the tale and the poem. Sickness cannot make him
wretched. Now when he closes his eyes, his spirit
dares to go forth wandering under the shining stars
and above the sparkling snow; and nothing is any more
dull and unbeautiful. When night draws on, and
he is laid in his bed, her voice sings him, and her
hand soothes him, to sleep; nor do her influences
vanish when he forgets everything in sleep; for he
wakes in the morning well and happy, made whole by
his faith in his mother. A power has gone forth
from her love to heal and restore him.
“Brothers, sisters! do I not know your hearts
from my own?—sick hearts, which nothing
can restore to health and joy but the presence of Him
who is Father and Mother both in one. Sunshine
is not gladness, because you see him not. The
stars are far away, because He is not near; and the
flowers, the smiles of old Earth, do not make you smile,
because, although, thank God! you cannot get rid of
the child’s need, you have forgotten what it
is the need of. The winter is dreary and dull,
because, although you have the homeliest of homes,
the warmest of shelters, the safest of nests to creep
into and rest—though the most cheerful
of fires is blazing for you, and a table is spread,
waiting to refresh your frozen and weary hearts—you
have forgot the way thither, and will not be troubled
to ask the way; you shiver with the cold and the hunger,
rather than arise you say, ‘I will go to my Father;’
you will die in the storm rather than fight the storm;
you will lie down in the snow rather than tread it
under foot. The heart within you cries out for
something, and you let it cry. It is crying for
its God—for its father and mother and home.
And all the world will look dull and grey—and
it if does not look so now, the day will come when
it must look so—till your heart is satisfied
and quieted with the known presence of Him in whom
we live and move and have our being.”
CHAPTER III.
THE SHADOWS.
It was again my turn to read. I opened my manuscript
and had just opened my mouth as well, when I was arrested
for a moment. For, happening to glance to the
other side of the room, I saw that Percy had thrown
himself at full length on a couch, opposite to that
on which Adela was seated, and was watching her face
with all his eyes. But his look did not express
love so much as jealousy. Indeed I had seen small
sign of his being attached to her. If she had
encouraged him, which certainly she did not, I daresay
his love might have come out; but I presume that he
had been comfortably content until now, when perhaps
some remark of his mother had made him fear a rival.
Mischief of some sort was evidently brewing.
A human cloud, surcharging itself with electric fire,
lay swelling on the horizon of our little assembly;
but I did not anticipate much danger from any storm
that could break from such a quarter. I believed
that as far as my good friend, the colonel, was concerned,
Adela might at least refuse whom she pleased.
Whether she might find herself at equal liberty to
choose whom she pleased, was a question that I was
unprepared to answer. And I could not think about
it now. I had to read. So I gave out the
title—and went on:
Copyrights
Adela Cathcart, Volume 2 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
