HEAR A LILY in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth. — LONGFELLOW.
THE day wore away, and now the evening darkened fast, and old Ailie’s beaming face, illuminated by the lights she carries, interrupts brother and sister, again seated in the cheerful fire-light, which, ere the candles are set upon the table, has filled the room with such a pleasant flickering half-gloom, half-radiance. And there, too, is Mr. Melville’s knock, which never varies, at the door. Halbert knows it as well as Christian, and grows pale and involuntarily glides into a corner — as he had done of old when he had transgressed — but Christian has met her father at the door, and whispered that there is a stranger newly arrived in the room. It fortunately so happens to-night that Mr. Melville has come home more complacent and willing to be pleased than he has done for many a day. Some speculation suggested by James, and agreed to with sundry prudent demurring by the heads of the house, has turned out most successfully, and Mr. Melville has taken the credit of James’s foresight and energy all to himself, and is marvellously pleased therewith. “A stranger, aye, Christian, and who is this stranger?” he says most graciously, as he divests himself of his outer wrappings; but Christian has no voice to answer just then, and so he pushes open the half-shut door, and looks curiously about the room; his son stands before him, his eyes cast down, his cheeks flushed, his heart beating.
“Halbert!”
The human part of Mr. Melville’s nature melts for the moment, the surprise is pleasurable; but he soon grows stern again.
“Where have you been, sir? what have you been doing? and why have you never written to your sister?”
Halbert’s trial has taught him meekness, and his answers are in words which turn away wrath, and his father turns round to seek his easy-chair on the most sheltered and cosiest side of the glowing fire.
“Humph!” he says; “well, since you are home, I suppose it’s no use making any more enquiries now, but what do you intend to do?”
Halbert looks astonished; it is a question he is not prepared to answer; he feels that he ought not and cannot ask his father to enable him to carry out the plan he has been dreaming of for the past twelve months, and he is silent.
“There is plenty of time for answering that, father,” said Christian briskly; “we can consult about that afterwards, when we have all recovered ourselves a little from this surprise which Halbert has given us; and here comes Robert.”
Robert came merrily into the room as Christian spoke, and not alone, he had a companion with him whom he brought forward to introduce to Christian, when his eye caught his brother. What! are we going to have old Ailie’s extravagances over again. Poor Robert’s laugh is hysterical as he tumbles over half a dozen chairs, and lays hold of Halbert, and his shout electrifies the whole household, wakening poor sleeping Mary in her lonely chamber. “Halbert! Halbert!” — Robert is a fine fellow for all his thoughtlessness, and is almost weeping over his recovered brother, and Halbert’s newly acquired composure has forsaken him again, and he sobs and grasps Robert’s hands, and thanks God in his heart. This is truly a prodigal’s welcome, which Halbert feels he deserves not.
Robert’s companion hangs back bashfully, unwilling to break in upon, lest he mar this scene of heartfelt family joy, which a good brother like himself fully appreciates; but Christian’s kind and watchful eye is upon him, and has marked him, and she comes forward to relieve him from the awkward position in which he is placed, Marked him! yes, but what a startled agitated look it is with which she regards him, and seems to peruse every lineament of his countenance with eager earnestness. What can it be that comes thus in the way of Christian’s considerate courtesy, and makes her retire again and gaze and wonder? What a resemblance! and Christian’s heart beats quick. But Robert has at length recollected himself, and now brings the young man forward and introduces him as his friend Charles Hamilton. Christian returns his greeting, but starts again and exchanges a hurried glance with Halbert, who also looks wonderingly on the stranger. Christian soon leaves the room, she has Mary to seek after, and attend to; but as she passes Halbert’s chair, she bends over it and whispers in his ear, and her voice trembles the while, —
“Is not the resemblance most striking — and the name?”
“It is most extraordinary,” answered Halbert aloud, gazing again on the mild ingenuous face of the stranger. Christian glided away.
“What is most extraordinary, Halbert?” asked Robert, with a slight impatience in his tone.
“Oh, nothing; at least only Mr. Hamilton’s great resemblance to an old friend of ours long since dead.”
The young man looked towards him and smiled. Can that picture still be hanging in its old place in Christian’s room?
Our poor Mary has slept long and calmly, and when Robert’s shout awoke her, she started up in astonishment. She was lying in the dark room alone, with silence round about her, and her pillow was wet with tears. Mary raised herself in her bed, and throwing back the disordered hair which hung about her face tried to collect her bewildered thoughts. The memory of her grief has left her for the moment, and she is wondering what the sound could be that came indistinctly to her ears; it sounded, she fancied, very like “Halbert.” Who could be speaking of him, and as she repeats his name the full knowledge of what has passed, all the momentous events and misery of this day come upon her like a dream. Poor Mary! a heavy sigh breaks from her parted lips, and she presses her hand over her painful eyes. She does not see the approaching light which steals into the little room; she-does not hear the light footstep of its gentle bearer, but she feels the kind pressure of Christian’s arm, and most readily and thankfully rests her head on Christians supporting shoulder.
“I have news to tell you,” whispers Christian, “which you will be glad of and smile at, though you are sighing now. You remember Halbert, Mary?”
Remember him! but Mary’s only answer is a sigh. Halbert’s name has terrible associations for her to-night; she has remembered him and his fortunes so well and clearly this day.
“Mary, Halbert has come home, will you rouse yourself to see him?”
“Come home, Halbert come home!” and the poor girl lifted up her head. “Forgive me, Christian, forgive me, but I have done very wrong, and I am very, very unhappy and the tears flowed on Christian’s neck again more freely than before.
“You have done nobly, dear Mary — only rouse yourself, shake off this grief; you have done well, and God will give you strength. Let me bathe your temples — you will soon be better now,” said Christian, parting the long dishevelled hair, and wiping away the still streaming tears. “That man is not worthy one tear from you, Mary: be thankful rather, dearest, for your deliverance from his cunning and his wiles.”
A deep blush flitted over Mary’s tear-stained face, as she raised herself and began with Christian’s tender assistance to remove the traces of her grief. Christian wondered as she saw her begin to move about the little room again; there was a still composure gathering about her gentle features, which the elder sister, accustomed to think of Mary as still little more than a child, could only marvel at in silence. Her eyes were almost stern in their calmness, and her voice was firmer than Christian could have believed possible as she turned to speak.
“Yes, Christian, I am thankful — thankful beyond anything I can say; but do not ask me about anything just now,” she continued, hurriedly, as Christian looked up to her as if about to speak. “I will tell you all afterwards, but not to-night — not to-night, dear Christian.”
“Would you not like to see Halbert, Mary?” said Christian, taking the cold hands of her sister in her own. “Do you care or wish to see Halbert now, Mary?”
“Yes, yes,” was the answer, and Mary’s eye assumed a kinder and more natural glow. “I forgot, tell him to come here Christian, I would rather see him, I cannot meet him down stairs.”
Halbert was speedily summoned, and when his step paused at the door, Mary ran forward to meet him with pleasure in her eyes. True, Halbert’s tone of affectionate sympathy brought the remembrance of that scene of the morning and with it the tears to Mary’s eyes; but Christian rejoiced to see how gently they fell, and hoped that the sorest and bitterest part of the struggle was past; and so it was, for Mary went down with untrembling step and entered the room where her father, brother, and the stranger sat with a sweet and settled calmness, which allayed all Christian’s fears.
It seemed now that however strange the stranger was to Christian, he was no stranger to Mary Melville. Mr. Charles Hamilton was in truth well known to Mary — yea, that Robert locked arch and intelligent, and his young friend blushed as he rose to greet her on her entrance. This acquaintanceship was soon explained, Mary had met him several times at Mrs. James’s parties, and the casual mention which Robert and Mary had made of him among the host of Elizabeth’s visitors had not been sufficiently marked to attract the attention of Christian, engrossed as she was then with such great anxiety regarding poor Mary’s unfortunate attachment.
Charles Hamilton’s qualities of head and heart were much too large for Mrs. James Melville, and, accordingly, though she received him as a guest, and was even glad to do so, from his social position and prospects — she regarded him with much the same feeling which prompted her attacks on Christian, and having noticed what poor Mary was too much occupied to notice, the bashful attention with which the young man hovered about her fair sister-in-law, Mrs. James had decided upon entirely crushing his hopes by exhibiting to him this evening, at her party, the crowning triumph of her friend Forsyth. Poor Mrs.
James! how completely she had over-reached and outwitted herself. That evening found her accomplished friend the rejected — rejected with scorn and loathing, too — of simple Mary Melville, in no humour for contributing to the amusement of her guests, and Charles Hamilton in a far fairer way of success than even he himself had ever dreamt of, for Christian’s eyes are bent on him from time to time, and there is wonder blended with kindness in her frequent glances on his face, and her pleasant voice has an unconscious tone of affection in it as she speaks to him, as though she were addressing a younger brother. But the time has come when they must prepare for Mrs. James’s party; Christian will not go, Mary will not go, how could she? Halbert will not go, and the young stranger’s face grows suddenly clouded, and he moves uneasily on his chair, and at last rises reluctantly. Mr. Melville and Robert must go for a time at least, to excuse the others that remain at home, and tell James of Halbert’s return, and Charles Hamilton in vain hunts through every recess of his inventive powers to find some reason that will excuse him for sitting down again. But all fail, he can find nothing to offer as an excuse; he is intruding on the family this night, sacred as it is — the evening of the wanderer’s return — and when he may suppose they all so much desire to be alone; and so he must take his leave, however loth and reluctant so to do. But while so perplexed and disappointed Christian takes him aside, Christian bids him sit down and speak to her a moment when Robert and his father have gone away, and he does so gladly. Mary wonders what Christian can have to say to him, a stranger to her till the last hour, and looks over, with interest every moment increasing, towards the corner where they are seated side by side, and so does Halbert too but there is no astonishment in his face, though there is compassionate affection beaming from his eyes. Their conversation seems to be most interesting to both, and the look of sad recollection on Christian’s gentle face seems to have been communicated to the more animated features of her companion, and at length he suddenly starts and clasps her hand.
“Christian Melville!” he exclaims, “Oh that my mother were here!”
The tears stand in Christian’s eyes — some chord of old recollection has been touched more powerfully than usual, and Christian’s cheeks are wet, and her eyes cast down for a moment. Mary can only gaze in astonishment, and before she recovers herself Christian has led the young man forward to them, and then she hurries from the room, while Halbert extends his hand to him cordially. What is the meaning of this? both the young men join in explanations, but Charles Hamilton’s voice is broken, half with the recollection of his dead brother, and half with the pleasure of discovering such a tie already existing with Mary’s family. Yes, Charles’s brother was the original of that saint-like portrait which hangs within reach of the glories of sunset on the wall of Christian’s room. The grave where Christian had buried her youthful hopes was the grave of William Hamilton, and that one name made the young man kindred to them all; and when Christian after a time came down stairs again, she found him seated between Halbert and Mary as though he had been familiar with that fireside circle all his days, and was indeed a brother.
It was a happy night that to the group in this bright room, a night of great cheerfulness and pleasant communion, just heightened by the saddening tinge which memory gave it, and Mary, our sweet Mary, marvels at herself, and is half disappointed that there is so little of romance in the fading of her sorrow; but marvel as she likes, the unwitting smile plays on her lips again, and you could scarce believe that those clear eyes have shed so many tears to-day. She feels easier and happier even, now the weight of concealment, which disturbed and distressed her in Christian’s presence of late, is removed from the spirit; and she is the same open, single-minded, ingenuous girl as heretofore; the secret consciousness that it was not right to yield to Forsyth’s fascinating powers is gone now, and Mary Melville is herself once more, aye, more herself than she has been for months past, notwithstanding the bitter suffering of that very day. God has graciously tempered the fierceness of his wind to the tender and trembling lamb, and Christian’s confidence is restored, and she feels sure that time will make Mary’s heart as light as ever, and efface from her memory the image of that evil man, and blot out the traces of this day’s agony; and a smile flits over Christians cheerful face as she fancies the substitution of another image in the precious entablature of Mary’s heart. Who can tell but Charles Hamilton may gain a right to the name of brother, which she already hesitates not to accord, better than his present claim, precious to her mind as it is.
Mrs. James Melville’s party is sadly shorn of its lustre this year, when we compare it with its last predecessor, only a short twelve-month since; and already, in spite of all the attractions of gossip, music, and flirtation, her guests are beginning to yawn and look weary. Mrs. James was never so annoyed in her life, all seems this night to have gone wrong. Her very husband had deserted her — she had seen him fly down stairs three steps at a time, and skim away through the cold street towards his father’s house. Mrs. James was enraged to be left alone at such a time for any Halbert of them all.
“A nice fuss was made about him, as much nonsense when he went away as if there wasn’t another in the whole country, and now when he thought fit and had come home—”
Mrs. James could not finish the sentence, for spite and vexation overmastered her. Forsyth was not there, her chief attraction; Mary was not there, and even Christian’s absence, little as she liked her, was another source of annoyance; and this flying off of James was the finishing stroke. We hardly think, however, that even Mrs. James would not have melted had she seen her husband in the middle of you cheerful group, with his beaming joyous face, shaking Halbert’s hands over and over again, to the imminent danger of bone and joint.
We really think she could not but have helped him.
There was a voice of thanksgiving in Mr. Melville’s house that night, of thanksgiving which told in its earnest acknowledgment of many mercies; thanksgiving whose voice was broken by the sobbings of one and accompanied by the happy tears of all, for Halbert led their devotions, and when his earnest tones rose up among them there was not a dry cheek in the kneeling family, not James, though it might be thought his heart was alienated from the overflowing affection of home, by the remembrance of his own; not Charles Hamilton, permitted, nay requested, to stay, for who so well as Halbert could give thanks for that double deliverance.
There are dreams to-night hovering with drowsy wing about the dwelling, dreams which alight on Charles Hamilton’s young head as he hastens home, his heart full of the last scene of the evening, and his voice repeating —
“In dwellings of the righteous
Is heard the melody
Of joy and health: the Lord’s right hand
Doth ever valiantly —
dreams which enter Halbert Melville’s long shut chamber, welcoming its old dreamer back again — dreams which float about Christian’s resting-place — above the fair head laid on Christian’s shoulder, calm as in the happy days of childhood; sweet, hopeful, cheering dreams, that open up long vistas of indistinct and dazzling brightness, all the brighter for their glad uncertainty before their eyes, and fill the hearts which tremble in their joy with a sweet assurance that calms their fears into peace. Even Ailie dreamed, and her visions were of a gay complexion, fitting the nature of her doings through this eventful day, and had various anticipations of bridal finer floating through them. Nay, the very wind which whistled past Mr. Melville’s roof-tree had a language of its own, and admirable gleesome chuckle, which said plain as words could speak that happy as this night had been beneath it, there would be merrier, happier doings here next new year’s day.