Elsie's New Relations

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER XII.

  "Oh! only those Whose souls have felt this one idolatry, Can tell how precious is the slightest thing Affection gives and hallows! A dead flower Will long be kept, remembrancer of looks That made each leaf a treasure." --Miss Landon.

  The whole family connection living in the neighborhood had dined at Ionthat Christmas day, and several had stayed to tea. But all had now gone,the good-nights had been said among the members of the home circle, andElsie Travilla was alone in her own apartments.

  A little weary with the cares and excitement of the day, she was halfreclining on a sofa, in dressing-gown and slippers, her beautiful hairunbound and rippling over her shoulders, beside her a jewel-box of ebonyinlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  It stood open, and the lamplight falling upon its contents was flashedback from many a costly gem set in rings, brooches, lockets and chains ofgold.

  She took them up, one by one, gazing upon each for a minute or more with asmile, a sigh, or a falling tear, ere she laid it almost tenderly back inits place.

  So absorbed was she in the contemplation of these mementoes of the pastand the memories called up by them, that she did not hear an approachingfootstep, and deemed herself quite alone, till a hand was laid gently onher head, and a voice said tenderly, "My darling!"

  "Dear papa!" she responded, glancing up into his face with tear-dimmedeyes, as he stood at the back of her sofa, bending over her. "Let me giveyou a chair," and she would have risen to do so, but he forced her gentlyback.

  "No; lie still. I will help myself." And coming round in front of her, heseated himself close at her side.

  "Why look at these, if it makes you sad, my child?" he asked, noticing heroccupation.

  "There is sometimes a sweetness in the tears called forth by pleasantmemories of loved ones gone before, papa," she said. "These anniversarieswill recall the dear husband who always remembered his little wife sokindly upon each, and there is a melancholy pleasure in looking over hisChristmas gifts, I have them all here, beginning with this--the veryfirst. Do you remember it, papa? And this Christmas day when he gave it tome? the first Christmas that you were with me."

  She was holding up a tiny gold thimble.

  "Yes, I think I do," he said. "I certainly remember the day, the firstChristmas after my return from Europe, the first on which I heard myselfaddressed as papa--the sweetest of child voices calling me that, andwishing me a merry Christmas, as the dearest, loveliest of little girlsran into my arms. Dear daughter, what a priceless treasure you have beento me ever since!" he added, bending over her and softly smoothing herhair. "It has always been a joy to call you mine."

  She caught his hand in hers and pressed it to her lips. "Yes, dear, dearfather! and to me to be so called. We loved one another very dearly then,each was all the other had, and I think our mutual love has never beenless because of the other many tender ties God has given us since."

  "I am sure you are right, daughter, but at that time," he added with asmile, "you were not willing to share your father's love with another; atleast with one other whom you suspected of trying to win it. Do youremember how you slipped away to your bed without bidding your papagood-night, and cried yourself to sleep?"

  "Yes, foolish child that I was!" she said, with a low musical laugh; "andhow you surprised me the next morning by your knowledge of my fears, andthen set them all at rest, like the dear, kind father that you were andalways have been."

  "No, not always," he sighed.

  "Yes, papa, always," she said with playful tenderness. "I will insist uponthat; because even when most severe with me, you did what at the time youdeemed your duty, and believed to be for my good."

  "Yes, that is true, my dear, forgiving child! and yet I can never think ofthe suffering you endured during the summer that succeeded the Christmaswe have been talking of, without keen remorse."

  "Yet, long before the next Christmas came I was happier than ever," shesaid, looking up into his face with a smile full of filial love. "It wasthe first in our own dear home at the Oaks, you remember, papa. You gaveme a lovely set of pearls--necklace and bracelets--and this," taking up apearl ring, "was Edward's gift. Mr. Travilla he was to me then, and nothought of one day becoming his wife even so much as entered my head. Butyears afterward he told me he had it in his mind even then; had alreadyresolved to wait till I grew up and win me for his wife if he could."

  "Yes, he told me after you were grown and he had offered himself, that ithad been love at first sight with him, little child that you were when hefirst made your acquaintance. That surprised me, though less than thediscovery that you fancied one so many years your senior."

  "But so good, so noble, so lovable!" she said. "Surely, it was not half sostrange, papa, as that he should fancy a foolish young thing such as I wasthen; not meaning that I am yet very greatly improved," she added, with ahalf tearful smile.

  "I am fully satisfied with you just as you are," he said, bending downover her and touching his lips two or three times to her forehead, "Mydarling, my first-born and best-beloved child! no words can express thelove and tenderness I feel for you, or my pity for the grief which isbeyond my power to relieve."

  "Dear papa, your sympathy is very sweet," she said in tremulous tones,"very, very sweet in itself, and it helps me to a fuller realization ofthe depth of meaning in those sweet words, 'Like as a father pitieth hischildren, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.'"

  "You cannot be wholly miserable while that precious love and pity areyours, my dear child, even if all earthly loves should be taken from you,which may God forbid should ever happen."

  "No, papa; dearly as I loved my husband, I am happy in that divine lovestill mine, though parted from him; and dearly as I love you and mychildren, I know that were you all taken from me, I could still rejoice inthe love of Him who died for me, and who has said, 'I am with you alway,even unto the end of the world.' 'I will never leave thee nor forsakethee.' 'I have loved thee with an everlasting love.'"

  Silence fell between them for some moments, both seemingly wrapped inthought; then Mr. Dinsmore said inquiringly, "You will go to Roselandsto-morrow?"

  "Yes, papa, if you go, as I heard you say you intended, and nothinghappens to prevent. Rosie was particularly delighted with Cal'sinvitation," she added, smiling up at him, "because I had been telling thestory of those Christmas holidays that we have been discussing, to her andthe other children, and naturally she wants to look upon the scene of allthose important events."

  "It will not be by any means her first visit to Roselands," he remarked ina tone of surprise.

  "Oh, no, sir! only the first after hearing of those interesting episodesin her mother's life."

  "But the house is not the same."

  "No, sir; yet the hall and parlors, your rooms and mine are about whereand what they were in the old house."

  "Ah! well I hope Rosie will enjoy it. And that you may do so, I shallleave you now, begging you to go at once to bed. Good-night, daughter."

  "Good-night, my dearest, best of fathers," she responded, putting her armsround his neck as he stooped to give her a parting caress.

  Calhoun and Arthur Conly were now joint proprietors at Roselands. "AuntMaria," an old negress born and bred on the estate, was their housekeeper,and managed so well that they found themselves as comfortable as in thedays of their mother's administration.

  They, with one younger sister and brother, were all of the once largefamily now left to occupy the old home, and these younger two were therenow only for the Christmas holidays, and at their close would return todistant boarding-schools. Ella, the sister, was eighteen; Ralph two yearsyounger.

  The house whence the mother and grandfather had been carried out to theirlast long home but a few months before, could not be made the scene ofmirth and jollity, but to a day of quiet social intercourse with near anddear relatives and friends none could object; so the family at Ion hadbeen invited to dine there th
e next day, and had accepted the invitation.

  Lulu had been greatly interested in Grandma Elsie's party of children asit told of had been invited to Ion for these holidays; but she did notcovet such a father as Mr. Dinsmore; he was much too strict and severe,she thought, with all his petting and caressing, and she would far ratherhave her own papa. Still Grandma Elsie's lot, when a little girl, seemedto her an enviable one, so beautiful and so rich, and with a nice oldmammy always ready to wait on and do everything for her; and she (Lulu)was sure she wouldn't have minded much when such a father as Mr. Dinsmorewas vexed with her; he wouldn't have found it so easy to manage her; noindeed! She almost thought she should enjoy trying her strength in a tiltwith him even now.

  Lulu was a rebel by nature, and ever found it difficult to combat theinclination to defy authority and assert her entire independence ofcontrol.

  But fortunately this inclination was in great measure counterbalanced bythe warmth of her affections. She was ready to love all who treated herwith justice and kindness, and her love for her father was intense. Toplease him she would do or endure almost anything; that more than anyother influence had kept her on her good behavior all these weeks.

  She had sometimes rebelled inwardly, but there had been no greateroutward show of it than a frown or a pout, which soon vanished under thekind and gentle treatment she received at the hands of Grandma Elsie andMamma Vi.

  Captain Raymond would have been much gratified could he have seen how, notonly she, but all his children, were improving morally, mentally andphysically in the wholesome atmosphere of their new home.

  Gracie had gained largely in strength and vivacity, her cheeks wererounder and rosier than when she came to Ion, her eyes brighter; andthough not yet equal to violent exercise, she could enjoy quiet plays, andwould often laugh right merrily.

  She had grown very fond of Dr. Conly, or Cousin Arthur as he told her tocall him, and he of his little patient. She was frequently hovering abouthim during Christmas day; and received a special invitation to Roselands.

  "You and your mamma are to be my particular guests," he said, "and if youfail to enjoy yourselves it shall be from no fault of mine."

  "We shall not fail," Violet said with confidence. "How could we with Caland yourself for our hosts?"

  The day proved propitious, all went and all enjoyed their visit, though tothe older ones there was at first a feeling of subdued sadness inthinking of the old grandfather, whose chair was now vacant, and who hadbeen wont to greet their coming with words of cordial welcome.

  It was after dinner that Rose claimed her mother's promise.

  "Well," said Elsie, glancing dreamily about, "this parlor where we are allsitting occupies the same part of the house, and is almost exactly likethe one where the scenes I told you of took place."

  "What scenes?" asked Dr. Conly, drawing near, with a look of interest.

  Mr. Dinsmore, too, turned to listen.

  "I have been telling the children about the Christmas holidays atRoselands the first winter after my father's return from Europe," sheanswered. "It was before you were born, Cousin Arthur, while your motherwas still a very young girl."

  "Mamma," asked Rosie, "where was grandpa sitting when you went to him andconfessed that you had let Carry Howard cut off one of your curls?"

  "Near yonder window. Do you remember it, papa?" she asked, lookingsmilingly at him.

  "Yes, I think I have forgotten very little that ever passed between us.You were a remarkably honest, conscientious child--would come and confesswrong-doing that I should never have known or suspected, even when youthought it likely I should punish you severely for it."

  "Now, mamma," said Rosie, "won't you go into the hall with us and show usjust where papa caught you, and kissed you, and gave you the gold thimble?And then your room and grandpa's?"

  "Arthur, have we your permission to roam over the house?" Elsie asked,turning to him.

  "Yes; provided you will let me go along, for I am as much interested asthe children."

  "Come, then," she said, rising and taking Walter's hand, Rosie, Lulu, andGracie keeping close to her, and Mr. Dinsmore and Arthur following.

  Pausing in the hall, she pointed out the precise spot where the littlescene had been enacted between herself and him who was afterward herhusband, telling the story between a smile and a tear, then moved on upthe stairs with her little procession.

  Opening a door, "This was my room," she said, "or rather my room was herebefore the old house was burned down. It looks just the same, except thatthe furniture is different."

  Then passing on to another, "This was papa's dressing-room. I have passedmany happy hours here, sitting by his side or on his knee. It was here Iopened the trunk full of finery and toys that he brought me a few daysbefore that Christmas.

  "Papa," turning smilingly to him, and pointing to a closed door on thefarther side of the room, "do you remember my imprisonment in thatcloset?"

  "Yes," he answered, with a remorseful look, "but don't speak of it. Howvery ready I was to punish you for the most trifling fault."

  "Indeed, papa," she answered earnestly, "it was no such trifle, for I haddisobeyed a plain order not to ask a second time for permission to do whatyou had once forbidden."

  "True; but I now see that a child so sensitive, conscientious andaffectionate as you were, would have been sufficiently punished by a mildrebuke."

  "A year or two later you discovered and acted upon that," she said, withan affectionate look up into his face. "But at this time you were a veryyoung father; and when I remember how you took me on your knee, by thefire there, and warmed my hands and feet, petting and fondling me, andwhat a nice evening I had with you afterward, I could almost wish to gothrough it all again."

  "Hark! what was that?" exclaimed Rosie.

  Every one paused to listen.

  There was a sound of sobbing as of a child in sore distress, and itseemed to come from the closet.

  "There's somebody shut up there now," Walter said in a loud, excitedwhisper. "Grandpa, can't she be let out?"

  Arthur strode hastily across the room and threw the closet door wide open.

  There was no one there. They glanced at each other in surprise andperplexity.

  "Ah, ha, ah, ha! um, h'm! ah, ah! the lassie's no there, eh?" said a voicebehind them, and turning quickly at the sound, whom should they see butMr. Lilburn standing in the open doorway leading to the hall.

  "But we know all about her now, sir," said Arthur with a laugh, in whichhe was joined by every one present.