Queechy Volume Ii Part 88

If riches have their poisonous snares, Fleda carried away from this place a strong antidote. With a spirit strangely simple, pure, and calm, she went back to her aunt.

Poor Mrs. Rossitur was not quieted, but at Fleda's touch and voice, gentle and loving as the spirit of love and gentleness could make them, she tried to rouse herself; lifted up her weary head, and clasped her arms about her niece. The manner of it went to Fleda's heart, for there was in it both a looking to her for support and a clinging to her as another dear thing she was about to lose. Fleda could not speak for the heart-ache.

"It is harder to leave this place than all the rest," Mrs.

Rossitur murmured, after some little time had pa.s.sed on.

"He is not here," said Fleda's soothing voice. It set her aunt to crying again.

"No ? I know it," she said.

"We shall see him again. Think of that."

"_You_ will," said Mrs. Rossitur, very sadly.

"And so will you, dear aunt Lucy ? _dear_ aunt Lucy ? you promised him?"

"Yes" ? sobbed Mrs. Rossitur ? "I promised him ? but I am such a poor creature."

"So poor that Jesus cannot save you? ? or will not? No, dear aunt Lucy ? you do not think that; ? only trust him ? you do trust him now, do you not?"

A fresh gush of tears came with the answer, but it was in the affirmative; and, after a few minutes, Mrs. Rossitur grew more quiet.

"I wish something were done to this," she said, looking at the fresh earth beside her; "if we could have planted something ?"

"I have thought of it a thousand times," said Fleda, sighing; ? "I would have done it long ago if I could have got here; ?

but it doesn't matter, aunt Lucy. ? I wish I could have done it."

"You?" said Mrs. Rossitur; ? "my poor child! you have been wearing yourself out working for me. I never was worth anything!" she said, hiding her face again.

"When you have been the dearest and best mother to me? Now that is not right, aunt Lucy ? look up and kiss me."

The pleading sweet tone of voice was not to be resisted. Mrs.

Rossitur looked up and kissed her earnestly enough, but with unabated self-reproach.

"I don't deserve to kiss you, for I have let you try yourself beyond your strength. How you look! Oh, how you look!"

"Never mind how I look," said Fleda, bringing her face so close that her aunt could not see it. "You helped me all you could, aunt Lucy ? don't talk so ? and I shall look well enough by and by, I am not so very tired."

"You always were so!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, clasping her in her arms again: "and now I am going to lose you, too. My dear Fleda! that gives me more pleasure than anything else in the world!"

But it was a pleasure well cried over.

"We shall all meet again, I hope ? I will hope," said Mrs.

Rossitur, meekly, when Fleda had risen from her arms.

"Dear aunty! but before that ? in England ? you will come to see me. Uncle Rolf will bring you."

Even then, Fleda could not say even that without the blood mounting to her face. Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and sighed; but smiled a little, too, as if that delightful c.h.i.n.k of possibility let some light in.

"I shouldn't like to see Mr. Carleton now," she said, "for I could not look him in the face; and I am afraid he wouldn't want to look in mine, he would be so angry with me."

The sun was sinking low on that fair May afternoon, and they had two miles to walk to get home. Slowly and lingeringly they moved away.

The talk with her aunt had shaken Fleda's calmness, and she could have cried now with all her heart; but she constrained herself. They stopped a moment at the fence, to look the last before turning their backs upon the place. They lingered, and still Mrs. Rossitur did not move, and Fleda could not take away her eyes.

It was that prettiest time of nature, which, while it shows indeed the shade side of everything, makes it the occasion of a fair contrast. The grave-stones cast long shadows over the ground, foretokens of night where another night was resting already; the longest stretched away from the head of Hugh's grave. But the rays of the setting sun, softly touching the gra.s.s and the face of the white tombstone, seemed to say ?

"Thy brother shall rise again!" Light upon the grave! The promise kissing the record of death! ? It was impossible to look in calmness. Fleda bowed her head upon the paling, and cried with a straitened heart, for grief and grat.i.tude together.

Mrs. Rossitur had not moved when Fleda looked up again. The sun was yet lower ? the sunbeams, more slant, touched not only that bright white stone ? they pa.s.sed on beyond, and carried the promise to those other grey ones, a little further off; that she had left ? yes, for the last time; and Fleda's thoughts went forward swiftly to the time of the promise ?

"_Then_ shall be brought to pa.s.s the saying which is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to G.o.d, which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ." And then, as she looked, the sunbeams might have been a choir of angels in light, singing, ever so softly, "Glory to G.o.d in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men."

With a full heart Fleda clasped her aunt's arm, and they went gently down the lane without saying one word to each other, till they had left the grave-yard far behind them and were in the high road again.

Fleda internally thanked Mr. Carleton for what he had said to her on a former occasion, for the thought of his words had given her courage, or strength, to go beyond her usual reserve in speaking to her aunt; and she thought her words had done good.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"Use your pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter."

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

On the way home, Mrs. Rossitur and Fleda went a trifle out of their road to say good-bye to Mrs. Dougla.s.s's family. Fleda had seen her aunt Miriam in the morning, and bid her a conditional farewell; for, as after Mrs. Rossitur's sailing she would be with Mrs. Carleton, she judged it little likely that she should see Queechy again.

They had time for but a minute at Mrs. Dougla.s.s's. Mrs.

Rossitur had shaken hands, and was leaving the house when Mrs.

Dougla.s.s pulled Fleda back.

"Be you going to the West Indies, too, Fleda?"

"No, Mrs. Dougla.s.s."

"Then why don't you stay here?"

"I want to be with my aunt while I can," said Fleda.

"And then do you calculate to stop in New York?"

"For a while," said Fleda, colouring.

"Oh, go 'long!" said Mrs. Dougla.s.s; "I know all about it. Now, do you s'pose you're agoing to be any happier among all those great folks than you would be if you staid among little folks?" she added, tartly; while Catherine looked with a kind of incredulous admiration at the future lady of Carleton.

"I don't suppose that greatness has anything to do with happiness, Mrs. Dougla.s.s," said Fleda, gently.

So gently, and so calmly sweet the face was that said it, that Mrs. Dougla.s.s's mood was overcome.