Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 62

"Listen to me, madam," said the old gentleman in his soft touching way, and then the humiliated woman heard a tale of woe that entered deeply into her soul.

What a change those words had wrought--such a change as mortal can scarcely dream of!

"I will go with you, sir," said Evelyn with tears streaming, down her cheeks.

As she glanced at her threadbare garments a feeling of embarra.s.sment was visible upon her emaciated face, but it was momentary.

The good old man led the way and Evelyn followed, but at respectful distance, and as the frowning edifice rose above them what mortal could have withheld pity for the almost demented creature!

"If Marguerite could see me now! And Phil Lawson whom I once despised. Ah, now he is a prince indeed. I honor him above men!"

What sentiments for Evelyn Verne! Why such sentiments? One of G.o.d's messengers has at last struck the missing chord and awakened a flood of divine melody more acceptable to the quiring hosts than the lays of measured song.

"This way, my child," says a benign matron in a kind and sympathetic voice, and Mrs. Arnold stands gazing upon the sadly bloated face of her husband.

"Eve, you have come! I am not deserving of such kindness--but it is nearly over now, I shall trouble you no longer. Oh, if I could undo the dreadful past what a different life I would lead!"

"Hush, Montague! we have both been to blame. Not more than an hour ago I could have cursed you with my whole heart, but now I trust in G.o.d that I am a different being."

The old gentleman had remained in the hall but was now summoned to the bedside where he learned the sad story of the wreck of two human lives.

"I was selfish and wayward; heartless and cruel. Many wrongs have been encouraged because it was all right in the eyes of the hollow-hearted fas.h.i.+onable world. Oh! society! you have much to answer for!"

Mrs. Arnold broke down completely, and gave way to heart-rending sobs.

"Let her weep," thought the old man, "It will do her good."

Montague Arnold now raised himself upon the pillow, but the effort was too much, and he sank back exhausted, murmuring, "It will not be long."

"Oh! Montague! my husband," exclaimed the woman, rus.h.i.+ng wildly to his bedside, and putting her arm around his neck, "Oh! my husband, you must not die. We will began life anew, and each hour atone for the past."

"Let us thank a merciful Saviour that atonement has been made both for you and me, Evelyn."

"How came my husband to realize such a change," asked the grief-smitten wife, gazing sadly into the old man's face.

"The good Chaplain remained with him nearly all night, and on pa.s.sing my house this morning came to tell us that the dying man had indeed become truly penitent."

"Thank G.o.d!" was the fervent reply.

Evelyn was now left alone with her husband, and she knew that it was impossible for him to live many days. She strove to smooth his dying pillow, and give all the consolation that lay within her power.

It was indeed a sad but tender sight to notice the wistful gaze of the still l.u.s.trous eyes, the hectic flush of the wan cheek, and to listen to the spasmodic cough which spoke too plainly that hasty consumption had sought out its victim with unerring aim.

The physician on going his daily round now entered the ward with a look of sympathy in his kindly face, and as he glanced at the careworn creature seated in a corner, felt a sudden pang shoot through his generous heart.

Another day dawned and Montague Arnold was yet on this side of the grave.

Evelyn went to and from the old lodging, with a firmer step yet with an aching void at her heart.

Why did I not see my folly ere it was too late? Ah! mothers, why not educate your daughters to be sensible beings? But why do I speak now? It is too late! and drawing her shawl close to keep out the winter's wind the woman pressed on amid the surging tide of humanity, pressing against hearts, perhaps, heavy, as her own!

"Is it an apparition," thought Mrs. Arnold, as she stood for a moment to gaze upon a lovely child, standing besides her husband's cot.

It was surely an angel in disguise sent to cheer his last moments.

A bouquet of choice flowers shed a delightful fragrance. They are the gift of the child.

"This is too sad a place for such innocence," murmurs the invalid, taking the bouquet and pressing it to his lips.

"Lalia is accustomed to such scenes, Mr. Arnold, I take her with me on my daily rounds, that she may see the sorrows of humanity, and I trust she will never grow so selfish as not to feel for them too."

"May you receive the greatest reward," cried the wretched Evelyn.

"Ah! much promise is in store for your child."

The little one glided toward the speaker, and putting the tiny white arms around her neck, impressed a warm kiss upon the quivering lips.

"Good-bye, Lalia! When you grow to be a woman wear this for my sake," and Montague Arnold took from his finger an old-fas.h.i.+oned ring--the gift of his dying mother.

The child looked at the precious relic, as if it were too sacred to touch. Then spoke her thanks through the soft dreamy eyes-- beautiful as an Italian sky.

"Good-bye, Lalia," and the child went forth with a sadness prophetic that from these icy lips those words were the last she would ever hear.

And the child was right. On the following day as the sun was sinking in the west, Montague Arnold was sinking into his last slumber.

Respiration became difficult, and his words were almost inaudible.

As his wife knelt beside him, and clasped the cold hands within her own, she tried hard to appear calm.

"You forgive all, Eve?"

A kiss upon the rigid lips was the silent but expressive answer.

A fervent "G.o.d Almighty bless you," a faint sigh and Montague Arnold had sought another and we trust a better home.

Mrs. Arnold is truly a widow in a strange land, yet He who is the husband of the widow has not forsaken her. The aged gentleman, his dutiful daughter and the lovely Lalia have given her the warmest sympathy, and taken her to their snug and cosey home.

Only a few weeks had pa.s.sed away since Evelyn had written Marguerite, but how much had transpired in that time? It was when she had received a second letter that the thought occurred that she had been remiss.

"Marguerite, sweet girl! she will never knew what I have suffered,"

and with these words upon her lips Mrs. Arnold sat down and penned as much of her sad story as she then thought fit to confide.

"That is all," murmured the writer folding up the blurred page and addressing the letter. Then for the first time since the days of her happy, sunny childhood Evelyn Arnold took up a neatly bound Testament. She had an indistinct remembrance of something concerning the prodigal son and now wished to know for herself.

The sad, pathetic picture soon possessed a charm and the story was read over many times ere the volume was laid aside.

"Thank G.o.d," mused the reader and the words were wafted aloft until they reached the

----"Kingly palace gate; With frontispiece of diamond and of gold Embellished."