Holidays at Roselands

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER X.

  "In this wild world the fondest and the bestAre the most tried, most troubled, and distress'd."

  CRABBE.

  It was about a week after this that Elsie's grandfather handed her aletter directed to her in her father's handwriting, and the little girlrushed away to her room with it, her heart beating wildly between hopeand fear. Her hand trembled so that she could scarcely tear it open, andher eyes were so dimmed with tears that it was some moments before shecould read a line.

  It was kind, yes, even affectionate, and in some parts tender. But ah! ithas brought no comfort to the little girl! else why does she finish witha burst of tears and sobs, and sinking upon her knees, hide her face inher hands, crying with a bitter, wailing cry, "Oh, papa! papa! papa!"

  He told her of the estate he had purchased, and the improvements he hadbeen making; of a suite of rooms he had had prepared and furnishedexpressly for her, close to his own apartments--and of the pleasant homehe hoped they would have there together, promising to dispense with agoverness and teach her himself, for that he knew she would greatlyprefer.

  He drew a bright picture of the peaceful, happy life they might lead;but finished by telling her that the condition was entire, unconditionalsubmission on her part, and the alternative a boarding-school, at adistance from home and friends.

  He had, on separating her from her nurse, forbidden her to hold anycommunication with her, or even to ride in the direction of the Oaks--ashis estate was called--and Elsie had scrupulously obeyed him; but now hebade her go and see the lovely home and beautiful apartments he hadprepared for her, and judge for herself of the happiness she might enjoythere--loved, and caressed, and taught by him--and then decide.

  "If she were ready to give up her wilfulness," he wrote, "she mightanswer him immediately; and he would then return and their new homeshould receive them, and their new life begin at once. But if she werestill inclined to be stubborn and rebellious, she must take a month toconsider, ere he would receive her reply."

  Ah! to little Elsie it was a most enchanting picture he had drawn. Tolive in her father's house--his own home and hers--to be his constantand loved companion--to exchange Miss Day's teaching for his--to walk,to ride, to sit with him--in a word, to live in the sunshine of hislove--oh, it would be paradise upon earth!

  And then the alternative! Oh, how dreadful seemed to the shrinking,sensitive child, the very thought of being sent away amongst entirestrangers, who could not be expected to care for her, or love her; whowould have no sympathy with her highest hopes and desires, and instead ofassisting her to walk in the narrow way, would strive to turn her feetaside into the paths of worldly conformity and sin: for, alas! she wellknew it was only to the care of such persons her father would be likelyto commit her, wishing, as he did, to root out of her mind what he waspleased to call the "narrow prejudices of her unfortunate earlytraining." Poor child! she shrank from it in terror and dismay.

  But should she choose that which her poor, hungry heart so yearnedfor--the home with her father--she must pledge herself to take as herrule of faith and practice, _not_ God's holy word, which had hithertobeen her guide-book, but her father's wishes and commands, which she wellknew would often be entirely opposed to its teachings.

  It was indeed a hard choice; but Elsie could not hesitate where the pathof duty was so plain. She seemed to hear a voice saying to her: "This isthe way, walk ye in it." "We ought to obey God rather than men."

  "Ah!" she murmured, "I _cannot_ do this great wickedness and sin againstGod, for if my earthly father's frown is so dreadful, so _very_ hard tobear, how much worse would be my heavenly Father's? But, oh, thatboarding-school! How can I ever endure its trials and temptations? I amso weak and sinful! Ah! if papa would but spare me this trial--if hewould only let me stay at home--but he will not--for he has _said_ I mustgo, and never breaks his word;" and again her tears fell fast, but shedashed them away and took up her Bible.

  It opened at the fiftieth chapter of Isaiah, and her eye fell uponthese words: "For the Lord God will help me: therefore shall I not beconfounded: therefore have I set my face like a flint, and I know thatI shall not be ashamed. Who is among you that feareth the Lord, thatobeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness and hath nolight? let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God."

  Ah! here was comfort. "The Lord God will help me!" she repeated; andbowing her face over the holy book she gave thanks for the preciouspromise, and earnestly, tearfully pleaded that it might be fulfilledunto her.

  Then rising from her knees, she bathed her eyes and rang for Fanny toprepare her for her ride. It was the usual hour for it, her horse wasalready at the door, and very soon the little girl might have been seengalloping up the road towards the Oaks, quite alone, excepting that Jim,her constant attendant, rode some yards in the rear.

  It was a pleasant summer morning; there had been just rain enough thenight before to cool the air and lay the dust, and everything was lookingfresh and beautiful--and had the little Elsie's heart been as light andfree from care as would have seemed natural to one of her age, she wouldno doubt have enjoyed her ride extremely. It was but a short one, and theplace well known to her, for she had often passed it, though she hadnever yet been in the grounds.

  In a few moments she reached the gate, and Jim having dismounted andopened it for her, she rode leisurely up a broad, gravelled carriage-way,which wound about through the grounds, giving the traveller a number ofbeautiful views ere he reached the house, a large building of dark-graystone, which stood so far back, and was so entirely hidden by trees andshrubbery, as to be quite invisible from the highway. Now the road wasshaded on either hand by large trees, their branches almost meetingoverhead, and anon, an opening in their ranks afforded a glimpse of somecharming little valley, some sequestered nook amongst the hills, somegrassy meadow, or field of golden wheat, or a far-off view of the sea.

  "Oh, how lovely!" murmured the little girl, dropping the reins on herhorse's neck and gazing about her with eyes now sparkling with pleasure,now dimmed with tears; for, alas! these lovely scenes were not for her;at least not now, and it might be, never; and her heart was very sad.

  At length she reached the house. Chloe met her at the door, and claspedher to her bosom with tears of joy and thankfulness.

  "Bless de Lord for his goodness in sendin' my chile back to her ole mammyagain," she said; "I'se so glad, darlin', so berry glad!"

  And as she spoke she drew the little girl into a pleasant room, fitted upwith books and pictures, couches and easy-chairs and tables, with everyconvenience for writing, drawing, etc.

  "Dis am Massa Horace's study," she said, in answer to the eager,inquiring glance Elsie sent round the room, while she removed her hatand habit, and seated her in one of the softly-cushioned chairs; "an'de next room is your own little sittin' room, an' jes de prettiest everwas seen, your ole mammy tinks; and now dat she's got her chile backagain she'll be as happy as de day am long."

  "Oh, mammy," sobbed the child, "I am not to stay."

  Chloe's look of delight changed to one of blank dismay.

  "But you are comin' soon, darlin'?" she said inquiringly. "I tink MassaHorace 'tends to be here 'fore long, sartain, kase he's had de wholehouse fixed up so fine; an' I'se sure he never take so much trouble, an'spend such loads ob money fixin' up such pretty rooms for you, ef hedidn't love you dearly, an' 'tend to have you here 'long with himself."

  Elsie shook her head sorrowfully. "No, mammy, he says not unless I giveup my wilfulness, and promise to do exactly as he bids me; and if I willnot do that, I am to be sent away to boarding-school."

  The last words came with a great sob, as she flung herself into Chloe'soutstretched arms, and hid her face on her bosom.

  "Poor darlin'! poor little pet!" murmured the nurse, hugging her tight,while her own tears fell in great drops on the golden curls. "I thoughtyour troubles were all over. I s'posed Massa Horace had found out youwasn't bad after all, an' was comin' right ho
me to live with you in disbeautiful place. But dere, don't, don't you go for to break your littleheart 'bout it, dear; I'se sure de good Lord make um all come right inde end."

  Elsie made no reply, and for a little while they mingled their tears insilence. Then she raised her head, and gently releasing herself fromChloe's embrace, said, "Now, mammy, I must go all about and seeeverything, for that was papa's command."

  Chloe silently led the way through halls, parlors, drawing-room,library, dining, sitting and bed-rooms, servants' apartments, kitchen,pantry, and all; then out into the grounds, visiting in turn vegetableand flower gardens, lawn, hot-houses and grapery; and finally, bringingthe little girl back to her papa's study, she led her from there intohis bed-room and dressing-room, and then to her own apartments, whichshe had reserved to the last. These were three--bed-room, sitting-room,and dressing-room--all beautifully furnished with every comfort andconvenience.

  Elsie had gazed on all with a yearning heart, and eyes constantlyswimming in tears. "Ah! mammy," she exclaimed more than once, "what alovely, _lovely_ home! how happy we might be here!"

  The sight of her father's rooms and her own affected her the most, andthe tears fell fast as she passed slowly from one to another. Her ownlittle sitting-room was the last; and here sinking down in an easy-chair,she gazed about her silently and tearfully. On one side the windowslooked out upon a beautiful flower-garden, while beyond were hills andwoods; on the other, glass doors opened out upon a grassy lawn, shaded bylarge trees, and beyond, far away in the distance, rolled the blue sea;all around her she saw the evidences of a father's thoughtful love; abeautiful piano, a harp, a small work-table, well furnished with everyrequisite; books, drawing materials--everything to give pleasure andemployment; while luxurious couches and easy-chairs invited to rest andrepose. Several rare pictures, too, adorned the walls.

  Elsie was very fond of paintings, and when she had gazed her fill uponthe lovely landscape without, she turned from one of these to anotherwith interest and pleasure; but one was covered, and she was in the actof raising her hand to draw aside the curtain, when her nurse stoppedher, saying, "Not now, darlin', try de piano first."

  She opened the instrument as she spoke, and Elsie, running her fingersover the keys, remarked that it was the sweetest-toned she had everheard.

  Chloe begged her to play, urging her request on the plea that it was sovery long since she had heard her, and she might not have anotheropportunity soon.

  Just at that instant a little bird on a tree near the door poured forthhis joy in a gush of glad melody, and Elsie, again running her fingerslightly over the keys, sang with touching sweetness and pathos--

  "Ye banks an' braes o' bonny Doon,How can ye look sae bright an' fair?How can you sing, ye little bird,An' I sae weary, full of care?" etc.

  The words seemed to come from her very heart, and her voice, though sweetand clear, was full of tears.

  Chloe sobbed aloud, and Elsie, looking lovingly at her, said softly,"Don't, dear mammy! I will sing a better one;" and she played and sang--

  "He doeth all things well."

  Then rising, she closed the instrument, saying, "Now, mammy, let me seethe picture."

  Chloe then drew aside the curtain; and Elsie, with clasped hands andstreaming eyes, stood for many minutes gazing upon a life-sized andspeaking portrait of her father.

  "Papa! papa!" she sobbed, "my own darling, precious papa! Oh! could youbut know how dearly your little Elsie loves you!"

  "Don't now, darlin'! don't take on so dreadful! It jes breaks your olemammy's heart to see her chile so 'stressed," Chloe said, passing her armaround the little girl's waist, and laying her head on her bosom.

  "Oh, mammy, will he ever smile on me again? Shall I ever live with him inthis dear home?" sobbed the poor child. "Oh! it is hard, hard to give itall up--to have papa always displeased with me. Oh, mammy, there is sucha weary aching at my heart--is it _never_ to be satisfied?"

  "My poor, poor chile! my poor little pet, I'se _sure_ it'll all comeright by-an'-by," replied Chloe soothingly, as soon as emotion wouldsuffer her to speak. "You know it is de Lord that sends all our'flictions, an' you must 'member de pretty words you was jes a singin','He doeth _all_ things well.' He says, 'What I do thou knowest not now,but thou shalt know here after.' De great God can change your father'sheart, and 'cline him to 'spect your principles, and I _do_ blieve hewill do it."

  Elsie sobbed out her dread of the boarding-school, with its lonelinessand its temptations.

  "Now don't you go for to be 'fraid of all dat, darlin'," replied hernurse. "Has you forgotten how it says in de good book, 'Lo, I am with you_always_, even unto the end of the world'? an' if _he_ is with you, whocan hurt you? Jes _nobody_."

  A text came to Elsie's mind: "The eternal God is thy refuge, andunderneath are the everlasting arms!" and lifting her head, she dashedaway her tears.

  "No," she said, "I will _not_ be afraid; at least I will _try_ not tobe. 'The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lordis the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?' But, oh! mammy,I must go now, and I feel as if I were saying farewell to you andthis sweet home forever; as if I were never to live in these prettyrooms--never to see them again."

  "Hush! hush, darlin'! 'tain't never best to borrow trouble, an' I'se sureyou'll come back one ob dese days," replied Chloe, forcing herself tospeak cheerfully, though her heart ached as she looked into the soft,hazel eyes, all dimmed with tears, and marked how thin and pale the dearlittle face had grown.

  Elsie was passing around the room again, taking a farewell look at eachpicture and piece of furniture; then she stood a moment gazing out overthe lawn, to the rolling sea beyond.

  She was murmuring something to herself, and Chloe started as her earfaintly caught the words: "In my Father's house are many mansions."

  "Mammy!" said the child, suddenly turning and taking her hand, "lookyonder!" and she pointed with her finger. "Do you see that beautiful,tall tree that casts such a thick shade? I want to be buried right there,where papa can see my grave when he sits in here, and think that I amwith him yet. When I am gone, mammy, you must tell him that I told youthis. It would be so pleasant to be there--it is such a lovely spot, andthe distant murmur of the sea seems like a lullaby to sing the weary oneto rest." She added, dreamily, "I would like to lie down there now."

  "Why, what you talkin' 'bout, Miss Elsie? My chile musn't say suchtings!" exclaimed Chloe in great alarm. "Your ole mammy 'spects to dielong 'nough 'fore you do. You's berry young, an? 'tain't worth while tobegin talkin' 'bout dyin' yet."

  Elsie smiled sadly.

  "But you know, mammy," she said, "that death often comes to the youngest.Mamma died young, and so may I. I am afraid it isn't right, but sometimesI am so sad and weary that I cannot help longing very much to die, and goto be with her and with Jesus; for they would always love me, and Ishould never be lonely any more. Oh! mammy, mammy, must we part?--shallI ever see you again?" she cried, throwing herself into her nurse's arms.

  "God bless an' keep you, darlin'!" Chloe said, folding her to her heart;"de good Lord take care ob my precious lamb, an' bring her back to herole mammy again, 'fore long."

  Elsie shut herself into her own room on her return to Roselands, and wasnot seen again that day by any one but her maid, until just at duskAdelaide rapped softly at her door.

  Elsie's voice, in a low, tremulous tone, answered, "Come in," andAdelaide entered.

  The little girl was just in the act of closing her writing-desk, and heraunt thought she had been weeping, but the light was so uncertain thatshe might have been mistaken.

  "My poor darling!" she said in low, pitiful accents, as, passing her armaround the child's waist, she drew her down to a seat beside herself uponthe sofa.

  Elsie did not speak, but dropping her head upon Adelaide's shoulder,burst into tears.

  "My poor child! don't cry so; better days will come," said her auntsoothingly, running her fingers through Elsie's soft curls.

 
"I know what has been the trial of to-day," she continued, still usingthe same gentle, caressing tone, "for I, too, had a letter from yourpapa, in which he told me what he had said to you. You have been to seeyour new home. I have seen it several times and think it very lovely, andsome day I hope and expect you and your papa will be very happy there."

  Elsie shook her head sorrowfully.

  "Not _now_, I know," said Adelaide, "for I have no need to ask what yourdecision has been; but I am hoping and praying that God may work the samechange in your father's views and feelings which has been lately wroughtin mine; and then he will love you all the better for your steadfastdetermination to obey God rather than man."

  "Oh, Aunt Adelaide! will it _ever_ be?" sighed the poor child; "the timeseems so very long! It is so dreadful to live without my papa's love!"

  "He does love you, Elsie, and I really think he suffers nearly as muchas you do; but he thinks he is right in what he requires of you, and heis so very determined, and so anxious to make a gay, fashionable womanof you--cure you of those absurd, puritanical notions, as he expressesit--that I fear he will never relent until his heart is changed; but Godis able to do that."

  "Oh, Aunt Adelaide!" said the little girl mournfully, "pray for me, thatI may be enabled to wait patiently until that time shall come, and neverpermitted to indulge rebellious feelings towards papa."

  Adelaide kissed her softly. "Poor child!" she whispered, "it is a hardtrial; but try, dearest, to remember who sends it."

  She was silent a moment; then said, reluctantly, "Elsie, your papa hasentrusted me with a message to you, which I was to deliver after yourvisit to the Oaks, unless you had then come to the resolution to complywith his wishes, or rather, his commands."

  She paused, and Elsie, trembling, and almost holding her breath, askedfearfully, "What is it, Aunt Adelaide?"

  "Poor darling!" murmured Adelaide, clasping the little form more closely,and pressing her lips to the fair brow; "I wish I could save you from it.He says that if you continue obdurate, he has quite determined to sendyou to a convent to be educated."

  As Adelaide made this announcement, she pitied the child from the bottomof her heart; for she knew that much of Elsie's reading had been on thesubject of Popery and Papal institutions; that she had pored overhistories of the terrible tortures of the Inquisition and stories ofmartyrs and captive nuns, until she had imbibed an intense horror anddread of everything connected with that form of error and superstition.Yet, knowing all this, Adelaide was hardly prepared for the effect ofher communication.

  "Oh, Aunt Adelaide!" almost shrieked the little girl, throwing her armsaround her aunt's neck, and clinging to her, as if in mortal terror,"Save me! save me! Oh! tell papa I would rather he would kill me at once,than send me to such a place."

  And she wept and sobbed, and wrung her hands in such grief and terror,that Adelaide grew absolutely frightened.

  "They will not dare to hurt you, Elsie," she hastened to say.

  "Oh, they will! they will!--they will try to make me go to mass, andpray to the Virgin, and bow to the crucifixes; and when I refuse, theywill put me in a dungeon and torture me."

  "Oh, no, child," replied Adelaide soothingly, "they will not _dare_ to doso to _you_, because you will not be a nun, but only a boarder, and yourpapa would be sure to find it all out."

  "No, no!" sobbed the little girl, "they will hide me from papa when hecomes, and tell him that I want to take the veil, and refuse to see him;or else they will say that I am dead and buried. Oh, Aunt Adelaide, beghim not to put me there! I shall go crazy! I feel as if I were goingcrazy now!" and she put her hand to her head.

  "Poor, poor child!" said Adelaide, weeping. "I wish it was in my power tohelp you. I would once have advised you to submit to all your fatherrequires. I cannot do that now, but I will return some of your lessons tome. It is God, my poor darling, who sends you this trial, and he willgive you strength according to your day. _He_ will be with you, whereveryou are, even should it be in a convent; for you know he says: '_I_ will_never_ leave thee, nor forsake thee;' and 'not a hair of your head shallfall to the ground without your Father.'"

  "Yes, I know! I know!" Elsie answered, again pressing her hands to herhead; "but I cannot think, and everything seems so dreadful."

  Adelaide was much alarmed, for Elsie looked quite wild for a moment; butafter staying with her for a considerable time, saying all she could tosoothe and comfort her--reminding her that it would be some weeks ere theplan could be carried out, and that in that time something might occur tochange her father's mind, she left her, though still in deep distress,apparently calm and composed.