“How delighted her papa will be!” exclaimed Caroline Sydney to her mama one day, while Ellen was playing one of Colonel Ross’s most favourite airs. “He will indeed, Caroline,” replied Mrs. Sydney, “and that remark of yours calls out Ellen’s powers like magic.”—“I know it does, mama,” said Caroline, “and I can always guess when Ellen is thinking of her papa’s surprise,—she plays her tunes then with as much spirit as if she had composed them herself. I can hardly wait for Colonel Ross’s birth-day; and yet,” she added, addressing Ellen, “you must not betray the secret sooner, for you know I always spend that day with you, and it would break my heart not to be present.”
“O Caroline!” said Ellen, springing from the music-stool, and throwing her arms round her friend’s neck, “how can you think I could be so ungrateful as to cheat you of your share of a pleasure which I should never, never have enjoyed without your own and your dear mama’s kindness?”
The birth-day at length arrived. “Ellen, my love,” said Colonel Ross, entering the room in which she was sitting, putting the last touch to a drawing which was to be one of the offerings of the evening, and which she slipped into her portfolio as her papa came in, “I fear your own and Caroline Sydney’s pleasure will be rather spoiled this evening by the arrival of a stranger; but General Malcolm is a very old friend of mine, who has taken Earl Court. He has just found out that I am in his neighbourhood, and has written to propose spending to-day with me. We were old soldiers together, and I have not seen him for many years, and I cannot do so ungracious a thing as to refuse to receive him.”
It may be guessed that Ellen’s first feeling was that of consternation. The fondly cherished scheme of a whole year seemed to be at once disconcerted. A stranger was to be with them on that evening on which the discovery was to have taken place; and as Caroline was so engaged that she could not be present till after dinner, the birth-day must, she thought, pass away without a chance of the surprise which was to have made it for her the happiest she had ever hailed.
However, no selfish feeling could find a resting-place for many moments in Ellen’s mind. She remembered how often she had wished that her papa had some friend within his reach of his own habits and profession, whose society might beguile the gloom with which ill health and sad recollections would sometimes overshadow his fine mind and naturally even temper, and she said cheerfully, “Then, dear papa, I must offer you my drawing now, though I think I could have improved it before the evening; but I should be shy at showing it before a stranger.” The drawing was full of taste, and the kiss full of affection with which it was received, and Colonel Ross left the room to write an acceptance of General Malcolm’s offered visit.
The afternoon came, and with it General Malcolm. Ellen presided at the dinner-table in compliment to the day, and then retired to the drawing-room to await her young friend’s arrival.
“Poor Caroline!” thought she, “how disappointed she will be! I cannot expect she will be comforted as completely as I am, when I tell her how very, very much dear papa seems to enjoy having his old friend with him. But, ah! I hear her coming.”
In spite of the comfort of which Ellen had been boasting, a tear accompanied the kiss with which she greeted her friend. Poor Caroline was indeed in dismay, and many a reproachful epithet did she lavish on the unconscious general for his ill-timed arrival. “How I shall hate the very sight of him, provoking creature! Could he not have fixed on any day but this? I shall not be able to speak to him civilly, or to look at him with common patience—But, Ellen, could you not play still?”—“O Caroline! how can I before a stranger?—You know I shall be quite sure to cry; and” added she, her sweet eyes filling with tears, “I should not wonder if my dear papa cried too.”
The little girls were now interrupted by the entrance of the two gentlemen. During tea, the conversation turned on the general’s new house. “Have you completed the furnishing it?” asked Colonel Ross. “There is only one thing I believe materially wanting; though, as an old bachelor, I have no constant means of enjoying the luxury of music, I cannot bear to deprive myself of the chance of hearing it occasionally from my lady-guests.—You do not, I fear,” continued General Malcolm, “chance to know of a fine-toned pianoforte to be disposed of in the neighbourhood?”—“I have been for the last year looking out for a purchaser for the one you see before you,” replied Colonel Ross, with a sigh; “Ellen does not play, and it is useless to me.”—“What, devotedly fond as I know you are of music, have you not made a point of your daughter’s learning?” exclaimed General Malcolm. “She did begin, but she does not like it, and music is not an accomplishment to be forced. It requires too great a sacrifice of time, unless there is a certainty of success.”—“I should not have thought that your daughter disliked music,” said General Malcolm, almost unconsciously glancing at the picture of her mother, whose talent had so often charmed him; and then resting his eyes on Ellen’s countenance, beaming with the same seraphic sweetness, “I should have thought the very soul of music dwelt there:—But could I not hear a few notes?—a chord or the simplest scale would enable me to judge of the tone of the instrument.”—“Caroline Sydney has unfortunately sprained her wrist,” said Colonel Ross, “or we should have no difficulty.” Caroline cast a beseeching look on the blushing, hesitating Ellen. “Papa,” said she, timidly, “I think I could remember a few notes.”—“Well, you may at least try,” said her papa; and as he took the key from the drawer in which it had so long lain useless, Ellen once more heard it turn in the lock of the pianoforte, and heard also once again the sigh which accompanied the action, but with feelings how different from her former ones! She sat down, and after a light and brilliant prelude, played one of her mother’s most favourite airs, adding variations full of taste and beauty of her own arranging.
“Good Heavens, Ross!” exclaimed General Malcolm, in a tone of equal astonishment and admiration; “and is this the instrument you would part with?—And is this the daughter who is not fond of music?” But how was the explanation given? It was not by words, but by Colonel Ross’s folding his beloved child in his arms, and letting his tears fall on her lovely forehead as he sobbed, “My Ellen, I shall now be able to close my eyes, and fancy that your sainted mother lives again to bless me!”