Helen and Arthur; or, Miss Thusa's Spinning Wheel

by Caroline Lee Hentz

“Well, the woman lifted up her voice, and wept for her blind child, but there was none but God to hear—and she went out into the night, calling after Lily every step she took, but her own voice came back to her, not Lily’s. She went on and on, and when she got to a narrow path, leading along to a great waterfall, she stopped to lay her hand on her heart, to keep it from jumping out of her body. There was a tall, blasted pine, that had fallen over that waterfall, making a sort of slippery bridge to pass over. What should she see, right in the middle of the blasted pine tree, as it lay over the roaring stream, but Lily, all in white, walking as if she had a thousand pair of eyes, instead of none, or at least none that did her any good. The mother dared not say a word, any more than if she were dumb, so she stood like a dead woman, that is, as still, looking at her blind daughter, fluttering like a bird with white wings over the black abyss.

“But what was her astonishment to behold a figure approaching Lily, from the opposite side of the stream, all clothed in white, too, with long, fair hair, parted from its brow, and large shining wings on its shoulders. The face was that of a beautiful youth, and he had eyes as soft and glorious as the moon itself, though they looked dark for all that.

“‘I come, my beloved,’ cried Lily, stretching out her arms over the water. ‘I see thee—I know thee. There is no darkness now. Oh, how beautiful thou art! The beams of thy shining wings touch my eyelids, and little silver arrows come darting in, on every side. Take me over this narrow bridge, lest my feet slide, and I fall into the roaring water.’

“‘I cannot take thee over the bridge,’ replied the youth, ‘but when thou hast crossed it, I will bear thee on my wings to a land where there is no blindness or darkness, not even a shadow, beautiful as these shadows are, all round us now. Walk in faith, and look not below. Press on, and fear no evil.’

“‘Oh! come back, my daughter!’ shrieked the poor mother, rousing up from the trance of fear—‘come back, my Lily, and leave me not alone. Come back, my poor blind child.’

“Lily turned back a moment, and looked at her mother, who could see her, just as plain as day. Such a look! It was just as if a film had fallen from off her eyes, and a soul had come into them. They were live eyes, and they had been cold and dead before. They smiled with her smiling lips. They had never smiled before, and the mother trembled at their strange intelligence. She dared not call her back any more, but knelt right down on the ground where she was, and held her breath, as one does when they think a spirit is passing by.

“‘I can’t come back, mother,’ said Lily, just as she reached the bank, where the angel was waiting for her, for it was nobody else but an angel, as one might know by its wings. ‘You will come to me by-and-by—I can see you now, mother. There’s no more night for me.’

“Then the angel covered her, as it were, with his wings—or rather, they seemed to have one pair of wings between them, and they began to rise above the earth, slow at first, and easy, just as you’ve seen the clouds roll up, after a shower. Then they went up faster and higher, till they didn’t look bigger than two stars, shining up overhead.

“The next day a traveler was passing along the banks of the stream, below the great waterfall, and he found the body of the beautiful blind girl, lying among the water-lilies there. Her name was Lily, you know. She looked as white and sweet as they did, and there never was such a smile seen, as there was upon her pale lips. He took her up, and curried her to the nearest house, which happened to be her own mother’s. Then the mother knew that Lily had been drowned the night before, and that she had seen her going up to Heaven, with the twin angel, created for her and with her, at the beginning of creation. She felt happy, for she knew Lily was no longer blind.”

If we could give an adequate idea of Miss Thusa’s manner, so solemn and impressive, of the tones of her voice, monotonous and slightly nasal, yet full of intensity, and, above all, of the expression of her foreboding eye, while in the act of narration, it would be easy to account for the effect which she produced. Helen and Alice were bathed in tears before the conclusion, and a deepening seriousness rested on the countenances of all her auditors.