But, hush! little Mary is singing; a simple plaintive melody, as natural in its pleasant notes, as the dropping of the withered leaves around her absent brother, in yon far American forest. There is a charm in these old songs which far surpasses more artistic music, for scarce is there a single ear on which they fall that has not many remembrances and associations awakened, or recalled, it may be joyful, it may be sorrowful, connected with their simple measure and well-known words, and in such, and in no other, does Mary Melville delight. There is one sitting by Mary’s side who seems to comprehend what few of the listeners do, or care to do, the singer’s delicate and sweet expression of the feeling of her well-chosen song. He has never seen her before to-night, but he seems to have made wonderfully good use of the short time he has spent beside her; and Mary has already discovered that the gentleman-like stranger, who devoted himself to her all through the evening, is a remarkably well-informed, agreeable man, and quite superior to the frivolous youths who generally buzz about in Elizabeth’s drawing-room, and form the majority of her guests. He has brilliant conversational powers, this stranger, and the still more remarkable art of drawing out the latent faculty in others, and Mary is half-ashamed, as she sees herself led on to display her hoards of hidden knowledge, adorned with her own clear perceptions of the true and beautiful, which, unknown to herself, she has acquired. It is a strange, an unusual thing with Mary to meet with any mind, save Christian’s, which can at all appreciate her own, and she is rejoicing in her new companion’s congenial temperament, and, in a little while, there is a group of listeners collected round them, attracted by something more interesting than the vapid conversations which are going on in this large room. Mr. Forsyth’s accomplishments are universally acknowledged, and he shines resplendent to night; and one after another, dazzled by his sparkling wit and still more engaging seriousness, join the circle, of which Mary is still the centre.
“Who would have thought,” say we, with Mrs. James, as she gazes wonderingly over the heads of her guests on the animated face of her young sister-in-law,—“who would have thought that Mary knew so much, or could show it so well!”
Is Christian’s care asleep to-night; what is she doing that she is not now watching over her precious charge? No, it is not; her eyes, which have strayed for a moment, are now resting fixed on Mary. See! how her cheek flushes at that man’s graceful deference. Listen to the laugh that rings from the merry circle at some sally of his polished wit. Mary looks grave and anxious for a moment, for his jest has just touched something which she will not laugh at, and he perceives it, and at once changes his tone, and turns with polished ease the conversation into a new channel. Is it well that Christian should be ignorant of one who is engrossing so much of her sister’s attention? No, it is not; and she feels that it is not; so she calls James, and is even now, while Mary’s joyousness is returning, anxiously inquiring of her brother who this stranger is. James does not even know his name. A cousin of Elizabeth’s brought him to-night, and introduced him as a friend who had been of great service to him; then Elizabeth herself is appealed to; Mrs. James is quite sure that Mr. Forsyth is a very respectable, as well as a very agreeable man; he could never have found his way into her drawing-room had he been other than that; her cousin never would have brought him had he not been quite certain and satisfied on that point. He is very rich, she believes, and very accomplished, she is sure, and, being unmarried, she is extremely pleased to see him paying so much attention to Mary. Christian shudders—why, she does not know; but she feels that this is not well, there is a something in his look—such nonsense! But Christian has always such strange, such peculiar notions, and is so jealous of all that approach Mary.
The gay young people that are around Mary make room for Christian, as she glides in to sit down by her sisters’s side. She is very grave now, as always; but some of them have heard her story, and all the nature in their hearts speaks for her in tones of sympathy, and their voices are quieter always when beside her. Over most of them she has some other power besides this of sympathetic feeling; there is hardly one there to whom she has not done some deed of quiet kindness, which would not even bear acknowledgment; thus they all love Christian. She sits down by Mary’s side, and her heart grows calmer, and more assured again; for Mary bends over her, and seeks forgiveness for her momentary forgetfulness. Pardon from Christian is easily obtained; yet, gentle as she is, it seems not so easy to win her favour. Mr. Forsyth’s fascinating powers, displayed and exerted to the full, are all thrown away. See how coldly she listens to and answers him; nay, how impatient she is of his courteous attentions. What has he done wrong? what can ail Christian?
Mr. James Melville’s party has been a very brilliant one; but it is all over now: the street grows suddenly sombre and silent opposite the darkened windows, and Mrs. James is not in the sweetest of moods: the baby, now that all the other music has ceased, is exercising his vigorous lungs for the amusement of the tired household; his weary mamma is aggravated into very ill-humour, and unfortunately can find no better way of relieving herself, nor any better object, than by railing at Christian’s folly. Mrs. James is sure, if Mr. Forsyth were to think of Mary Melville, they might all of them be both proud and pleased, for he would be an excellent match for her. She could not think what Christian expected for her—some unheard-of prodigy she fancied, that nobody but herself ever dreamt of—thus did the lady murmur on to the great annoyance of James.
But we must leave Mrs. James and her indignation to themselves, that we may follow the sisters home. They had little conversation on the way. Christian was silent and absorbed in her own thoughts, and Mary wondered, but did not disturb her; for Mary, too, has thoughts unusual, which she cares not to communicate; and soon, again, we are in the old room, no way changed since we saw it first, three years ago; and Mr. Melville—how shall we excuse ourselves for passing him over so lightly and so long—is here unaltered, as much a fixture in his wide, soft chair, as any piece of furniture in the well-filled room; and Robert, we lost him amid the belles of Mrs. James’s party! but here he is again, distinct, full grown and manly, and still retaining the blithe look of old. Christian alone has yet a disturbed apprehensive expression on her usually calm and placid face, and she wonders,
“How can James like such parties? it is so different from his wont.”
“Yes,” says Mary innocently, “I wonder that Elizabeth likes them. If there were just two or three intelligent people like Mr. Forsyth, it would be so much better.”
Poor Christian!
The protection of the Almighty has been implored “through the silent watches of the night,” and Mr. Melville’s household is hushed in sleep—all but Christian; for this quiet hour when all are at rest, is Christian’s usual hour of thoughtful relaxation and enjoyment. But she had a clouded brow and an uneasy look when she entered her room to-night—that room of many memories. At length there is no mist of disquietude to be seen upon her peaceful face; no doubt in her loving heart: she has gone to the footstool of the Lord, and borne with her there that child of her tenderness and affection, over whose dawning fate she has trembled, and has committed her into the keeping of the Father of all; and she has poured forth, with weeping earnestness, the longings of her soul for that lost brother, whom even yet she knows not to be within the reach of prayer. Often has she thought that Halbert may be dead, since day after day these years have come and gone, and no tidings from, or of him, have gladdened her heart. Her spirit has been sick with deferred hope, as month after month went by and brought no message. But she is calmer to-night; the load is off her soul; she has entrusted the guardianship of the twain into His hands who doeth all things well, and with whom all things are possible; and wherefore should she fear!