 | CHAPTER XXXV.
CLOSING SCENES. What can she do? |  |
35. CHAPTER XXXV.
CLOSING SCENES.
THE clouds were clearing away when Edith
came down late the next morning, and all
saw that the clouds had passed from her brow.
“Bless de Lord, Miss Edie, you'se yourself
again!” said Hannibal, joyfully. “I neber saw a
shower do such a heap of good afore.”
“No,” said Edith, sadly; “I was myself. I lost
my Divine Friend and Helper, and I then became
myself — poor, weak, faulty Edith Allen. But,
thanks to His mercy, I have found Him again, and
so hope to be the better self that He helped me to
be before.”
Zell looked at her with a sudden wonder, and
went out and stayed among her flowers all day.
Laura came and put her arms around her neck,
and said, “O Edie, I am so glad! What you said
set me to fearing and doubting; but I am sure we
can trust Him.”
Mrs. Allen sighed drearily, and said, “I don't
understand it at all.”
But old Hannibal slapped his hands in true
Methodist style, exclaiming, “Dat's it! Throw
away de ole heart! Get a new one! Bless de
Lord!”
Edith went out into the garden, and saw that
there were a good many berries ripe; then she
posted off to the hotel, and said:
“O Mrs. Groody, for Heaven's sake, won't you
help me sell my strawberries up here?”
“Yes, my dear,” was the hearty response; “and
for your sake and the strawberries, too. We get
them from the city, and would much rather have
fresh country ones.”
Edith returned with her heart thrilling with hope,
and set to work picking as if every berry was a
ruby, and in a few hours she had six quarts of fragrant
fruit. Malcom had lent her little baskets,
and Hannibal took them up to the hotel, for Arden
would not even look toward the little cottage any
more. The old servant came back grinning with
delight, and gave Edith a dollar and a half.
The next day ten quarts brought two dollars and
a half. Then they began to ripen rapidly, the rain
having greatly improved them, and Edith, with considerable
help from the others, picked twenty, thirty,
and fifty quarts a day. She employed a stout boy
from the village, to help her, and, through him, she
soon had quite a village trade also. He had a percentage
on the sales, and, therefore, was very sharp
in disposing of them.
How Edith gloated over her money; how, with
more than miserly eyes, she counted it over every
night, and pressed it to her lips.
In the complete absorption of the past few weeks
Edith had not noticed the change going on in Zell.
pleased that the flowers grew so well for her. Every
opening blossom was a new revelation, and their
sweet perfume stole into her wounded heart like
balm. The blue violets seemed like children's eyes
peeping timidly at her; and the pansies looked so
bright and saucy that she caught herself smiling
back at them. The little black and brown seeds
she planted came up so promptly that it seemed as
if they wanted to see her as much as she did them.
“Isn't it queer,” she said one day to herself, “that
such pretty things can come out of such ugly little
things.” Nothing in Nature seemed to turn away
from her, no more than would Nature's God. The
dumb life around began to speak to her in many and
varied voices, and she who fled from companionship
with her own kind, would sit and chirp and talk to
the birds, as if they understood her. And they did
seem to grow strangely familiar, and would almost
eat crumbs out of her hand.
One day in June she said to Hannibal, who was
working near, “Isn't it strange the flowers grow so
well for me?”
“Why shouldn't dey grow for you, Miss Zell?”
asked he, straightening his old back up.
“Good, innocent Hannibal, how indeed should
you know anything about it?”
“Yes, I does know all about it,” said he, earnestly,
and coming to her where she stood by a rose-bush.
“Does you see dis white rose?”
“Yes,” said Zell, “it opened this morning. I've
been watching it.”
Poor Hannibal could not read print, but he
seemed to understand this exquisite passage in Nature's
open book, for he put his black finger on the
rose (which made it look whiter than before), and
commenced expounding it as a preacher might his
text. “Now look at it sharp, Miss Zell, 'cause it'll
show you I does know all about it. It's white,
isn't it?”
“Yes,” said Zell, eagerly, for Hannibal held the
attention of his audience.
“Dat means pure, doesn't it?” continued he.
“Yes,” said Zell, looking sadly down.
“And it's sweet, isn't it? Now dat means lub.”
And Zell looked hopefully up.
“And now, dear chile,” said he, giving her a little,
impressive nudge, “see whar de white rose come
from—right up out of de black, ugly ground.”
Having concluded his argument and made his
point, the simple orator began his application, and
Zell was leaning toward him in her interest.
“De good Lord, he make it grow to show what
He can do for us. Miss Zell,” he said, in an awed
whisper, “my ole heart was as black as dat ground,
but de blessed Jesus turn it as white as dis rose.
Miss Edie, Lor' bless her, telled me 'bout Him, and
I'se found it all true. Now, doesn't I know about
it? I knows dat de good Jesus can turn de blackest
heart in de world jes like dis rose, make it white
and pure, and fill it up wid de sweetness of lub. I
knows all about it.”
He spoke with the power of absolute certainty
moved.
“Hannibal,” she said, coming close to him, and
putting her hand on his shoulder, “do you think
Jesus could turn my heart white?”
“Sartin, Miss Zell,” answered he, stoutly, “jes
as easy as He make dis white rose grow.”
“Would you mind asking Him to? It seems to
me I would rather pray out here among the flowers,”
she said, in low, tremulous tones.
So Hannibal concluded his simple, but most
effective service by kneeling down by his pulpit, the
rose-bush, and praying:
“Blessed Jesus, guve dis dear chile a new heart,
'cause she wants it, and You wants her to have it.
Make it pure and full of lub. You can do it,
dear Jesus. You knows You can. Now, jes please
do it. Amen.”
Zell's responsive “Amen” was like a note from
an Eolian harp.
“Hannibal,” said she, looking wistfully at him,
“I think I feel better. I think I feel it growing
white.”
“Now jes look here, Miss Zell,” said he, giving
her a bit of pastoral counsel before going back to
his work, “don't you keep looking at your heart,
and seein how it feels, or you'll get discouraged.
See dis rose agin? It don't look at itself. It jes
looks up at de sun. So you look straight at Jesus,
and your heart grow whiter ebery day.”
And Hannibal and the flower did gradually lead
world,” and He said to her as to one of old, “Thy
faith hath saved thee; go in peace.”
On the evening of the 14th of June, Edith had
more than enough to pay the interest due on the
15th, and she was most anxious to have it settled.
She was standing at the gate waiting for Hannibal
to join her as escort, when she saw Arden Lacey
coming toward her. He had not looked at her
since that dreadful afternoon, and was now about
to pass her without notice, though from his manner
she saw he was conscious of her presence. He
looked so worn and changed that her heart yearned
toward him. A sudden thought occurred to her,
and she said,
“Mr. Lacey.”
He kept right on, and paid no heed to her.
There was a mingling of indignation and pathos
in her voice when she spoke again.
“I appeal to you as a woman, and no matter
what I am, if you are a true man, you will listen.”
There was that in her tone and manner that reminded
him of the dark rainy night when they first
met.
He turned instantly, but he approached her with
a cold, silent bow.
“I must go to the village to-night. I wish your
protection,” she said, in a voice she tried vainly to
render steady.
He again bowed silently, and they walked to the
village together without a word. Hannibal came
one on one side of it, and one on the other.
“Well now, dey's both quar,” he said, scratching
his white head with perplexity, “but one ting is
mighty sartin, I'se glad my ole jints is saved dat
tramp.”
Edith stopped at the door of Mr. Crowl's office,
and Arden, for the first time, spoke hastily,
“I can't go in there.”
“I hope you are not afraid,” said Edith, in a tone
that made him step forward quick enough.
Mr. Crowl looked as if he could not believe his
eyes, but Edith gave him no time to collect his wits,
but by the following little speech quite overwhelmed
both him and Arden, though with different emotions.
“There, sir, is the interest due on the mortgage.
There is a slight explanation due you and also this
gentleman here, who was my friend. There are four
persons in our family dependent on me for support
and shelter. We were all so poor and helpless that
it seemed impossible to maintain ourselves in independence.
You made a proposition through my
mother, never to me, that might be called generous
if it had not been coupled with certain threats of
prompt foreclosure if not accepted. In an hour of
weakness and for the sake of the others, I said to
my mother, never to you, that if I could not pay
the interest and could not support the family, I
would marry you. But I did very wrong, and I became
so unhappy and desperate in view of this partial
but in the hour of my greatest darkness, when I saw
no way out of our difficulties, God led me to see
how wrongly I had acted, and to resolve that under
no possible circumstances would I marry you, nor
any man to whom I could not give a true wife's
love. Since that time I have been able to honestly
earn the money there, and in a few days more I will
pay you the fifty dollars that my mother borrowed
of you. So please give me my receipt.”
“And remember henceforth,” said Arden sternly,
“that this lady has a protector.”
Simon was sharp enough to see that he was beat,
so he signed the receipt and gave it to Edith without
a word. They left his office and started homeward.
When out of the village Arden said timidly,
“Can you forgive me, Miss Edith?”
“Can you forgive me?” answered she, even
more humbly.
They stopped in the road and grasped each
other's hands with a warmth more expressive than
all words. Then they went on silently again. At
the gate Edith said timidly,
“Won't you come in?”
“I dare not, Miss Allen,” said Arden, gravely,
and with a dash of bitterness in his voice, “I am
a man of honor with all my faults, and I would
keep the promise I made you in the letter I wrote
one year ago. I must see very little of you,” he
continued, in a very heartsick tone, “but let me
serve you just the same.”
Edith's face seemed to possess more than human
loveliness as it grew tender and gentle in the
radiance of the full moon, and he looked at it with
the hunger of a famished heart.
“But you made the promise to me, did you
not?” she asked in a low tone.
“Certainly,” said Arden.
“Then it seems to me that I have the right to
absolve you from the promise,” she continued in a
still lower tone, and a face like a damask-rose in
moonlight.
“Miss Allen—Edith—” said Arden, “oh, for
Heaven's sake, be kind. Don't trifle with me.”
Edith had restrained her feelings so long that
she was ready to either laugh or cry, so with a peal
of laughter, that rang out like a chime of silver
bells, she said,
“Like the fat Abbot in the story, I give you full
absolution and plenary indulgence.”
He seized her hand and carried it to his lips:
“Edith,” he pleaded, in a low, tremulous tone,
“will you let me be your slave?”
“Not a bit of it,” said she, sturdily; “but,” she
added, looking shyly up at him, “if you will take
me as your little wife, I will take you as my big
husband.”
Arden was about to kneel at her feel, but she
said:
“Nonsense! If you must get on your knees,
come and kneel to my strawberry-bed—you ought
to thank that, I can tell you.” And so the matter-of-fact
through a scene that she greatly dreaded.
They could see the berries reddening among the
green leaves, and the night wind blowing across
them was like a gale from Araby the Blest.
“Were it not for this strawberry-bed you would
not have obtained absolution to-night. But, Arden,”
she added, seriously, “here is your way out
of trouble, as well as mine. We are near good
markets. Give up your poor, slipshod farming (I'm
plain, you see,) and raise fruit. I will supply you
with vines. We will go into partnership. You
show what a man can do, and I will show what a
girl can do.”
He took her hand and looked at her so fondly,
that she hid her face on his shoulder. He stroked
her head and said, in a a half mirthful tone:
“Ah, Edie, Edie, woman once got man out of
a garden, but you, I perceive, are destined to lead
me into one; and any garden where you are will
be Eden to me.”
She looked up, with her face suddenly becoming
grave and wistful, and said,
“Arden, God will walk in my garden in `the cool
of the day.' You won't hide from Him, will
you?”
“No,” he answered, earnestly. “I now feel sure
that, through my faith in you, I shall soon have
faith in Him.”
| CHAPTER XXXV.
CLOSING SCENES. What can she do? | |