The soul alone hath perfect liberty
To flow its own free way;
And only as it wills to follow thee,
O Lord! it findeth day.
NELLIE’S DREAM ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
They had quarrelled, these two—it matters not about what trifle—till the hot, bitter words seemed to have formed an impassable barrier and a silence fell between them that the lowering brow and compressed lip told would not be easily broken. Both had loving hearts, and treasured each other above all earthly things. They had real sorrows enough to make imaginary ones glance off lightly; for the second Christmas had not yet cast its snows on their mother’s grave. The thought of each was, “Had she been here, this would not have happened”; but pride was strong, and the relenting thoughts were hidden behind a cold exterior.
It was the week before Christmas, and Laura, the eldest, was assisting to trim the village church, and in the Holy Presence the dark thought faded and tender memories seemed to reassert their olden sway; and on returning from her occupation she formed the resolution to stop this folly, and make advances towards assuming the old, happy life.
“Father Black asked after you, Nell,” she said, as she laid aside her wrappings, and turned cheerily to the fire. “He wants you to play during the rehearsal of the new Benediction to-morrow; for Prof. C—— will be away.” But she was met by a stony look and closed lips. “Come, Nell,” she said half impatiently, “don’t be so dignified; why do you love that temper of yours so dearly?”