“And to neglect such work,” said Mr. Fleetwood, “when it lies in our way, and will be performed by no other hands if we refuse to do it, involves no light responsibility. The perversion, corruption, and final ruin of an immortal soul is a fearful thought.”
A deep sigh fluttered the bosom of Florence Harper; but she made no remark.
“If a mother neglect her high duties in this regard,” said Mrs. Elder, “can we say that another becomes responsible in her stead?”
Florence raised her head and listened with marked interest for Mr. Fleetwood’s answer to this question. He reflected a moment, and then made reply:—
“For the work God sets before us are we alone responsible. His love for his children is so great that he is ever providing the means to help them to a knowledge of the good that is needful to secure their happiness. If those appointed by nature to do good to his little ones neglect their high trust, he leads others to a knowledge of their wants; and, if these pass by unmoved to kindness, he still offers the heavenly work to other hands.”
The head of Florence again drooped, and again her bosom trembled with a sigh.
“I do not ask Florence to return to our house to-day,” said Mr. Fleetwood. “She must have a little time for rest and reflection, and I must have a little time for observation and management at home. The meaning of this hasty step on the part of my niece I do not comprehend. Something lies behind it that I must make out clearly before acting.”
“I will see you in the morning, Florence,” added the old gentleman, on rising to go. Then, taking her hand, he said, very earnestly, and with slight emotion,—
“Ever regard me as your friend,—nay, more than a friend,—as a father. Do not fear that I will advise you to any course of action in this matter that I would not advise you to take were you indeed my own child—as—as you might have been!”
The voice of the old man grew strangely veiled with feeling as he uttered, in something of an absent way, the closing words of the last sentence.