ELSIE DINSMORE Complete Series: 28 Books in One Edition. Martha Finley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ gently on the child's head. "Your mamma was about the size of your Aunt Rosie, yonder, and I some three or four years older."

      "We've been down to the brook where you played together—you and mamma and Aunt Sophie," said Elsie. "Papa took us, and I think it's a lovely place to play."

      "Sophie and I have talked over those dear old times more than once, of late," Harold remarked, turning to Mrs. Travilla. "It does not seem so very long ago, and yet—how many changes! how we are changed! Well, Rosie, what is it?" for she was standing by his chair, waiting with eager face till he should be ready to attend to her.

      "Uncle Harold, do you feel able to tell us the story about your being a prisoner, and how you got free, and back to the Union army?" she asked, with persuasive look and tone. "Papa and mamma, and all of us that haven't heard it, would like so much to hear it, if it won't tire you to talk so long."

      "It is not a long story; and as my lungs are sound, I do not think it will fatigue me, if you will all come near enough to hear me in my ordinary tone of voice."

      They drew around him, protesting against his making the effort, unless fully equal to it; as another time would do quite as well.

      "Thank you all," he said; "but I feel able for the task, and shall enjoy gratifying my nieces and nephews, as well as the older people."

      He then proceeded with his narrative; all listening with deep interest.

      Among other incidents connected with his prison life, he told of his interview with Jackson, and the poor wretch's death that same night.

      Elsie shuddered and turned pale, yet breathed a sigh of relief as she laid her hand in that of her husband, and turned a loving, grateful look upon her father, to meet his eyes fixed upon her with an expression of deep thankfulness, mingled with the sadness and awe inspired by the news of the miscreant's terrible end.

      Harold spent the day at his brother's, and availed himself of an opportunity, which offered that afternoon, to have a little private talk with Elsie, in which he delivered Walter's packet, telling her how it came into his hands.

      "Dear, dear Walter," she said, weeping, "I have so wanted to know the particulars of his death, and am so thankful to hear that he was a Christian."

      "His friend told me he was instantly killed, so was spared much suffering."

      "I am thankful for that. I will open this now; you will like to see the contents."

      They were a letter from Walter to her, and two photographs—both excellent and striking likenesses; one of her in her bridal robes, the other of himself in his military dress.

      The first Elsie threw carelessly aside, as of little worth; the other she held long in her hands; gazing intently upon it, again and again wiping away the fast-falling tears.

      "It is his own noble, handsome face," she murmured. "Oh, to think I shall not see it again in this world! How good of him to hive it taken for me!" and again she gazed and wept.

      Turning to her companion she was startled by the expression of mingled love and anguish in his eyes, which were intently fixed upon the other photograph; he having taken it up as she threw it aside.

      "Oh Harold!" she moaned, in low, agitated tones.

      He sighed deeply, but his brow cleared, and a look of peace and resignation stole over his face as he turned his eyes on her.

      "I think there is no sin in the love I bear you now, Elsie," he said; "I rejoice in your happiness and am willing to see you in the possession of another; more than willing, since I must so soon pass away. But it was not always so; my love and grief were hard to conquer, and this—bringing you before me just as you were that night that gave you to another and made my love a sin—brought back for a moment the anguish that wrung my heart at the sight."

      "You were there, then?"

      "Yes; just for a few moments. I found I must look upon the scene, though it broke my heart. I arrived at the last minute, stood in the shadow of the doorway during the ceremony, saw you look up towards me at its conclusion, then turned and fled from the house; fearful of being recognized and forced to betray my secret which I felt I could not hide.

      "But don't weep for me, dear friend, my sorrow and disappointment proved blessings in disguise, for through them I was brought to a saving knowledge of Him

      "'whom my soul desires above

       All earthly joy or earthly love.'"

      "And oh, Harold, how infinitely more is His love worth than mine!"

      But her eye fell upon Walter's letter lying forgotten in her lap. She took it up, glanced over it, then read it more carefully, pausing often to wipe away the blinding tears. As she finished, Mr. Travilla came in.

      "Here is a letter from Walter, Edward," she said, in tremulous tones, as she handed it to him.

      "Then the report of his death was untrue?" he exclaimed inquiringly, a glad look coming into his face.

      "Only too true," she answered, with a fresh burst of tears; and Harold briefly explained.

      "Shall I read it aloud, wife?" Mr. Travilla asked.

      "If Harold cares to hear. There is no secret."

      "I should like it greatly," Harold said; and Mr. Travilla read it to him, while Elsie moved away to the farther side of the room, her heart filled with a strange mixture of emotions, in which grief was uppermost.

      The letter was filled chiefly with an account of the writer's religious experience. Since his last visit to the Oaks he had been constantly rejoicing in the love of Christ, and now, expecting, as he did, to fall in the coming battle, death had no terrors for him. And he owed this, he said, in great measure to the influence of his brother Horace and Elsie, especially to the beautiful consistency of her Christian life through all the years he had known her.

      Through all her grief and sadness, what joy and thankfulness stirred in her breast at that thought. Very humble and unworthy she felt; but oh, what gladness to learn that her Master had thus honored her as an instrument in His hands.

      The door opened softly, and her three little ones came quietly in and gathered about her. They had been taught thoughtfulness for others: Uncle Harold was ill, and they would not disturb him.

      Leaning confidingly on her lap, lifting loving, trustful eyes to her face, "Mamma," they said, low and softly, "we have had our supper; will you come with us now?"

      "Yes, dear, presently."

      "Mamma," whispered little Elsie, with a wistful, tender gaze into the soft sweet eyes still swimming in tears, "dear mamma, something has made you sorry. What can I do to comfort you?"

      "Love me, darling, and be good; you are mamma's precious little comforter. See dears," and she held the photograph so that all could have a view, "it is dear Uncle Walter in his soldier dress." A big tear rolled down her cheek.

      "Mamma," Elsie said quickly, "how good he looks! and he is so happy where Jesus is."

      "Yes, daughter, we need shed no tears for him."

      "Dear Uncle Walter," "Poor Uncle Walter!" the other two were saying.

СКАЧАТЬ