University of Virginia Library

26. XXVI.
MOTHER AND SON.

Hector's absence, the loss of Charlotte, and manifold minor
troubles of a domestic nature, had produced their effect upon Mrs.
Dunbury. Her old physician had been recalled; solemn medical
attendance filled the place of the spiritual stimulus for which her
spirit famished; and prescriptions became the order of the day —
and night.

It was difficult to have a “girl.” Bridget's strong arms could
embrace the head and front of the household work, but a gentler
hand and lighter foot than hers were required in the invalid's
chamber. Bertha Wing was recently married, and had a household
of her own to engage her cares. Mr. Fosdick's daughters
might possibly have been had, but Mrs. Dunbury preferred any
other attendance. As a last resort, Phœbe Jackwood was sent
for, who could come over “for a few days,” she said, “just for
accommodation.” Phœbe came accordingly. It was a day or
two before Hector's unexpected return; and his sudden departure
for Canada had left her once more alone with his mother.

The novelty and importance of the mission pleased Phœbe's
girlish heart, and she exerted herself to fulfil it to the invalid's
comfort and satisfaction. Her efforts were well appreciated;
Mrs. Dunbury was grateful; but Phœbe's touch, Phœbe's step,
Phœbe's voice, were not the touch, the step, the voice, she loved.
She pined for Charlotte. Hector had become almost a secondary
consideration. Her experience with friends of her own sex had
all her life been unsatisfactory. Never until the past summer
had she known a woman's heart that drew out all her sympathies.
Perhaps she loved Charlotte through her son; but, whatever the

influence, she had found in her a charm which she had found in
no other, and which now arose fragrant in her memory, until to
sense it, breathe it again, became the desire and longing of
her life.

Hector had been two days absent. On the afternoon of the third
day, Corny put his head in at the door.

“There 's someb'dy comin' up the road, Mrs. Dunb'ry. I guess
it 's Hector.”

“O, Phœbe, run and see!”

Phœbe ran; Phœbe returned, joyous.

“It is Hector! I know his cloak!”

“Is she with him?”

“There 's somebody with him. If it 's Charlotte, she 's got a
new bonnet. They 're in Mr. Simpkins's wagon; he 's brought
'em over from the railroad. It is Charlotte!” cried Phœbe, at
the window. “No, it an't, either! It may be, though, — she 's
behind the driver, and I can't see.”

A minute later, Hector's foot was on the floor; Hector's arms
supported the invalid, as she arose from her pillow.

“And Charlotte?”

“Charlotte is safe and well.”

“The new bonnet was Ann Carter!” exclaimed Phœbe, disappointed.

“Good Phœbe,” said Hector, “I want to talk with my mother
a little while; will you let me?”

“The doctor says she is to be kept very quiet,” replied the wise
Phœbe.

“O, I 'll look to that! And will you be so kind as to take
away, for a few minutes, the charm of your presence, which will
be all the fresher and sweeter, when you again favor us with
it?”

Phœbe, with exquisite simplicity: “Do you mean you would
like to have me leave the room? O, I 'll do that! Why did n't
you say so? Mrs. Dunbury is to take two table-spoonfuls of that
in the bottle —”

I 'll attend to the bottle;” and, following Phœbe to the door,
Hector locked it after her.

“Ah, mother!” then said he, seating himself by the bed, “this
bridge of life we tread upon is a bridge of sighs! But it is worth
the crossing, is it not? It is through suffering that the depths of
our nature are stirred, and existence made great and glorious.”

“O, yes, yes!” responded the invalid. “But why do you tell
me this?”

“By way of preamble, mother. A confession and a history
follow.”

“And — Charlotte?”

“Be patient; you shall hear of her; for I cannot show you my
heart, without revealing her image.”

“I am glad!”

“Before I have finished, perhaps you will be sorry!”

He scarce knew how to proceed. His mother was too feeble to
endure a sudden shock. He told of the love and happiness which
he thought might be his; and when all her sympathies were stirred,
and joy and faith made her strong, he turned and denounced
those false estimates of society, by which love and happiness are
so often frustrated. She assented to all he said.

“But, consider!” he cried; “of two persons who love thus
deeply, one may be descended from princes, from Jove himself,
while the other is the child of misery and shame!”

“We must not forget that Christ was born in a manger,”
breathed the invalid.

“Glorious thought! Dear mother, when you speak that sacred
name, my whole being is infused with ineffable emotion! One
night, in my absence from you and Charlotte, one strange, memorable
night, when I lay thinking of the world, of life, a great power
came upon me; an overshadowing, an agony, and a light; then to
my inner sense a universe was opened, in the midst of which I saw
humanity transfigured, — the image of the Father shining through
the Son, and the dove of the Spirit flying to mankind from his
bosom of love. In the light that dawned upon me then, I have
seen all the circumstances of birth, of wealth, of station, as utterly
insignificant to the true being and majesty of the soul. O, yes,
Christ, whom now all the enlightened world adores, in costly temples,
was born in a manger; and the instrument of his ignominious

death has become the universal symbol of the world's salvation!
If we believe in him, how can we at the same time rest our
faith upon the externals of society? Yet let us not forget that we
are considering vital truths, and that we have nothing to do with
fine theories, that cannot be woven into our lives.”

“I know, my son, we are uttering social heresies, but let the
truth be spoken; then, if we have strength and courage, let us
live it!”

“Mother, for one born and bred in English society, where the
prejudice of clan and caste is as potent as in India, you talk marvellously!
It is well for you to have suffered from change of
fortune, from privation and humiliation, from mental and bodily
anguish, since every tear your eyes have shed has fallen a pearl
of wisdom into your lap! Imagine, now, that I have a dear, sweet
flower; I bring it to you; shall we stop to consider in what soil it
sprung, before enjoying its fragrance and beauty?”

“O, no; but love it for its own sake, for what it is!”

“Nobly answered!” exclaimed Hector. “It may be found
among wretched weeds; it may have drank poisonous dews; its
stalk may have been broken, and its leaves trodden under rude
and swinish feet. Am I to cast it from me? Or am I to cherish
it all the more choicely, for that innate purity, which none of those
influences could destroy?”

“You are to cherish it, my son, with all your heart and soul!”

Hector bent down, and as he kissed his mother she felt a warm
tear fall upon her cheek.

“But, if the possession of this flower brings upon me the shame
of the world, and the hatred and persecution of those who broke
its stalk and bruised its leaves, — tell me, what then?”

“O, my son, I tremble! — but be you brave, and noble, and
strong!”

“And if that flower were — Charlotte?”

No response; but the invalid wept, and, straining Hector to her
bosom, responded, fervently,

“Then God help you and her!”