"Now, dear, you must not talk any more or get excited. We feared to tell you about little Mary, in case it should upset you while you were so weak, but Papa and I decided that if you asked we would tell you the truth; for we have all decided, have we not, that we are to have no concealments or deceptions any more,—have we not?" she repeated.
"No, I never will; I mean," she added humbly, "I will try not to."
After that day Lena grew rapidly better, and was soon able to be taken down to the sitting-room, where she could lie on the sofa before the open window, inhaling the cool sea-breezes that brought back health to the weakened frame, and colour to the pale cheeks.
Soon the day arrived when the doctor pronounced the invalid strong enough to undertake the journey home; but before they started she begged for and was allowed to see Mrs. Roberts, the poor widowed mother, who gladly spoke of her little Mary, and she told Lena much of the simple holy life her child had tried to lead; and it comforted the poor mother to hear how her child had been, although unconsciously, instrumental in leading and strengthening another in the right way; and it interested Lena much to hear of the girl who, though she had seen her but once or twice, had still been able to exercise such an influence for good on her life.
It was the contrast between her own feeling of wrong-doing, and the account David gave them of how Mary had tried to act, that made such a deep impression on Lena's mind, and had been the means of bringing her, in the true spirit of humility, to sue for pardon and strength to do what was right. How thankful and happy Lena now felt that she had told all, and that there was no longer in her heart or life anything that she desired to hide from her parents.
Oh, if children would only remember that the good or evil they do affects, not only themselves, but may, both by example and bearing, have a powerful influence over their companions, I am sure one and all would strive to deserve the name that David had bestowed on Mary Roberts, and be, in deed and in truth, little Christians. How happy they would be, not only themselves, but would make all around them equally so!
Long ere the autumn passed into winter, Lena was well and strong, and Astbury was no longer looked upon or called a new home; and although they were not able, now the cold and wet weather had set in, to spend their time in the fields and garden as at first, they found there were pleasures and joys in a country life in winter as well as in summer, and sunshine reigned indoors, for Lena and her sisters were very happy and loving together. Storms came occasionally, as among all small people; but there was not only love, but perfect trust and confidence between them all now; and when that is the case, there must be happiness in the home circle.
Christmas was drawing very near, and with it the prospect of Aunt Mary's promised visit. No word had been said to Miss Somerville about Lena's wrong-doing and its long concealment. Mrs. Graham wished Lena to tell her Aunt herself, and though at first she shrank from the task, she acknowledged that she ought to do so, for, as she said to her mother, "I know I ought to, Mama, for Gerty saved me the pain of telling you, though now I should not want any one to tell you or Papa anything for me, but then it was different."
Christmas also brought back, for her first holiday, Bessie Freeling from the boarding-school that she had looked forward to with so much dread, and that she had found was not so dreadful in reality as in anticipation. Like many other things in this world that we dread and think of as misfortunes, it turned out, as is so often the case, to be a real blessing when it came. Bessie was beginning to see that running about wild in the country was not all that was required to make life either useful or happy.
The first evening of Aunt Mary's arrival Lena joined her in her own room. Miss Somerville sat quietly in her chair before the fire, and listened to Lena as she poured forth the account of her doings since they had parted in the summer, ending with, "I know, Auntie, that you must be disappointed and grieved with me after all my promises."