Elsie's Widowhood

Mrs. Carrington sank, half fainting, into Elsie's arms, and Mr. Dinsmore and the doctor bore her from the room.

It was Elsie's sad task to try to comfort and console where there was little to build hope upon: she could but dwell upon God's great mercy, his willingness to save, and the possibility that that last dying cry came from a truly penitent heart.

"I must try to believe it, else my heart would break!" cried the old lady. "O Elsie, my heart has bled for you, but your sorrow is not like unto my sorrow! You can rest in the sure and certain hope of a blissful reunion, you know that your beloved is rejoicing before the throne; while I – alas, alas! I know not where my poor boy is. And I am tortured with the fear that some of his blood may be found in my skirts – that I did not guide and instruct, warn and entreat him as I might; that my prayers were not frequent and fervent enough, my example all that it should have been."

"My dear friend, 'who is sufficient for these things?'" Elsie answered, weeping; "who has not reason for such self reproach? I think not you more than the rest of us."

"Ah!" sighed the old lady, "I wish that were so: had I but been to him, and to my own children, the mother you are to yours, my conscience would not now trouble me as it does."

Mrs. Travilla had caused a room to be fitted up as a studio for her older daughters, and here they were spending their afternoon – Vi painting, Elsie modelling and thinking, the while, of her absent lover, perchance busy in his studio with hammer and chisel.

"The sun is setting," exclaimed Violet at length, throwing down her brush. "What can have become of mamma that she has not been in to watch our progress?"

"I hope she has been taking a drive," Elsie answered, ceasing work also. "Come, let us go and dress for tea, Vi; it is high time."

They hastened to do so, and had scarcely completed their toilet when Harold rapped and asked if mamma were there.

"No? Where can she have gone?" he said. "Herbie and I came in from fishing a little while ago, and we have hunted for her almost everywhere."

"Except in the nursery," suggested Herbert. "Let's go and see if she's there."

"The carriage is driving up," said Vi, glancing through the window; "probably mamma is in it," and all four hurried down to the front veranda eager to meet and welcome her.

Their old grandfather alighted, handed out Grandma Rose, Aunt Enna, Isa, and then, with the help of one of the servant men, Molly.

The carriage door closed. Mamma was not there. Indeed their grandma and Isa were asking for her as they came up the steps.

And childish voices were now heard in their rear making the same inquiry – Rosie and Walter coming from the nursery in search of the mother they never willingly lost sight of for an hour.

"Why, what can have become of mamma? Rosie, when did you see her last?" asked Harold.

"Out on the lawn. She was walking with us, and grandpa came and took her away."

"Where to?"

"I don't know," answered the child, bursting into tears.

"There, there, don't cry; dear mamma's sure to be safe along with grandpa," Harold said, putting his arms around his little sister. "And here he comes to tell us about her," he added joyously, as Mr. Dinsmore was seen coming down the hall.

They crowded about him, the same question on every tongue.

"She is with Mrs. Carrington," he said, patting the heads of the weeping Rosie and Walter. "Don't cry, my children. She may not be able to join us at tea, but you shall see her before you go to your beds."

Then to the older ones, speaking in a subdued tone, "Boyd is gone, and his aunt is much overcome."

"Gone, Horace!" exclaimed his wife, looking shocked and awe-struck: "how did he die? was there any ground for hope?"

"Very little," he sighed, "that is the saddest part of it. The body will be sent away to-night," he added, in answer to a question from his father; "he is to be buried with the rest of his family. Mrs. Carrington will not go with it, will probably remain here through the winter."

All felt it a relief that the burial was not to be near at hand, or the corpse to remain many hours in the house – "a wicked man's corpse," as Harold said with a shudder, but all were saddened and horror-struck at the thought that he had gone leaving so little reason for hope of his salvation.

They gathered at the supper-table a very quiet, solemn company; few words were spoken; the little ones missed their mother and were glad to get away to the nursery, where she presently came to them, looking sad and with traces of recent tears about her eyes.

But she smiled very sweetly upon them, kissed them tenderly, and sitting down, took Walter on her lap and put an arm round Rosie as she stood by her side.

They were curious to know about Mr. Boyd, asking if he had gone to heaven where dear papa and Lily were.

"I do not know, my darlings," she answered, the tears coming into her eyes again; "he is there if he repented of his sins against God, and trusted in Jesus."

Then she talked to them, as often before, of the dear Saviour – the great love wherewith he loves his people, and the many mansions he is preparing for them.

She spoke to them, too, of God's hatred of sin, and the need of watchfulness and prayer.

"The devil hates us, my darlings," she said; "he goes about like a roaring lion, seeking to kill our souls; but Jesus loves us, he is stronger than Satan, and if we keep close to him we are safe."

Having seen them safe in bed, she went to her dressing-room, to find the other four there waiting for her.

They gathered about her with glad, loving looks and words, each eager to anticipate her wishes and to be the first to wait upon her.

"My dear children," she said, smiling through glistening tears, "your love is very sweet to me!"

"And what do you think yours is to us, mamma?" exclaimed Violet, kneeling at her mother's feet and clasping her arms about her waist, while she lifted to hers a face glowing with ardent affection and admiration.

"Just the same, I hope and believe;" and with the words the mother's hand passed caressingly over the golden curls.

"Mamma, you have been crying very much," remarked Harold sorrowfully. "I wish – "

"Well, my son?" as he paused, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"I wish I could make you so happy that you would never want to shed a tear."

"When I get to heaven, my dear boy, it will be so with me. 'God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.' And that is where your dear papa is now. Oh how glad we ought to be for him!" she said with mingled smiles and tears. "'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord:' but oh, it is not so, my children, with those who have not chosen him for their portion! 'for to them is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.'"

There was a slight solemn pause, all thinking of the wretched man who had passed away from earth that afternoon.

"Mamma," asked Harold at last, speaking in a subdued tone, "do you think it is so with Mr. Boyd?"

"My son," she said gently, "that is a question we are not called upon to decide; we can only leave him in the hands of God, in full confidence that the Judge of all the earth will do right."

"Mamma, would you like to tell us about it?" asked Herbert.

"It is a painful subject," she sighed, "but – yes, I will tell you, that it may be a warning to you all your lives."

They listened with awe-struck faces, and with tears of pity, as she went on to give a graphic picture of that death scene so different from the one they had witnessed a few short months ago.

"Oh my children," she said, "live not for time, but for eternity! remembering that this life is but a preparation for another and endless existence. 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness.' 'Count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord.' Choose his service now while youth and health are yours, and when death comes you will have nothing to fear. 'The wicked is driven away in his wickedness: but the righteous hath hope in his death.' 'Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption: but he that soweth to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.'"

"Yes, mamma," Elsie said in a half-whisper, the tears stealing down her cheeks, "surely we have seen it fulfilled in these last few months. Our beloved father sowed to the Spirit, and what a joyous reaping is his! How calmly and sweetly he fell asleep in Jesus."