COMING OF AGE COLLECTION - Martha Finley Edition (Timeless Children Classics For Young Girls). Finley Martha

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СКАЧАТЬ strolled down a green alley, inspected it, the lawns, the avenue, the flower and vegetable gardens, to see that all were in order; held a few minutes' conversation with the head gardener, making some suggestions and bestowing deserved praise of his faithful performance of his duties; then wandering on, at length seated himself in Elsie's bower, and took from his breast-pocket—where he had constantly carried it of late—a small morocco-bound, gilt-edged volume.

      He sat there a long time, reading and pondering with grave, anxious face, it may be asking for heavenly guidance too, for his eyes were now and then uplifted and his lips moved.

      The next day and the next he spent at the Oaks, passing most of his time in solitude, either in the least frequented parts of the grounds, or the lonely and deserted rooms of the mansion.

      Walter had always been a favorite with Mrs. Murray. She had a sort of motherly affection for him, and watching him furtively, felt sure that he had some heavy mental trouble. She waited and watched silently, hoping that he would confide in her and let her sympathize, if she could do nothing more.

      On the evening of the third day he came in from the grounds with a brightened countenance, his little book in his hand. She was on the veranda looking out for him to ask if he was ready for his tea. He met her with a smile.

      "Is it gude news, Mr. Walter?" she asked, thinking of the distracted state of the country.

      "Yes, Mrs. Murray, I think you will call it so. I have been searching here," and he held up the little volume, "for the pearl of great price; and I have found it."

      "Dear bairn, I thank God for ye!" she exclaimed with emotion. "It's gude news indeed!"

      "I cannot think how I've been so blind," he went on in earnest tones; "it seems now so simple and easy—just to believe in Jesus Christ, receive His offered pardon, His righteousness put upon me, the cleansing of His blood shed for the remission of sins, and trust my all to Him for time and eternity. Now I am ready to meet death on the battle-field, if so it must be."

      "But, O Mr. Walter, I hope you'll be spared that, and live to be a good soldier of Christ these many years."

      They were startled by the furious galloping of a horse coming up the drive; and the next moment Arthur drew rein before the door.

      "Walter; so you're here, as I thought! I've come for you. Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand troops to defend the capital; but we all know what that means—an invasion of the South. The North's a unit now, and so is the South. Davis has called for volunteers, and the war-cry is resounding all over the land. We're raising a company: I'm appointed captain, and you lieutenant. Come; if you hesitate now—you'll repent it: father says he'll disown you forever."

      Arthur's utterance was fierce and rapid, but now he was compelled to pause for a breath, and Walter answered with excitement in his tones also.

      "Of course if it has come to that, I will not hesitate to defend my native soil, my home, my parents."

      "All right; come on then; we leave to-night."

      Walter's horse was ordered at once, and in a few moments the brothers were galloping away side by side. Mrs. Murray looked after them with a sigh.

      "Ah me! the poor laddies! will they die on the battle field? Ah, wae's me, but war's an awfu' thing!"

      At Roselands all was bustle and excitement, every one eager, as it seemed, to hasten the departure of the young men.

      But when everything was ready and the final adieus must be spoken, the mother embraced them with tears and sobs, and even Enna's voice faltered and her eyes grew moist.

      Mounting, they rode rapidly down the avenue, each followed by his own servant—and out at the great gate. Walter wheeled his horse. "One last look at the old home, Art," he said; "we may never see it again."

      "Always sentimental, Wal," laughed Arthur, somewhat scornfully; "but have your way." And he, too, wheeled about for a last farewell look.

      The moon had just risen, and by her silvery light the lordly mansion—with its clustering vines, the gardens, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the grand old trees—was distinctly visible. Never had the place looked more lovely. The evening breeze brought to their nostrils the delicious scent of roses in full bloom, and a nightingale poured forth a song of ravishing sweetness from a thicket hard by.

      Somehow her song seemed to go to Walter's very heart and a sad foreboding oppressed him as they gazed and listened for several moments, then turned their horses' heads and galloped down the road.

      Chapter Twenty-Fourth

       Table of Contents

      "Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?

       He's dead alone who lacks her light."

       —CAMPBELL.

      Wee Elsie was convalescing rapidly, and the hearts so wrung with anguish at sight of her sufferings and the fear of losing her, relieved from that, were again filled with the intense anxiety for their country, which for a short space had been half forgotten in the severity of the trial apparently so close at hand.

      Mails from America came irregularly; now and then letters and papers from Philadelphia, New York, and other parts of the North; very seldom anything from the South.

      What was going on in their homes? what were dear relatives and friends doing and enduring? were questions they were often asking of themselves or each other—questions answered by a sigh only, or a shake of the head. The suspense was hard to bear; but who of all Americans, at home or abroad, who loved their native land, were not suffering at this time from anxiety and suspense?

      "A vessel came in last night, which I hope has a mail for us," remarked Mr. Dinsmore as they sat down to the breakfast table one morning early in November. "I have sent Uncle Joe to find out; and bring it, if there."

      "Ah, if it should bring the glorious news that this dreadful war is over, and all our dear ones safe!" sighed Rose.

      "Ah, no hope of that," returned her husband. "I think all are well-nigh convinced now that it will last for years: the enlistments now, you remember, are for three years or the war."

      Uncle Joe's errand was not done very speedily, and on his return he found the family collected in the drawing-room.

      "Good luck dis time, massa," he said, addressing Mr. Dinsmore, as he handed him the mail bag, "lots ob papahs an' lettahs."

      Eagerly the others gathered about the head of the household. Rose and Elsie, pale and trembling with excitement and apprehension, Mr. Travilla, grave and quiet, yet inwardly impatient of a moment's delay.

      It was just the same with Mr. Dinsmore; in a trice he had unlocked the bag and emptied its contents—magazines, papers, letters—upon a table.

      Rose's eye fell upon a letter, deeply edged with black, which bore her name and address in May's handwriting. She snatched it up with a sharp cry, and sank, half-fainting, into a chair.

      Her husband and Elsie were instantly at her side. "Dear wife, my love, my darling! this is terrible; but the Lord will sustain you."

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