ANY one who had only seen Mrs. Wallingford on her marriage, would scarcely have recognized her, when at the age of twenty-four she stood on board the deck of the good steamer Asia about to sail for Liverpool. Near her, with a huge shawl wrapped around him, sat her brother Edward; and just opposite their dearly loved pastor Dr. Gilbert, and Marion.
The wishes of Gertrude had been fulfilled. By the judicious use of money, backed by the lady's strong will and energy, a beautiful spire now pointed the inhabitants of the village to the skies; and Rose Cottage was blessed with a most faithful pastor.
But there must be some alloy in the pleasures of time, that we may be the more willing to exchange it for eternity. While every effort of Gertrude's succeeded almost beyond her expectations, she was pained to see the gradual decline of her brother's health. A few months before this time, he had a slight hemorrhage of the lungs accompanied by a cough. His business engagements were pressing; and his clients were uneasy lest he should employ another lawyer. He was tempted to imprudence, which resulted in a second and more alarming attack of bleeding.
The winter and early spring were passed at Rose Cottage, amid alternate hopes and fears; and then the Doctor advised his patient to try the effect of a sea voyage. Without a moment's hesitation Gertrude resolved to accompany him, leaving her son, now in his fifth year, in the care of Hannah and Bridget, with dear aunt Marion to continue the lessons his mamma had commenced.
The parting adieus were spoken at last, and the party to go on shore were turning away, when the invalid seized the hand of Marion, and said in a low voice:
"If I never live to return, remember you are my first earthly object of regard. You have led me to accept my Saviour; and if I might have had you by my side I should ask nothing else."
"Why do you tell me this now, Mr. Wallingford?" she asked, struggling to retain self-command. "Let me go or I shall be too late."
"One word of love to carry across the ocean would be so much comfort. I did not tell you before, because I could not get courage to ask you to unite yourself to a man on the verge of the grave."
"Marion! Marion! the boat is starting," called her father, excitedly.
The young girl's color came and went, but suddenly stooping toward him she whispered, "I shall pray daily that you may return. I loved you at first for Gerty's sake. Now I love you for your own."