The Lights and Shadows of Real Life Part 87

"Dear Theodore!" she said, in a changed tone, "tell me what it is that troubles you!"

A shuddering sob was the only reply, as he leaned his head back upon her bosom.

"Say, dearest, what has happened?"

The tears now fell from his eyes like rain, and sob after sob shook his frame convulsively.

Constance waited in silence until the agitation subsided, and then gently urged him to tell her what it was that troubled him so painfully.

"I am broken in spirits now, Constance. I am a weak child. I have received the last blow, and manhood has altogether forsaken me."

"Tell me! oh, tell me! Theodore, all, all! Do not distress me by further silence, or mystery!"

A pause of some minutes succeeded, during which Wilmer was making strong efforts to overcome his feelings.

"Constance," he at length said, mournfully, "I have tried long, and much beyond my strength, to earn the small sum that it took to support our little ones; but nature has at last given way. Here is the last dollar I shall probably ever earn, and now I shall be a burden upon you, eating the bread of my children, while they, poor things, will hunger for the morsel that nourishes me. I do not wonder that manly feelings have pa.s.sed away with my strength.

Constance, what shall we do?"

An angel of comfort is woman to life's last extremity.

Fragile as a reed, that bends to the pa.s.sing breeze, when the suns.h.i.+ne of prosperity is bright above and around, she becomes the tall oak, deep-rooted and strong-branched, when the wintry storms of adversity sweep over the earth. No trial subdues her, no privation brings a murmur of discontent. She will hope to the last, and still have a smile of a.s.surance for those who, in their despondency, have even cast away hope. Constance Wilmer was a woman, and as a woman, her worth was felt more and more, as troubles came thicker and faster.

"Dear husband!" she said, in a steady and cheerful voice, "you have forgotten that line, so true and so comforting--"'Despair is never quite despair'--

"I see no cause for such painful feelings. Pinching want is not upon us yet, and I am sure the time will never come when our children shall ask food at our hands in. vain. Trial, which is always for our good, will never reach beyond the point of endurance."

"The burden is all upon you, Constance. Heaven grant that you may have strength to bear it!"

"I fear not for the strength. That will come in due time. Now we have food and raiment, and therewith let us be content. If G.o.d so clothe the gra.s.s of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, will he not clothe us? He that feedeth the young ravens when they cry, will not turn away from us. Are we not of more value than many sparrows?"

"Bless you! bless you! Constance."

"Do not, then, dear husband! cast away your confidence. If the burden is to be all upon me, it will be lightened by your cheerful countenance and encouraging words. I shall need them both, doubtless; then do not withhold them."

Her voice lost its steadiness, trembled a moment, and then she hid her face, in silence and in tears, upon his bosom.

As Wilmer had foreseen, the strength for further labour was gone for ever. He lingered about for a few weeks, and then took to his bed.

And now came the time for the full trial of Mrs. Wilmer's mental and bodily strength.

Notwithstanding all her close application at the needle, the small sum that had been saved from former earnings, slowly, but steadily diminished. Daily she increased her exertions, and encroached further upon the hours of rest; but still there was a steady withdrawal of the h.o.a.rded treasure. At first, her confidence in the Divine Providence was measurably shaken; but soon the wavering needle of her faith turned steadily to its polar star. Her own health, never vigorous, began also to give way under the increased application which became necessary for the support of the beloved ones, now entirely dependent upon her labour for food and raiment.

Her appet.i.te, never very good, failed considerably, and consequently there was a withdrawal instead of an increase of strength. But none knew of her pain or weakness. Her pale face was ever a cheerful one, and her voice full of tenderness.

When the next spring opened, Wilmer was not only confined to the house, but unable to sit up, except for a few hours at a time through the day. His wife's health had suffered much, and all the hours she sat at her needle, were hours of painful endurance. Spring pa.s.sed away, and summer came. But the milder airs had no kind effect upon the fast sinking frame of her husband. He was rapidly going down to the grave, his last hours embittered by the sight of his wife and children suffering before him.

During the month of August, Wilmer declined so fast, and needed such constant attention, that his wife could find but little time to devote to her needle. What she thus lost in the day-time, she had to make up, as far as possible, by encroaching upon the night hours, and often the lamp by her side would grow dim before the light of day, while she still bent in weariness and pain, over the work that was to give bread to her children.

For some months her work had been confined to one shop, the master of which was not always punctual in paying her the pittance she earned. Instead of handing her, whenever she called, the trifle due her, he made her procure a little book in which he would enter the work, promising to pay when it would amount to a certain sum. In anxious hope would Mrs. Wilmer wait until her earnings rose to the required amount; but not always then could she get her due; there would too frequently be a part payment, or a request to call in a day or two.

One day towards the first of September, she found that both food and money were out. She was just finis.h.i.+ng a couple of vests for the clothing-shop, and there were more than three dollars due to her.

While turning over in her own mind the hope that Mr.--would pay her the small sum due, when she carried in the work, and troubled the While with fears lest he should deny her, as he had often done before; her husband, whose bright eye had been upon her for some time, and whose countenance, unseen by her, had expressed an earnest, yet hesitating desire to ask for something, said--

"Constance, I don't know whether you are able to get them, but if you can, I should like, above all things, to have some grapes."

"Then you shall have some," Constance replied, earnestly and affectionately. "I am sure they will help you. Why did I not think of this for you long ago?"

Resuming her needle, she plied it with double swiftness, her heart trembling lest when she asked for her money at the shop, it should be refused her. At last the work was done and she carried it in. It was entered, and her book handed back to her. She paused a moment, then turned to go out, but she could not go home without some money.

Hesitatingly she asked to have her due, but it was refused on some excuse of having a large payment to make on that very day. Again she turned to go, but again turned to ask for only a part of what was her own. One dollar was thrown her with an unkind remark. The first she seized with avidity, the last pa.s.sed her ear unheeded.

How swiftly did she hurry home with her little treasure! more precious than a hundred times the sum had ever been before. It was to meet the first expressed want of her husband, to gratify which she would herself have abstained days from food.

The grapes were soon obtained, with some bread, and a small portion of meat, for the children. They proved very grateful and refres.h.i.+ng to Wilmer, who, soon after he had eaten a few of them, fell into a gentle sleep.

The food which Mrs. Wilmer had bought would last them probably about two days--not longer. Two months' rent would be due in a week, amounting to eight dollars. Their landlord had threatened to take some of their things to satisfy the last months' rent, and she had little hope of his being put off longer than the expiration of the two months. There were still two-and-a-half dollars due her by the keeper of the clothing-store, which she knew it would be almost as hard to get as to earn.

Not disposed, however, to sit down and brood over her difficulties, which only made them worse, she went to work in the best spirit possible to overcome them. She obtained more work, and bent herself again over her daily employment.

She was sitting with an aching head and troubled heart at her work on the next morning, having only sought a brief repose through the night, when a smart tap at the door roused her from her abstraction of mind.

"Does Mrs. Wilmer live here, ma'am?" asked a man.

"That is my name."

"Then I am directed to leave this basket,"--and the man deposited his burden on the floor, and was gone before another word could be spoken.

Mrs. Wilmer stood for a moment in mute surprise, and then removed the covering off the basket. It contained tea, coffee, sugar, rice, meat, bread, and various other articles of food; and also, a letter directed to "Constance Wilmer." She broke the seal with an anxious and trembling heart. It contained a fifty dollar note, and these brief words:--

"_Put by your work--you are cared for--there is help coming, and now very nigh--be of good cheer!_"

The coa.r.s.e garment she still held in her hand, fell to the floor.

Her fingers released themselves from it by an instinctive effort which she could not control. Her head reeled for a moment, and she sunk into a chair, overcome by a tumult of contending feelings. From this, she was aroused by the voice of her husband, who anxiously inquired the contents of the letter. He read it, and saw the enclosure, and the supply of food in the basket, and then clasped his hands and looked up with mute thankfulness to heaven. Mrs.

Wilmer obeyed, with a confidence for which she could not account, the injunction of her stranger-friend, and almost hourly for the first day referred to the characters of the letter, which seemed familiar to her eye. That she had seen the writing before, she was certain; but where, or when, she could not tell.

Relieved from daily care and toil, she had more time to give to her sick husband. She found him nearer the grave than she had supposed.

Four days more pa.s.sed away, and Wilmer had come down to the very brink of the dark river of death.

It was night. The two younger children were asleep, and the oldest boy, just in his tenth year, with his mother, stood anxiously over the low bed, upon which lay, gasping for breath, the dying husband and father. The widow, who cannot forget the dear image of her departed one; the orphan, who remembers the dying agony of a fond father, can realize in a great degree the sorrows which pressed upon the hearts of these lone watchers by the bed of death.

The last hours of Wilmer's life were hours of distinct consciousness.

"Constance," he whispered, in a low difficult whisper, while his bright eyes were fixed upon her face--"Constance, what will you do when I am gone? I am but a burden on you now; but my presence I feel is something."

His stricken-hearted wife could make no answer; but the tears rolled over her face in great drops, and fell fast upon the pillow of her dying husband.

"I cannot say, 'do not weep,'" continued Wilmer. "O that I could give a word of comfort! but your cup is full, running over, and I cannot dash it from your lips:--Dear Constance! you have been to me a wife and a mother. Let me feel your warm cheek once more against mine, for it is cold, very cold. Hark! did you not hear voices?" And he strained his eyes towards the door, half-lifting himself up.

For a few moments he looked eagerly for some one to enter, and then fell back upon the bed with a heavy sigh, murmuring to himself, in a low disappointed tone--