The old leather portfolio has come to a blessed use—the comforting and supporting the afflicted. Much need is there, too, of comfort where the wound is so deeply hidden. Nobody knows Kittie's secret; not even her fond mother discerns more than a natural solemnity at the presence of death. It is so hard to go about the house with a cheerful face and an apparent indifference, when the full heart would fain express itself freely. But harder still was it for Kittie to be subjected to her cousin's importunities at a time when she had scarcely room for a common sympathy for him.
She had walked out alone, and had sought the old elm; it was so soothing to be there, with no eye to observe her emotion. Why should Willie seek her then of all times in the world? and for such a purpose!
"It can not be, Willie—you know it can not be," said she, in firm and decided accents.
"But I have set my heart upon it, Kittie," replied her cousin. "You see, we have been much together, and I am used to your ways, and I don't think I could easily find any body else that would exactly suit me, so I've concluded it is best to have the matter arranged immediately. There is nothing in the way but this funeral, and that will be over to-morrow, and what do you say to Monday week, Kittie? Will that be soon enough, my birdie?" and the too confident youth drew near and reached out his arm to encircle her waist, but she was no longer there.
"Soon enough!" What! to be wedded to a compound of the most hideous deformity! "Soon enough!" To blot out the memory of the pure and immortal one, and to link herself to a revolting and miserable object! It were better to be lying peacefully beneath the green earth than to walk about a living corpse, with but the semblance of animation. What mockery it seemed to her as she stood by the silent dead! The pet name, too, was almost an insult to the pure and loving heart that had smothered its springing affections, until the life also was crushed and gone. Oh! that she could tear out the remembrance of her cousin's weakness and folly so that she need abate nothing of her accustomed kindness and attention. Henceforth she must withhold from him even the natural sympathy which his infirmities demand, and perhaps be forced to add another tinge to the bitterness of his fate, by a constant coldness and indifference toward him.
Poor child! the ills of life come seldom singly, yet how much greater is the might that can rise above and conquer a complication of sorrows. There was strength for Kittie in the contemplation of the serene face that was before her—so free from every shadow that had darkened it when animate. There were exhortations to patience in its hallowed expression, and lessons upon the nothingness of our temporary trials, and inspiring promises of the end—that glorious end that will compensate for all our sad beginnings. No wonder Kittie Fay was more than ever tranquil as she stepped again within the circle of her home; and no wonder the wound that lay deeply hidden was unsuspected there.
CHAPTER XVI.
"Come, come Archie, my son, don't be fooling with your old grandmother. What does it all mean? Is it a wedding, boy? Ah, yes, I mind me now; it was just so when your father was married, this day forty years ago—posies all about, on the dresser, on the bed—roses and pansies, and 'bundance o' green stuff every where," and the unconscious idiot touched the cold hands, and put her arms around the stiff neck, laying her wrinkled face to the youth's cheek, and then she would dress his hair with the flowers, weaving fantastic garlands, and twining them in and out, amid the damp locks. It was thus they found her—old Patrick and Molly—as they entered the silent room on the morning of Archie's funeral. "Is the bride ready?" asked she, unwinding her arms from the lad, and smoothing down her dress, as if to make herself presentable, "because," she continued, advancing toward Molly, and pointing to the couch, "he's waiting for her. 'Tis a beautiful home they'll have, I never dreamed of any thing so pretty; but he whispered it to me—golden streets, and pearls, and rivers of water, and trees with all manner of fruit—'tis worth while to be his bride! I never thought our Archie'd come to all this good!"
Molly put the flowers back in their places, and composed the limbs once more, and then gently led the old woman to her arm-chair in the outer room, where she relapsed into her quiet dosing way until all was over. Once only she looked up as they bore the remains from the dwelling, and asked in a deprecating voice, "why Archie didn't take her with him;" but his name did not escape her after that. The rest of her days were a blank.