift from God. Mah-A (Io shortened the name to Maha) was something to cherish, to make happy, to lead to God, even as the Karen boy had been. Io was not self-absorbed; she knew little of that concentration of the mind on one’s own desires, pleasures, even failings, which perpetually drives the mind back on the centre of self. The natural flow of Io’s thoughts was outward and upward—towards the many whom she loved upon earth, and the One whom she worshipped in heaven. Thus Io rarely lacked something to make her happy, and she was constantly adding to the happiness of others.