Then came presents of books, and all kinds of beautiful and useful things, to add to my comfort or improvement. Gabrielle told me they were settled in a pretty cottage near the Hall, and that Mr. Erminstoun had forgiven his son. Mr. Erminstoun was a widower, and had five daughters by a former marriage—Gabrielle's husband being the only child of his second union: the Misses Erminstoun were all flourishing in single blessedness, and were known throughout the country-side as the "proud Miss Erminstouns." These ladies were tall, and what some folks call "dashing women;" wearing high feathers, bright colors, and riding hither and thither in showy equipages, or going to church on the Sabbath with a footman following their solemn and majestic approach to the house of prayer, carrying the richly-emblazoned books of these "miserable sinners."
How I pined to hear from Gabrielle that she was happy, and cherished by her new connections; that she was humbled also, in some measure—abashed at the bold step she had taken. So young—so fair—so determined. I trembled, girl as I was, when I thought that God's wrath might fall on her dear head, and chasten her rebellious spirit.
Six months subsequent to Gabrielle's departure our father died, after but a few days' severe suffering. Dying, he took my hand and murmured, "Good child!" and those precious words fell as a blessing on my soul; and I know he listened to the prayers which God put into my heart to make for his departing spirit. I mourned for the dead, because he was my father and I his child....
Nelly accompanied me to my sister's home; and fairyland seemed opening to my view when I embraced Gabrielle once more. What a pleasant home it was!—a cottage not much larger than the one I had left—but how different! Elegance and comfort were combined; and when I saw the rare exotics in the tasteful conservatory I remembered the roses in our wilderness. Ah, I doubt if we ever valued flowers as we did those precious dewy buds. Wood End Cottage stood on the brow of a hill, commanding a fair prospect of sylvan quietude; the old Parsonage was adjacent, inhabited by a bachelor curate, "poor and pious," the church tower peeping forth from a clump of trees. The peal of soft bells in that mouldering tower seemed to me like unearthly music: my heart thrilled as I heard their singular, melancholy chime. There were fine monuments within the church, and it had a superb painted window, on which the sun always cast its last gleams during the hours of summer-evening service.
My brother-in-law, Mr. Thomas Erminstoun, was paler and thinner than when I had seen him last, and I was shocked and alarmed at his appearance. His love for Gabrielle amounted to idolatry; and for her sake he loved and cherished me. She was colder and haughtier in manner than ever, receiving passively all the devoted tenderness lavished by her husband: this pained me sadly; for though he was assuredly simple, there was an earnest truthfulness and kindliness about him, which won on the affections amazingly. He would speak to me of Gabrielle by the hour together, with ever-increasing delight; we both marveled at her surpassing beauty, which each week became more angelic and pure in character.
On me alone all my sister's caresses were bestowed; all the pent-up love of a passionate nature found vent in my arms, which were twined around her with strange enthusiastic love; therefore it was, her faults occasioned me such agony—for I could not but see them—and I alone, of all the world, knew her noble nature—knew what she "might have been." I told her that I expected to have found her cheerful, now she had a happy home of her own.
"Happy! cheerful!" she cried, sadly. "A childhood such as mine was, flings dark shadows over all futurity, Ruth."
"Oh, speak not so, beloved," I replied; "have you not a good husband, your error mercifully forgiven? are you not surrounded by blessings?"
"And dependent," she answered, bitterly
"But dependent on your husband, as the Bible says every woman should be."