CHAPTER XVI. FRUITION. "I love thee, oh I love thee, is all that I can say, Ir was a lovely evening at that fair season when spring is blushing into summer; when, crowned with roses, the young year stands, the shadows of the waving boughs amid her dusky tresses, as she gazes with clear eyes into the woodland streams. When tides of light flow over the fields of grain, and the jewels in that sea are flowers; when long white swathes of cloud lie across the sky, as if in the azure plains of heaven the angels had been reaping their fields of lilies; when, as the day goes down, a glorious vision, as of a transfigured earth, rises to meet the sunset glory-distant mountains, snowy peaks edged with crimson and gold blue lakes where white fairy boats sail, castles and towers, and beyond all, the sea-green water of a far-off ocean. It was at such an hour that Nela and Helen sat on the deck of the boat that was bearing them up the Mississippi. Helen was absorbed with a book, and Nela was watching the cloud changes, when she was recalled by a step and voice at her side. "I cannot be mistaken in supposing that I see Mrs. Enfield once more." That voice woke an echo that had slumbered for years in Cornelia's heart. A faint flush, gone in a moment, a tremulousness in the first words she spoke, were the only tokens of an agitation, subdued with a woman's quick instinct, but which yet thrilled her heart, as she turned, and the light sparkled in her eyes, though she answered calmly, "The mistake is a slight one, Captain Vernon; Mrs. Enfield is my sister." "Your sister!" he said, eagerly; "pardon me for repeating your words; but I was not aware that you had an own sister; and all I heard was that Mr. Enfield had married Miss Boylston. I knew but one." Oscar now came up, and Helen laid aside. her book, glad to renew their acquaintance with one they so highly esteemed; and the friends who had accompanied Captain Vernon on board looked round more than once in surprise at the utter change which had come over their taciturn, almost gloomy companion of the day before. Captain Vernon was not a man to love lightly; but, once given, his love was unalterable. Thus, when he parted from Cornelia, years ago, though he knew that he could not then marry, perhaps not for many years, and forbore with real heroism to sadden her life with the cares and uncertainties of his own, he yet looked forward to a period when he might be able to claim the love his fidelity would so well merit. Just as an unexpected accession of fortune seemed to open the path before him, he heard of the marriage, as he supposed of Cornelia. He was disappointed, in a double sense; for he had fancied he read through the composure of her usual manner indications of a warmer feeling, latent perhaps as yet, but full of bright promise for the future. Had he deceived himself, or was she not all that he had believed her? How all these doubts vanished at one soft word-one bright glance. Well might his heart bound with happy anticipation. Time, separation, uncertainty-could cast no shadow over such faith as theirs. In these true hearts love was no selfish passion, but a deep and holy spring of all noble deeds, of all pure affections-a union of perfect trust, of perfect assimilation—a union which life could not weaken nor death annihilate, for time and for eternity. In this bright fruition we leave them. Mrs. Lyndsay lingered but a few months, and Julia found a happy home with her aunt Amy. Helen was too devoted to her art to think of marriage; and Matilda's sad fate had taught Julia to fear it as a bondage. They remained to brighten the declining years of the beloved aunt and mother. And she has her reward: she is happy in her children. Unspoiled by prosperity, their hearts are tender and true; and she knows that if adversity should come it will be met, as it has been before, bravely and cheerfully, looking ever forward to the light beyond. THE END. |