Chapter XVI: The Travellers

ANY one who had only seen Mrs. Wallingford on her marriage, would scarcely have recognized her, when at the age of twenty-four she stood on board the deck of the good steamer Asia about to sail for Liverpool. Near her, with a huge shawl wrapped around him, sat her brother Edward; and just opposite their dearly loved pastor Dr. Gilbert, and Marion.

The wishes of Gertrude had been fulfilled. By the judicious use of money, backed by the lady's strong will and energy, a beautiful spire now pointed the inhabitants of the village to the skies; and Rose Cottage was blessed with a most faithful pastor.

But there must be some alloy in the pleasures of time, that we may be the more willing to exchange it for eternity. While every effort of Gertrude's succeeded almost beyond her expectations, she was pained to see the gradual decline of her brother's health. A few months before this time, he had a slight hemorrhage of the lungs accompanied by a cough. His business engagements were pressing; and his clients were uneasy lest he should employ another lawyer. He was tempted to imprudence, which resulted in a second and more alarming attack of bleeding.

The winter and early spring were passed at Rose Cottage, amid alternate hopes and fears; and then the Doctor advised his patient to try the effect of a sea voyage. Without a moment's hesitation Gertrude resolved to accompany him, leaving her son, now in his fifth year, in the care of Hannah and Bridget, with dear aunt Marion to continue the lessons his mamma had commenced.

The parting adieus were spoken at last, and the party to go on shore were turning away, when the invalid seized the hand of Marion, and said in a low voice:

"If I never live to return, remember you are my first earthly object of regard. You have led me to accept my Saviour; and if I might have had you by my side I should ask nothing else."

"Why do you tell me this now, Mr. Wallingford?" she asked, struggling to retain self-command. "Let me go or I shall be too late."

"One word of love to carry across the ocean would be so much comfort. I did not tell you before, because I could not get courage to ask you to unite yourself to a man on the verge of the grave."

"Marion! Marion! the boat is starting," called her father, excitedly.

The young girl's color came and went, but suddenly stooping toward him she whispered, "I shall pray daily that you may return. I loved you at first for Gerty's sake. Now I love you for your own."

"God be praised!" was his fervent reply as she bounded away; and throwing herself into the corner of the close carriage sobbed as if her heart would break.

During the voyage, the feebleness of the pale invalid;—the watchful tenderness of the lady accompanying him;—the evident refinement and cultivation of both, rendered them of great interest to their fellow passengers. Indeed, few could watch the noble carriage of Mrs. Wallingford;—the well-formed head so gracefully poised on the shoulders;—the clear dark eye;—the open brow;—the peaceful calm resting on every feature;—the elastic step, without wishing to know more of the stranger.

One of the gentlemen had ascertained from the captain's books that the names of the couple were Wallingford. It was natural to suppose that they were man and wife; and in this relation they were regarded through the voyage.

On reaching Liverpool, Gertrude lost no time in starting for the south of France where they proposed to pass the month of May.

So far the effect of the journey had been beneficial; and Gertrude's first letter home was full of encouragement. Marion had engaged to keep a journal, in which every saying of Master Paul should be recorded. As Gertrude was closing her letter to her friend she turned to her brother with the inquiry:

"Do you wish to send a message?"

"Enclose this," he answered, giving her a sealed envelope addressed to Dr. Gilbert.

Without a suspicion that her brother had at last gained courage to ask for the hand of her friend, in case his health should be restored, Gertrude answered, "I thought you settled all business with him the week before we left."

Remaining in Paris only one week in order to receive letters forwarded there; they proceeded to Nice, where they soon found the salubrious air was restoring vigor to the enfeebled frame. With her usual energy Gertrude devoted herself to the care of her brother. She walked with him; drove him in the easy carriage she had hired; sung his favorite songs; read the books he loved best; more than all, talked by the hour of home and Marion.

How rejoiced she was during all these days that the tie of Christian love rendered their natural relationship more enduring. Even though this change of climate, from which they hoped so much, should end in disappointment, she rested her hopes for him on the Saviour's promise, "'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'"

She knew her brother had learned to pray; and she believed that his consecration of himself and all that he had to his crucified Redeemer had been accepted. Nothing short of this would have supported him in the prospect of death, and given him such acquiescence in the will of his heavenly Father.

Now that she knew the state of his affection toward Marion, she sometimes regretted that the marriage had not taken place at once; and then the wife could have accompanied him abroad; but she did not think it wise to produce useless regret in her brother's mind by such a suggestion.

In June they went to Switzerland; and Edward had so far regained his health as to join a party, who were intending to ascend some heights in the Alps.

News from home came regularly to hand, through their banker in Paris; and news from the travellers gladdened many hearts in the quiet village.

October found them settled in Rome for the winter. Edward who was now quite able to relieve his sister of care, hired a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Tiber; and every fine day a little pleasure boat could be seen shooting out from the tiny wharf, carrying the elegant Americans.

They had been in Rome almost a month; had received calls from many distinguished countrymen and countrywomen; and were beginning to feel quite at home, when one morning Gertrude accompanied her brother to the studio of an American artist, who had some pictures on exhibition before they were sent to New York.

There was quite a crowd in the room, and Gertrude, leaning on the arm of her brother lingered outside the door quietly awaiting her turn, when she was startled by the sound of a familiar voice.

She turned quickly, but not before Edward who had also heard it, had stepped where he could intercept her view.

He took her hand, drew it into his arm and as at this moment several persons left the studio, pressed his way inside the door.

Every particle of color had vanished from her face, and he could feel her form tremble as she leaned heavily against him for support.

"I can't stay," she urged, "Let me go."

A lady near thought her fainting, and offered her vinaigrette, which was politely accepted by Edward.

After the most cursory examination of the famous pictures, they gladly left; and hailing a carriage at the door, rode swiftly home.

"It was Paul's voice. I am sure of it," murmured the poor wife. "Paul Dudley, my husband. I must see him."

"You forget," urged her brother, "that he has forfeited that holy tie. I caught a glimpse of his face; and I assure you, I should never have recognized it as belonging to one, once so familiar to me."

She was weeping bitterly, while he stood by, wondering what he could say to comfort her.

"Oh, I wish my boy were here!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands convulsively. "Our boy. I would send him to his father. You couldn't deny him a sight of his own child."

"Gertrude, you are beside yourself. You must be aware that Paul, the father, has a right to his son;—that he can take him from you at any moment. He may use this power; or by it he may extort from you every cent of your fortune."

She shuddered visibly; and at length exclaimed:

"Oh, Edward, be merciful! You separated us. I feel this moment that I could forgive every thing if he will only take me again. Perhaps God would help me win him back to virtue."

Mr. Wallingford was greatly shocked at her words. He turned from her with such a distressed countenance that her fears for him were at once aroused.

"Forgive me," she plead, grasping his hand. "I am indeed ungrateful when I say such words to you. Forgive me; and I will promise to be governed by your wishes. Only think of Marion; and ask yourself whether you could ever turn from her."

"Paul forsook you," he murmured, seating himself on a couch and putting his hand to his head. "Let us talk of this no more to-day. We are unfit; at least I am to decide what is best. I will take the earliest opportunity to inquire what character he bears in the city. After all we must be governed by that."