I obeyed, and in a few minutes we stopped at a large but neat residence, almost hid in a profusion of shrubbery. The climbing multiflora rose covered one side of the house, and, with welcome intrusiveness, peeped into the chamber windows, while a honeysuckle and woodbine threw their mantle of green over the door, and mingled their blossoms with those of a tall snowball tree, which had grown high, and, clinging to the house, showered a white welcome upon every corner. A few steps from the house, on the right side, but in the same enclosure, was a small brick office;—on the other side a cottage, shaded by two large beech trees, children of the forest, spared by some merciful woodman when the land was cleared. Such was the outward appearance of my new home—a word as to its inmates. My companion ushered me into a small sitting-room, prettily furnished, and occupied at the time by two persons,—one a tall, white-haired old gentleman, with spectacles on nose, reading the newspaper—the other Mrs. Travis, a young widow, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Warner, who had returned again to the home of her youth. She was sewing as we entered, but, laying aside her work, rose to greet us. Her countenance was plain, but a pair of sparkling black eyes gave animation and expression to her features; and, as I returned her salutation, I thought her welcome not quite so cordial as her mother's. It seemed to express this—"Whether you and I like each other will depend on circumstances." But the old gentleman looked at me for an instant over his spectacles; then, laying them aside with his paper, rose, and taking my hand, welcomed me to the West with a hearty greeting; then, placing a chair near to his own, begged me to be seated. His whole countenance was expressive of goodness; and, as I sat down by his side in all the timidity of a girlish stranger, I felt, for the first time since leaving home, a delicious sense of security and peace. It seemed as if the wing of some guardian angel was over me, and a refuge opened in time of sorrow.
And here, en passant, I must add, those first impressions never changed; and, from that hour till the day when that blessed spirit was carried by angels to its own pure home in heaven, I always found consolation in trouble, advice in perplexity, and gentle reproof in error, by the side of the good old man. How sweet was the fragrance of his daily life, and how precious the kiss he imprinted upon my forehead, and the blessing he implored upon my head when I bade him farewell! Oh! the hopeless darkness of atheism, which draws the veil of oblivion between us and all further intercourse with such spirits! No, no!—let us rather say with St. Paul, "I know in whom I have believed;" and with Job, "I shall live again."
But my limits forbid any extended notice of the members of the family, though the years I spent under that charmed roof are marked in my life with a white stone. There I emerged from the bashful, timid girl, into the more active, energetic woman; and under the blessed influence of love I trust I grew wiser and happier.
When, at nine o'clock, the family Bible was opened, and father
"Read a portion with judicious care,
And 'Let us worship God,' he said with solemn air;"
and all knelt at the family altar in prayer, my own heart was full, and I was thankful that no eye could see my face. Soon afterwards the old lady said, "You look tired, and must retire; I will show you to your room." Then, leading me through a small entry, she opened the door of a commodious room, saying, as she did so, "This will be yours." It was carpeted, a centre-table was in the middle of the room, an open stove with its grate, ready at any chilly hour for coal, and a nice, cosy-looking bed in one corner of the apartment. The old lady lighted a candle, and bade me good night. Did she, or did she not, think I was a cold-hearted little thing, that I said good night in such a low, tremulous tone? I know not; but this I do know, that, as soon as she had left the room, I sat down, and, laying my head on the table, burst into tears.
They were tears of thankfulness and joy, and they refreshed the heart, as a summer shower the parched earth.
I seemed a child again, and, with my childhood's prayer upon my lips, I dropped to sleep that night. I would love to sit and write till night about my after-life there, but I have limited myself to one little episode, and to that I will proceed. I had been there some months; Elizabeth had learned that we were so unlike that we could love, and neither be enemies nor rivals. Her high, ambitious, buoyant spirit had nothing to fear from the timid, yielding, sensitive girl who was to be her companion. Not a single trait in the character of each came in collision. One was self-reliant, could keep her own secrets, extricate herself from her own difficulties, feared none but God, cared little for the opinion of others, loved deeply, hated cordially. The other had an inordinate "love of approbation," lacked hope and courage, but, supported by a stronger arm, could endure the bitterest trial even to the end. The one was proud to uphold, the other loved to trust.
And thus we moved on, loved and loving, whereas, had we resembled each other more closely, bitter heart-burnings and jealousies might have been the result. One day we sat together in the little sitting-room. We were reading "Deerbrook," by Miss Martineau, and wondering that such want of trust and faith should ever take place between sisters, when the door-bell rang, and a young gentleman, a total stranger to us, was ushered in. He was a tall young man, with a fresh countenance, a somewhat diffident manner, and gray eyes, which had a downcast expression. It was difficult for him to observe that simple rule of politeness, "Look directly at the person to whom you speak." Mr. Warner endeavoured to make him more at his ease by casual remarks upon the weather, and other topics of the day; but he elicited little besides "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "I agree with you perfectly, sir," and suchlike replies. At last he drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. Warner, saying, "I have been in town some days, and am looking out for an office. Learning that the one near your house is unoccupied, I have made an early application."