“Evie, do not give way to such weakness; it is unworthy of you. Life comes with its lights and with its shadows for all; and as surely as day follows night, will the darkness of these sad changes pass away; and, even while it remains, many a bright star will shine in the mental sky.”
But still Eveline wept, and continued to weep until Eunice drew her head down upon her breast, and soothed her with many words of cheerfulness and hope.
“I am like a child,” Eveline at length said, rising up with a calmer face, and eyes now undimmed, “and your braver spirit shames my weakness. But, I hope to be able, for all this, to stand firmly by your side, sister, in any new and severer trial that may come.”
“Spoken like yourself, Evie!” returned Eunice, with a smile. “Let us not be doubtful but believing—let us be brave and strong, and no difficulty shall beset our path that will not be easily overcome.”
The observations of Eunice, as well as her conclusions, were correctly made. Her father was in trouble, and she had guessed, as before, the cause.
Some months previously, he had received a large consignment of goods, upon which an advance of five thousand dollars was asked. In order to make this advance, Mr. Townsend had to get a small temporary loan. The parties consigning the goods, required a guaranty of sales, and this, although against his wishes, Mr. Townsend agreed to do. Over ten thousand dollars worth of these goods were sold to one house, and that house, before the notes given in payment for them had matured, failed.
On the very day that Eunice called the attention of her sister to their father’s depressed state of mind, a meeting of creditors was held, at which it was made clearly apparent, that not twenty cents in the dollar would be divided, and that, at least, twelve or eighteen months must pass before the whole of this would be paid. Mr. Townsend went back to his store, after the meeting had closed, with his mind in a complete state of despondency. He felt that he was utterly ruined, and hopelessly gave up the struggle. After writing to his principal consignors, informing them of what had occurred, and stating that he would make an assignment for their benefit, he left his place of business, and returned home. On his way, he stopped at the store of a druggist, and procured two ounces of laudanum.
CHAPTER XIV.
FAITH TRIED AND PROVED.
Eunice was sitting alone, and thinking about her father, and waiting for him to return home. She had made up her mind to approach him on the subject of his marked depression of spirits, and learn, if possible, the cause. Eveline was in her own room, and her mother was attending to some household duty. Many thoughts passed through the mind of the true-hearted girl. She sat near the window, her eyes looking out upon the street, but without noticing the passers-by, except as moving forms indistinctly seen. Deeply had she been pondering, since her conversation with Eveline, the subject about which they had spoken; and now her mind was busy with suggestions as to what she could and would do, if another and still more depressing misfortune had befallen her father. The result of her thoughts was not altogether satisfactory. Sacrifices, to almost any extent, she was willing to make, and she was ready to do to the utmost of her ability; but, all was doubt in regard to her father’s affairs; and, therefore, her own mind could come to no fixed conclusions. While she sat thus, she noticed a man pause and look up at the number of the house; and then ascend the steps and ring the bell. His appearance was that of a porter, of ordinary laboring man about a store. The bell was answered by a servant, and then the man went away. While wondering what message he had left, the servant entered the parlor, where she was sitting, and handed her a note, which she said had been left for her. Eunice broke the seal of the envelope and read:
“Dear Eunice:—Two years and more have passed, since you bade me have faith in time. I have had faith; I still have faith. Long ere this, had my heart been consulted, I would have sought to know, from your own lips, whether my faith might still rest in hope. But few weeks have passed, during all that time, in which I have not looked upon your face, at least once, and marked, with feelings that I cannot well describe, the change that was gradually passing over it. To the distressing events that have occurred since we met, I will not allude further than to say, that their only effect upon me has been to make you more beloved; and I cannot tell you how eager I have been to step forward and tell you this. But, for many reasons that I need not state at present, I deemed it best to restrain this ardent desire. Now, I feel that the time has come for me to say that my heart yet beats in the right place—that you are, as ever, the best beloved; nay, the only loved. Eunice, shall my faith in time have its due reward? Do you still feel toward me as you felt ere the interdiction of your father came in between our heart’s best impulses, and their hoped-for consummation? Let me hear from you, changed or unchanged. It is time, and full time, that our future became the present.